《Wandering Souls: Blue's Ballads and Proverbs》


 Cracked Sands, Shattered Mind

    Evening, everyone. Name''s Jessup. Jessup Reilly the 3rd. Get all your giggles over the hillbilly stereotype out now; I haven''t had someone to talk to in a while and I got plenty to say, starting with the shithole I used to call a farm. Safe to say, "Scorched" Earth is a kind description of what my home has become. I remember the laughter I shared there with my wife, my daughter, and my farmhands before it came...theycame.


    Weatherman said it was nothing more than a few critters floating by from up north. Mayor told us it wouldn''t affect the crops longer than a week or so; just sacrifice a few stalks and they''d be on their way. I''m almost glad those pests got ''em before the evacuations.


    My farm used to be the county gem; 100 acres of fruits, vegetables, grain, and livestock to feed an army, with every plant and animal dating back to my Granddad''s seeds and original herds. I almost let out a chuckle at the irony as I passed a withered cow horn. Couldn''t have been Bessie''s; I found hers months ago. No, this had to be dad''s star bull, Sully... even through all the dust and decay, I can still see how strong he used to be. Never lost a competition at the fair, the old stud.


    Shovel starts digging into my back and I realize I should sit a spell. I''m not an old man, but I''ve lost a few more pounds than I care to admit, and these tools seem to get heavier every day. Would probably sprain my hip trying to pick up my daughter if she were here. Little Hazel, my precious angel. She begged me to join her and her Mama, my darling wife Amelia; said that we could start fresh somewhere else, as long as we had each other. I never found the heart to tell her that there wasnowhereelse. Turns out, it''s pretty hard to explain to a 5-year-old her favorite pets are too sick to stand, much less sell to another farm, and that Granddad''s old policy ain''t worth what it used to be. Amelia got tired of waiting and went South... she doesn''t even send me pictures or pleading letters no more. Last I heard, she found a nice car salesman, got a new house. I can''t help but hope Hazel approves of the fella.


    Sun starts beating hard, and I realize I''m back where I started: The old house. Sure, it looks and smells like shit now, but it used to be a stunner. Bright blue with a chimney that could touch the sky. Cellar full of jam and cured fish for the cold months. Amelia and I dancing to the oldies, embarrassing Hazel in front of her friends. I still have her old teddy bear; she wanted to leave me something to remember her by, so we''d never feel too far away from each other. I should look for it in the dresser once I''m done. I''m too close to stop now.


    I get up from my little siesta and keep walking. Spot a few of the locusts half-dead and twitching on the hard soil. No corn or grain to chow on, I guess they couldn''t make it to a new hovel with the rest of the swarm. Damn shame for ''em. I almost stop to put ''em out of their misery, but I can''t. Let ''em suffer; I need to save my strength anyway.


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    After a few miles, I see just what I need: A soft patch. That light drizzle last night was just enough. I damn near lose my sanity, start crawling on the ground like a lizard trying to get to his hole before the crows find him. When I get to the soil, see it up close, I just stare at it, making sure it''s really there. Then I get to work.


    After all this time, I still remember the old tending tricks my dad showed me. He always said the farm was our legacy, that it''d survive far after we were gone. My brothers have long forgotten about this place, went to big firms in the city straight out of law school, left me with the mud and muck. I''m all Dad''s memory has left... all this place has left.


    Spread the soil, plant a few seeds, and wait. I make a few runs back to the house to get a little jerky, maybe an old can to crap in, but other than that, I don''t leave this patch''s side. It''s my one shot at putting it all back together.


    I lose track of how many nights it''s been. Turn over to sleep, then wake up to the rising sun for days, weeks, maybe a couple months. I get up one morning to leave, decide to get a bit more jerky from the house, until I see it:A sprout. Can barely remember what I planted, but it''s growing. I see some clouds forming, and I can smell the dew in the air. They have everything they need: Water, a patch of healthy soil, sunlight... it can finally come back. My family can have a home again.


    My throat''s too dry to howl my excitement, so I run to the house to get some paper and a pen. If I don''t write it now, I''ll forget to tell everyone. My brothers, Amelia, Hazel, should even leave a little note on Dad''s slot at the old mausoleum. I run back to the sprouts so I can describe the little roots to a tee... then my hand slips off the paper. I drop the pen, lean to pick it up, but my legs give out. I roll in the sand, the sun blaring on my back, but nothing works with me. My arms soak into the sand, my legs just kick the air for mercy, and my throat starts to close, not that screaming would help much no way. I think I''m crying, a mix of joy from the sprouts and sadness from realizing I won''t see my daughter again, but when I look at the ground all I see is light red blood pouring out my nose and eyes, and my body feels like it lost all its moisture. It''s fine now. I did what I had to do. The sprouts will grow, bees will come back and pollinate, then some selfie-obsessed tourist will pass by and spread the word. Amelia and Hazel will know I left something for them, that I didn''t forget.


    I close my eyes, let the sun take me in, knowing I made my Dad proud, until two things hit me: One, I never found Hazel''s old bear. Can''t even bring her scent to my heart as I go to the pearly gates. Second... a faint caw over the hills. I force my eyes open. Every muscle in my face is screaming, but I have to know. A chicken? A robin, maybe? I push my eyes to the western sky and see a mix of black feathers and pink, drooping skin. Don''t know whether to laugh or curse as I feel the talons hit my arm, dragging its claws through the sprouts, and the beak poke at my chest...


    Then, nothing. Nothing but dark, the memory of flitting bugs... and failure... I''m sorry, my sweet Hazel...

 Never Wear Blue Dresses

    Fashion is one of the oldest facets of society; It''s been used to show wealth, express emotion, and define culture, and that fact remains today. Perhaps I''m a bit biased since it''s the heart of my career, but I can''t think of something more engaging and timeless than a well-designed dress or piece of jewelry. To that point, I, Julia Medici, created my fashion house at 16 in my parents'' basement. They weren''t the most pleased their daughter with near-perfect test scores had a dream they deemed so frivolous, but when my first commission for fashion week came at 18, they finally saw the importance of my expression.


    My business exploded after college. Every magazine wanted to interview me, and models were lined out the door for a spot in my shows. I was coveted, lusted after even, and it felt fantastic. I crafted a new line every few months with no rest (Except for my weekly companions), and I was happy. After all, don''t we all wish to be remembered as visionaries in one way or another? Held in regard next to Gods?


    Everything was going perfectly. For decades, even my worst designs were given rave reviews. Then that little bitch popped up on the runway: Susan Matarazzo. Silk had been out of style for years but one gown with just the right slit and suddenly every critic and journalist called her a star. She became an icon overnight, and at first it didn''t matter to me. I still had a loyal base, and she had hers. I didn''t notice the calls slowing down, my spot-on fashion week getting pushed farther and farther back. I even have a hunch that whore stole a few of my favorite playmates. Perhaps I made a slight misstep when I confronted her at a party about poaching my models... still, there was no need for the guards to throw me on the street the way they did. When I was starting out, waving a butter knife around with a few threats was perfectly normal. The current mindset of the public did not agree.


    Orders became so few and far that I had to sell my warehouses and donate most of my stock to keep the lights on. My seamstresses and assistants either joined other houses or were fired during my more unsavory bouts. It finally got to the point where I was left with one little boutique on a corner in New York. I was lost in the crowd... my Godhood was gone. Still, I had discovered a new way to make ends meet, but I wasn''t sure I had the strength to complete my latest order. I had finally found a new client who wanted to collaborate on a new collection. She was secretive; never told me her name, only came in once to give me the order information, then it was all emails until the book arrived, along with every ''tool'' she said I would need. I almost called the whole thing off when I looked inside; each page and piece of hardware more repulsive than the last, and instructions so vivid I dare not repeat them. Was I really this desperate? Had I sunk this low where I would risk what little I had left for a woman I knew nothing about? It turns out, as gruesome as it was, it became easier as time went on. Whether it was my pent-up aggression that kept me going, or the promise of renewed fame, I sewed through the night, tuning out the screams as best I could...


    Her specifications proved difficult to fulfill, but the task was near done after a mere three months.  I hadn''t sewn this fast since those days in my parents'' basement. They still call me every week, saying they''ll always be proud of me, but I hear the sadness in their voice. They''re ashamed of what I''ve become. They''d be mortified at how I''ve changed even further. I try to put them out of mind; soon they''ll be proud again, along with the rest of the world, even Susan. I had 9 out of the 10; all I needed was one more sample, and I''d be done. All those late nights studying people in coffee shops, following them from movie theaters, posing as the delivery person, it was almost done. My client had been calling for the past week asking about her crown jewel, her perfectly sequined pantsuit, but I couldn''t find the right sample just yet. Or maybe I couldn''t bring myself to start looking. I pace at my boutique desk, carving a dent in the floor with my shoes as I try to piece together a plan, perhaps a way to get out of finishing the order, but when my door rings open, I see that I no longer have that option.


    She walks up to me, a pearly smile spread across her face. She has the most darling blue summer dress, and a polka-dot bonnet atop her blonde hair. She couldn''t be older than five or six... she was perfect. She taps the desk, polite as a church mouse, and asks for my help.


    "Excuse me, Ma''am. I got separated from my mom and dad. Can I wait here and use the restroom?"


    She spoke so clear, so eloquently. Something in her voice told me she was well loved. I just nod absently and point to the restroom door. Her shoes clack on the marble floor and she goes in. I start to hyperventilate, a pit forming in my stomach. I hadn''t felt this way since the first one, but this was far, far worse. I go to lock the door and close the blinds, just waiting for her to finish. After ten minutes, she doesn''t come out. I go in to check on her, but the restroom is empty. I start to feel a glimmer of hope; maybe she just crawled out the window, skipped down the street as young, inquisitive children do. A shriek from my studio in the basement quickly shatters that theory. I race down the steps, whispering ''no'' to myself as I run, but it''s too late. Her eyes are met with the disfigured shapes of the bodies, the more recent ones on the right far less mangled than my earlier work, but no less gruesome. The first four were stripped clean; nothing but bone and streams of blood coating half the wall. The next four still held a hint of humanity; a piece of skin hanging off their knee, an offal pulsing on the table, or their face, still fixed in a state of terror. The latest... I hadn''t checked if he was still breathing. His face twitched and he looked down, expecting to see his feet in chains, but I had finished that part of the set (A new pair of leggings with a matching clutch) last night. He began to scream, a sound I was now used to, but when he saw the young girl, he tried to form a desperate plea.


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    "Go. You can''t let her see you. Go get help! Please!"


    She turns to run, but her chest is met with my old bodkin. I''ll never forget the sound of her final gasps, stunned that this random, seemingly kind woman could do this. The man screamed in anger, pleading for me to show mercy on the child, but the deed was done. I picked up my tools to my right and put her on the table, but I grabbed a towel first and walked over to the man, gently touching his neck... he shouldn''t have to see what happens next...


    The day comes and I go to my client''s high-rise office with the clothes organized neatly on three racks, each one covered by a heavy tarp. She welcomes me in and offers me a glass of water as if it''s a normal business meeting. She hands me an envelope of cash and pulls the tarps off the racks. She traces her fingers on the outfits, almost sensually, and puts her ear close to the fabric. She grips the metal pole as a wave of ecstasy falls over her.


    "Exquisite. The lining is tight, and the whispers are so clear. And the pantsuit is absolutely fabulous, the most divine of the series! You really are the best."


    I try to say thank you for her complement but I''m too repulsed for anything but bile to come out, so I keep my mouth shut. I turn to leave, but I''m stopped as a despondent man and who appears to be his wife come into the office, waving around a picture that makes me run cold: The little girl in her blue dress and bonnet. My client''s guards come in to escort them out, but the man just brushes them off.


    "Please, has someone seen our daughter? She went missing in this part of town last week. Your cameras can see the entire city center, you must have caught something! Please, we have to find her!"


    My client covers the racks and puts her hand on the man''s shoulder. She''s silent for a moment, watching his eyes as she constructs a lie.


    "I do wish I could be of service to you. I can''t imagine the pain of losing your child. Unfortunately, my cameras have been out of order for the past two weeks. I will urge my men to keep a watch for her."


    The man can only cry on my client''s shoulder as she gently pulls him into the hallway. His wife starts to follow, but she stops for a moment and looks at me. I feel as if she''s ready to accuse me of something until she forms a small smile.


    "Are... are you Julia Medici?"


    I utter a low ''Yes'' in response, shocked anyone still remembers my name. She seems happy when I confirm my identity, and she holds her daughter''s photo just a little tighter.


    "Your baby line was the first dress my daughter wore... Actually, I wore one of your designs on my wedding day. I know this is strange to say, but... thank you. May- may I hug you?"


    "I... of course, I''d be honored."


    The woman runs into my arms, holds me for dear life, then tips out of the room to follow her husband. After the couple boards the elevator to leave, my client returns with a sigh and leans by her desk window.


    "Well, now that''s over. Let''s talk about next steps."


    "Next steps? I-I thought this was a one-time thing?"


    "Oh, it was supposed to be, Darling, but your work is too good to be a one and done. I''m thinking we could turn this into a global phenomenon; get this into as many boutiques as possible and get your career back on track! No one would have to know how the sausage is made, so to speak. What do you say?"


    I almost agree. The thought of reclaiming the top spot on the runway has been in my mind for so long I had forgotten why I joined this business in the first place. But I can''t see that look of terror again. I won''t. I get up and turn to leave, but an idea strikes. I turn back to my client and stare deep into her eyes. Maybe it was all those late nights of work giving me some extra physical strength, I can''t be sure, but somehow I get up the nerve to run straight at her. She doesn''t have a chance to get out of the way, luckily, and I launch her out the window next to her desk... but I don''t have a chance to stop myself first. I don''t think I would''ve made it long had I stopped anyway; even if I survived the prison sentence, the thought of that girl would be too much. As the ground gets closer and my client''s face fills with more and more rage and shock, I realize something: That feeling of Godhood stole something from me. Pursuit of respect turned to greed and control, and my heart was gone before I could blink.  I wish I could say I left this world without that feeling of greed, but I can''t. All I can say is... I''m sorry, you sweet girl... You didn''t deserve this...

 The Land Beyond Time

    My head feels like I fell off Kilimanjaro. Again. Everything is fuzzy at first, like my eyes are playing catch-up with my surroundings, but after a few blinks it all clears up, although I''m not sure that helps me much: All I see is stark grey sand and a few rolling hills. Some laughs ring out a few miles away, but I''ve seen enough horror movies to doubt that''s a good thing.


    I start walking in the opposite direction, trying to piece together as much as I can remember. My name: Stan... no, it''s Stefan. Stefan Fink. I''m a biogeochemical engineer, the kind of job that does not get you many dates because, well, it''s difficult as hell to explain. I do remember a few of my accolades, however: Helped some animal sanctuaries, started a charity campaign for ecological development, real ''Hero of the Earth'' type stuff. Anything more recent gets a bit hazy, though; All I remember is that I signed on to survey a plot of land in Venezuela and make sure that building on it wouldn''t damage the local ecosystem. I remembered I usually didn''t take gigs from private companies, but I agreed because the guy was funny. And hot... oh, that''s right! I don''t have to worry about dates; I''m already married. Liam Fink, the real estate magnate who made his empire into an environmental powerhouse all because his husband pestered him to death. I guess he must''ve pestered me over surveilling the land, too.


    Things finally start falling into place, but the laughing starts again, closer this time. I figure that running will only make whatever this is worse, so I walk over to check out the source. I nearly pass out again when I find it: A large table made of coral stretching far beyond my vision, with the end closest to me sitting in the middle of some kind of pond filled with fish and invertebrates. I recognize a few species: Placodermi, Osteostraci, and early eurypterids flitting among reeds and kelp. It''s beautiful to see, but there''s one problem: They''ve all been extinct for millions of years. One of the fish spots me and waves their fin, almost like they want me to come over. My intrigue outweighed my shock, so I oblige them and walk to the pond''s edge. They move like they want me to lean over, so I touch my face to the water and almost fall in when their mouths open.


    "Hey, you''re a human right? We''ve heard a lot about you from further down the table! I''m Evan, what''s your name?"


    It-it talked? The extinct animal asked me my name?!


    "I-I''m Stefan. How... how is this possible? I don''t mean to be rude, but aren''t you all-"


    "Dead, yeah. We died a while ago and given your confused stare, you probably just got here, if you catch my drift."


    "W-What?! I can''t be dead! Last thing I remember, I was going to Venezuela... or did I already land? What the hell was I doing?"


    "Don''t push it, buddy, it''ll come back to you. Just keep heading down the table and find a place to sit. Something big is going down."


    I''m a bit disconcerted at what this ''something'' might be, but I push up from the pond and start walking. I turn back to Evan, however and ask him a question.


    "Why are you so happy? I mean, this place seems pretty calm, but you guys are dead. Aren''t you bored, or at least a bit sad you aren''t on Earth anymore?"


    "Eh, we stopped sweating it a while back. Besides, it was natural, right?"


    I mutter an agreeable response and start following the table. It takes a few twists and turns through some trees, but I keep the trail. I dismiss Evan, thinking it''s all a fever dream, perhaps a side-effect of a bug bite, then I get hit by a flying chunk of meat and realize this is very much real. I get lifted to my feet by what feel likes thick claws, then wiped off by a scaly tail. I keep my eyes closed, not wanting to know what might be facing me. I get dragged a bit further before getting planted in some sand and my eyes forced open to see a velociraptor, followed by dinosaurs from every time period. I start to realize this ''afterlife'' is a bit more crowded than what I would have expected, even though there are miles and miles of empty sands. The velociraptor taps my forehead and smiles.


    "Are you okay? Sorry about that; the guys get a bit rowdy when the food comes out. I''m Mike, how are you doing?"


    "Well, apparently, I died and don''t know how, so not great! What about my family and friends and-"


    "Easy, take a breath. You''ll probably see them soon. People don''t join the table unless it''s over."


    "O-over?! The fuck do you mean over? And why are you so calm about this? I hate to bear bad news, but my kind dig you guys up, make figurines of you to play with, and make cheesy videos with wildly inaccurate recreations. Doesn''t that make you mad?"


    "Eh, we''ve had a while to destress. It doesn''t really bother us anymore. As for the ''over'' thing, I should probably let someone further down the table explain. Don''t worry; I''m sure it was quick and natural, like the rest of us I hope."


    Mike pats me on the back and pushes me on my way. My heartrate (Is it even still considered a heartrate now?) starts to quicken, and my mind drifts to images of my loved ones. What about my mom, my sister, my little cousins who always wreck my house when they visit? Oh god, what about my house and pets?! I barely notice my teeth start to chitter as the table turns to ice and I start walking through a massive, arctic cavern filled with mammoths, smilodons, and whatever other animals you can remember from Continental Drift. Ironically, that''s one of my cousins'' favorite movies. A giant sloth tries to wave me over, but I keep walking. While most people in my business would be thrilled to meet these creatures, I''m not in the mood for any more cryptic chats unless it''s the usual trope of a guy with a long beard and longer robe. I pass through the cave, then some Neanderthals, then finally spot a few humans. Sure, they''re from timeframes we refer to as ''B.C.'', but it''s nice to see something without fur or gills. I walk by, trying to strike up a conversation, but these sections of the table are much less jolly. Everyone from the pharaohs to the roman emperors are arguing. Arguing about liquor, women, even land that no longer exists. One man even tries to stab the person next to him, but they just pop back to ''life'' like it was nothing. I decide to keep walking, and I realize that there''s a stark difference between these guys and the earlier patrons: Nothing about their deaths was natural.


    I pass through centuries in a few steps. I see Leonardo Da Vinci guzzling wine, followed by British soldiers polishing their muskets and singing sea shanties. I see a large, golden tower in the distance, and I think I''m finally close to the end. Once I pass the last of the bickering nations, though, I see a much different scene than what I expect. The sand below my feet turns to lush jungle, and I spot animals digging below my feet and hanging in the trees above, eyeing me with vicious intent. A Tasmanian Tiger flips me off, but I have little time to respond as I dodge a piece of flung dung. I turn to see the culprit, but my confusion increases as I see a rhesus monkey running away. Why would he be here? They''re still alive all over Asia, and most species are far from endangered. Mike said creatures come here when it''s ''over'', but they shouldn''t be over yet. I decide to voice my concern over the sudden assault, hoping to get a reasonable answer.


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    "Why are you guys so pissed? The guys from earlier periods seemed pretty cheery but the table has gotten angrier with every step."


    "Gee, I wonder why?"


    I hear a low growl from behind and turn to see a stunning panther. I''ve seen dozens of them in conservation centers and parks, but the way his fangs are gleaming strikes a bit more fear than usual. Then, it hits me: I''m dead. There''s nothing more he can do to me, so I stand tall and stare him straight in the eye.


    "What do I have to do with you being here? Matter of fact, half of the stuff in this forest shouldn''t be here! You''re not... ''over''."


    "You''re right! We shouldn''t be here. If you hadn''t gotten on that damned plane and maybe paid more attention to your surroundings, this wouldn''t be happening! You were supposed to be one of the good ones, to make sure things stayed on the natural course!"


    "What does Venezuela have to do with this? It was just a plot of land in the middle of nowhere. I remember now: I took some soil samples and tested them. I decided it was stable enough, nothing more than a few precious minerals to watch out for, so I called in Liam''s workers to section off the unstable areas."


    The panther looks at me like I answered my own question. The animals retreat further into the forest and the panther leaves with them, however he gives me a final message:


    "Why don''t you ask him about this place, then, hmm?"


    "Fine! Fine! I''m almost to the tower anyway. Have a nice eternity, you creeps!"


    I realize I''m only yelling at myself. The jungle''s denizens are far from earshot, and I''m left with a chilling question: What was in Venezuela?


    I start running now. The tower gets brighter the closer I get, and it''s like a thousand suns when I finally reach the doors. Two guards stand outside, ready to turn me away with their fiery blades, but when they see my face, they stop.


    "Mr. Fink! So glad you''ve made it; you''re just in time."


    Before I can respond, they grab me by the arms and pull me into the tower. I curse under my breath when I realize the place has no elevator, so it''s more walking... up what seems like 500 fucking flights. The first few dozen floors are filled with a thick stench, and people in tattered clothes cover the floor. The tower is much larger inside than how it appears outside, but somehow the rooms are still overflowing with sick and battered.


    "What happened to them? If this is death, why are they still injured?"


    "They''re not completely through yet. Give them some time, and they''ll be like the rest of us."


    "Wait, so you know what''s happening? Tell me! What does Venezuela have to do with this? Where''s Liam?"


    "He wants to tell you himself. Don''t worry; we''re almost there."


    I try to wrestle free from their grasp, but when my hand grazes one of their blades, it''s left with a deep gash. Somehow, their weapons can still harm me. We reach the top floor, and sitting at the end of the table flanked by four more guards is Liam. He seems different, though; he''s smug, and he''s drinking some foul scotch while looking at some crystal ball. He always hated dark liquor.


    "Liam, what is going on?! Why are we here?"


    I expect him to scream, cry, shake me awake, even say nothing and sit with a blank stare, but he just stands up and kisses me like we''re at home.


    "Darling, sit. I thought we''d come through together, but we got separated before I could show you."


    He pushes me down in the chair next to him, and I realize I don''t have a choice in the matter. I look through the crystal ball, and all I see is fire. I turn to see Liam''s reaction to the blaze, and he''s grinning ear to ear.


    "I won''t ask again: What the fuck was in Venezuela?"


    "I wasn''t sure until you showed me the soil samples, but Venezuela held the solution, Stefan. You see, the world has been suffering for decades, and we had surely passed the point of no return. Getting to the age of science fiction and finding a new planet was taking too long, so we decided to simply save a few billion people years of suffering. Turns out, igniting just the right mineral deposits in just the right place can cause quite the chain reaction; explosions lead to earthquakes lead to tsunamis and well, you can piece it together from there. It was messy, and it''s not complete just yet, but it''s much quicker this way. I just wanted you to confirm; knowing you were by my side made it much easier."


    "You... you used me? To find you some sort of doomsday switch?! We had the resources to help, to change! We still had time to protect something. That was my entire career! It''s what we worked to build!"


    "And it wasn''t working anymore! I couldn''t bear to show you the reports... it was getting worse every day and we could never find enough people to help. I spared you the agony of failure by doing this; taking a chance on something better laying beyond the hellscape we had created. I sped up what nature already had planned."


    "THIS IS NOT NATURAL, LIAM! You just gave up, and now you''re watching your handiwork like you''re a hero who saved the city. The people down there... there''s no words to describe what I just walked through."


    "Much better than what would''ve been. Now, the slate is clean. Take comfort in our newfound freedom, and maybe we can finally find some peace."


    I couldn''t believe it. I wasn''t sure what hurt worse: Being used as a pawn in this twisted, ridiculous scheme, or the fact the man I loved had hidden this lunacy from me this whole time. I was too angry to tell him that there were people here for thousands of years still arguing over the same goddamn issues. I''ll let him find that little tidbit out himself.


    "Are those little blades to make sure people get along?"


    I lift my gashed hand hoping to get a reaction out of him, but he just touches my hand and heals the wound like nothing.


    "Blessed Steel. A bit more vicious than expected, honestly don''t know how they work, but let''s hope we won''t have to use them much."


    He turns back to the crystal ball and shakes his head. The ball starts to vibrate, and small cracks form on its surface.


    "The crystal ball has been used for every era for beings to see what comes next, but no more. Do you see? It''s almost over, my love. Do you want to say anything to the final moments of the world?"


    ''My love''... it stings like acid, but I no longer have a choice. No matter how far I run, I''m stuck here. The beings I dedicated my life to loathe me, and my husband has turned into a monster. All I can do is fall to me knees and hold the ball close as tears stream down my face.


    "I''m sorry we hurt you. I''m sorry to all the souls that will never come. I''m sorry it ended this way."


    And then it shattered. I was stuck here, condemned with the rest of the planet to this sandy Tartarus, and it was all my fault. All because I couldn''t see that my closest confidant had lost hope. All because our will to fight had been warped into something unspeakable. All because generation after generation went against nature, and we never stopped to ask... was change possible?

 Nothing to Fight For

    3,000 years. For most, that timeframe would feel like an eternity, but for me, that would be a cruel understatement. You might be expecting some sort of introduction at this point, but I''m sorry to say there is none to give. I''ve had many names over my life, some more vulgar than others, but none have ever "fit" how I''ve really felt, and I''m certainly not creative enough to box my experiences into a single word, so you will have to make do with what I can tell you in the time we have together.


    As always, it''s best to start at the beginning. Like most, I was born out of love, raised by a caring soul who only wanted the best out of his creation. The difference between you and I, however, is in the process that brought my best to the forefront: I was doused in liquid flame and left in the cold for months at a time to harden, struck against the finest wood and rock to be sharpened to a vicious point, and kept smooth with the treated skin of a lamb as my nightly home. My father, as you may call it, deemed me his masterpiece. He promised I would only be given to the best, that I must be prized as a piece of art that would one day be a symbol of unity. I doubt either of us understood the sacrifices it would take before that happened.


    I was so excited the day the man who would become my first master entered my father''s shop. He was adorned in the most beautiful armor I had ever seen, and his stance showed he was a man of true valor. The minute he locked eyes on my hilt, he knew it was meant to be. My father was paid handsomely for the exchange, and my journey began. I never saw my father again, but there was no way he could claim me as his work after what I had done. Nay, forced to do, like a common servant.


    Training began with my first master soon after I entered his service. His movements flowed like silk, and his strikes were lightning fast. Townsfolk came by the cartload to see his routine, and I was his dance partner through it all. It was a craft I still cherish, but I never considered its true usage until the day we rode through the woods near the south of our village. I had never smelled the stench of death before, but I could instantly feel the evil it carried close behind. The way the bodies were strewn about... soldiers, farmers, children... I couldn''t believe someone''s soul, whether they be victim or perpetrator, could survive such evil. We barely had time to study our surroundings as the monsters behind the slaughter lunged at us. While it is true I wanted to harm them in the way they harmed the innocent (How could I not? For it was supposed to be my nature.), I knew it was necessary to capture them so that they may pay for their crimes, and perhaps lead us to whoever orchestrated this strike. Sadly, my master was not so easily convinced and drew me from my bed to dance. I was unprepared for how this routine would go, however. The feeling of my first pound of flesh as the master gutted a young soldier aiming at his neck... I was like a young virgin feeling the touch of a lover. It was a clever mix of agony and euphoria like nothing I had seen or felt before. I am disgusted I ever took pleasure in such acts, for that day was the first time my honor was stained, just as it was also the first time I realized my master had none to spare either. I shudder at the thought of the enemy''s wrathful blood still seething in the ground of that very same forest. Ten soldiers, perhaps with families of their own, cut down by my steel, with not a second allowed for remorse. The first ten of many. An uncountable many.


    I stayed with my first master for five years. We fought against many threats against my home village, and dozens more fell under our ferocity. At this point, I could still rationalize the deaths. After all, they threatened those who could not defend themselves. The only way to protect our people was to obliterate theirs, yes? I told myself these words constantly, almost daily as my master cleaned the blood from my side. As messy as it was, we had a good life and an unshakeable reputation. If not for that idiot student he took on, perhaps it would''ve continued. One arrow that escaped that damned boy''s view, and my master''s life was gone. He grabbed me off his corpse (as if he had even earned a tenth of the right to touch me) and fled. The village burned, barely any escaped, and somehow the survivors believed him to be a hero simply because he had the gall to say my master ordered him to flee and help the retreat instead of fighting by his teacher''s side. My home was gone, my father had been burned alive during the invasion, and I was stuck with this fool as the attackers claimed our land unopposed and the people I swore to protect were forced to scatter and rebuild in nearby villages. My new, excruciatingly inexperienced master did not settle in one of these villages. Whether it was guilt or the fact no other warriors would train him, we became wanderers, drinking until the taverns closed and taking jobs for any lord with enough coins. It was at this point my rationalizations ceased to work.


    For twenty painful years, every kill was more gruesome than the last, with each hit showing more weakness as he agreed to kill political enemies, their families, even helping raze villages that didn''t agree with a duke''s taxes. The hypocrisy dripped off of us more than the crimson fuel, and he felt it too. Soon, the bastard drunk so heavily he fell off a roof and cracked his skull. Don''t ask me how he got on the roof in the first place. I was relieved as he took his final breath, for perhaps I would be found by a gentler, happier warrior and finally have a moment of peace. Yet again, my hopeful arse was failed by fate. Another drunkard (a pirate, as I could tell from the salty air leaking from his pores) stumbled out of the bar and snatched me from my second master''s side like a karmic deja vu. He took me to his boat to show off to his mange-ridden crew, and they set sail to the East. It was at this point I lost track of how many masters I was bound to, but I shall attempt to remember as many as I can for your sake:


    First, the pirate captain was gutted during a mutiny and his first mate grabbed me as a token of leadership. Then, when we landed in a spice market in Asia Minor and he couldn''t pay a gambling debt, he sold me save his hide. Then the pit boss in said gambling den gifted me to his top enforcer, and we rode from Italy all the way to Greece and Syria to collect debts from the lowest of the low. I don''t think the enforcer knew how to work a sword, however, as there were a bit more blunt strikes than I was used to. I had survived every battle shining and unscathed, but that brute''s inept sword fighting was the only time I ever garnered a scratch, let alone nine of them, on both my hilt and blade. Thankfully, the enforcer was put out of his misery by a royal guard in Iran. To this day, I''m still amazed he thought he could break into a palace and force a prince to pay a single coin, but I digress.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    The guard brought me to the palace''s prince as a trophy for his enemy''s death. He sent his soldiers to deal with the gambling den, and I was left on the prince''s mantle as an ornament. Most in my line of work would be offended at such a thing, but it was welcome respite after endless war and petty squabbles. Aside from having to watch the prince''s opium-fueled ''parties'', it was a nice life. I had felt a good polish for the first time in years, and was finally appreciated as a work of art, as my father intended. I stayed in the family for five generations until death returned to my doorstep. Apparently, declining to pay debts seemed to run in the genes, as the prince''s five-times great-grandson owed two neighboring kingdoms an amount of money I didn''t even know existed at this point in history. The two kingdoms had made a pact to split the indebted kingdom between them and sent their armies to take over. The familiar scent of burning flesh and sound of near-dead screaming and begging rang through me, and once again I was forced to watch needless killing as the soldiers beheaded the prince and his family. The first time in nearly two centuries I wanted to fight, and I was stuck with a master who couldn''t even work a butter knife. The kingdoms split every ounce of riches equally between them, and as I was loaded into a wagon and prepared myself to be in the service of yet another foul man with misplaced ambition, a small miracle happened. A guard had forgotten a strap on the contents beside me, and I jostled loose a few miles from the scorched palace. No one noticed I was gone, and soon the winds twisted the sands and made it impossible to look. I was left beneath the dunes, and after I finally allowed myself to mourn all the slaughter I had seen and heard for hundreds of years, I slept. Time rushed by, and I didn''t have to care about a master. I was free.


    After what I later learned to be 2,400 years under those sands, I was unearthed by a man in strange garb and a bowl-shaped hat. He was far too old to be a warrior, but he was certainly excited to find me. He held me like a newborn child and walked to a large, metallic wagon that he called a ''truck'' and drove away. We arrived at a large building, what seemed to be a palace filled with spears, shields, and perhaps even a few blades forged by old competitors of my father. I was carted off to a dusty room in the back of this palace and observed by a group of five people in white coats holding tools I had never seen before. After they seemed satisfied with their investigation, they placed me in a glass box which they then put in a room filled with lights and Turkish artifacts they referred to as an ''exhibit''. At first, I thought it ridiculous they couldn''t see my origin was not of Asia Minor, but I saw this rectified a few days later as large crowds began to form almost weekly in front of my box. A man with a suit worthy of aristocracy and a head covered in thick white hair would make grandiose gestures in front of my box and begin to explain my craftmanship hailing from Brittanica, and then reveal a map charting my journey from my original home to my current resting place. I don''t know how, but they had pieced together my story, from my father''s smithery to my final master, cowardly as he may have been. Instead of looking at me with shame or fear, the patrons saw me as a hero. Children with little pieces of paper began to draw me. They were taking inspiration from my travels, and used it to create, not destroy. As they learned from me, I also learned from them; I studied every piece of information uttered by the caretakers as they explained the history of the other pieces, as well as what I could gather from the patrons about the outside world. There was no doubt that this new era still had its fair share of violence, but for once it felt like the urge to build was finally outrunning its volatile reach.


    My father''s wishes had been fulfilled: I was prized, a symbol of unity. Cherished as a work of art, bloody story and all. I was happy and honored to be celebrated by these people in this way, but my heart sunk when I spotted two patrons standing a few feet away. They were looking at a mobile phone and were reading a news report about a newly released product. There wasn''t another presentation for about an hour, so I decided to entertain myself with whatever gossip of the day. The phone showed a man using a new contraption that could release small pieces of sharp metal in rapid succession in mere seconds. It was more dangerous than any crossbow or archer I had witnessed, and I could feel its wrath pouring out of the video. The man was attacking a grocery store, and the excitement on his face as he did it was dastardlier than any warlord I had seen before. Parents, Grandparents, and babies killed for nothing more than the sake of violence, no different than the practices of the marauders of my day, except for the skill; this man was far from the warrior he claimed to be, and deep down he knew that. The reporters called this machine a gun, and for some reason mixed in with the despair of the crowd was excitement over the device''s potential.


    I had never considered that they had ceased use of my kind in battle altogether, much less replaced us with a machine of such vile intent, but nevertheless my happiness was shattered; I had lived long enough to see humanity''s warlike tendencies come full circle, and I feared it would now be my curse to watch this cycle forever, until soon the weapon in that video sat in a box next to me and we both contemplated our service as we watched in horror the next contraption of battle, and the next, and the next... but then it hit me: After seeing all the damage caused by a single word, sword, or arrow, could humanity even survive long enough to create something after this? There was a time where I would be sorry for all the harm I was commanded to cause, with so many bloodlines destroyed by my masters, but after what I have witnessed it is replaced by sorrow for two new, yet opposing things: One, that I did not shatter when my second master fell from the roof so I could avoid millennia of sorrow and pain, and two, that I currently did not have a master to wield me. Perhaps if I did, I could show them how to stop the beings who wish to wield these new weapons and cause division and destruction the same way my first master handled those invaders... without honor, and without remorse...

 Mozzarella and Motor Oil

    "Stacy Bastille"


    I had seen my name on a lot of awards in the past few years: 2 Michelin Stars, a James Beard nomination, and a spot on the most coveted "top-5 restaurants" lists for 3 straight winters. Somehow, all of that was meaningless compared to seeing my spot in the bracket. To say this tournament was exclusive would be an understatement; 5 chefs from each region of the continent were chosen to battle until a winner was chosen for each country. It had been 8 excruciating weeks of cooking, interviews, and heated competition to beat out everyone from the Western division and get to the finals. It came down to me and the other chefs from each region; 2 people stood between me and victory, but after Chef Carlos from Mexico fell ill and forfeited his spot, all the reviews pegged me as the favorite, but something bothered me about my remaining opponent...


    Her name was Lacey Castille. The similarity in our names alone brought plenty of jokes, but it didn''t end there: We both owned five restaurants, and I could swear that her concepts were mirrors of my own. I had tried for months before the contest to get a meeting with her, but she just brushed me off. It was strange; one day no one had heard of her, and the next she had formed an empire, like magic. Can you believe I don''t even know how this lady looks? She''s been secretive about her entire life since she entered the food scene, and there hasn''t been an investigator yet that''s found dirt on her. Each competitor was kept in a private kitchen to compete, so today might be my only shot to look her in the eye and get an explanation... and I won''t lie, showing this copycat how it''s done is a nice bonus.


    I find my trailer to prep for the match and, after about an hour of trying to balance pettiness with grace in my victory speech, I decide to take a break and watch my old motivational tapes. Most would view mine as having the opposite effect, but whenever I start to stumble or question my path, they remind me why I do this job. One major difference between me and Lacey is I didn''t start on top; my journey was ugly. A high school burnout who passed culinary school by the skin of her teeth didn''t have the best job prospects, so I was stuck working rusty spoons on the night shift for early experience. The constant nagging of failure started to creep in, and soon booze was more prevalent in my bloodstream than the menu, and at a better quality too. I was lucky; my boss spotted it early and got me in a good program. They had a Zen Garden, fro-yo machine, the works. One of the assignments was weekly letters to your future self, and let''s just say I deserve an Oscar for some of these. They say following your dreams takes blood, sweat, and tears, but I had more of that in recovery than in the culinary business, plus a bit of vomit to boot. Eventually I met a real deal restaurateur who was in the same program, and we took a chance on each other. Then it all lead right back here.


    I go to the TV to play my "Paloma-filled Pep talks" but get distracted by some yelling outside the trailer. I''m used to screaming matches in the kitchen, but the shouting gets so loud I can''t ignore it anymore. I get up and stick my head out to see where the bellows are coming from and spot my opponent''s trailer across the lot as the culprit. I stop myself from hoping she''s a mean-spirited diva whom her employees hate (You''d be surprised what one disgruntled former employee can do, believe me.) and decide to tip over to get a better listening point. I lean by the wall of her trailer as quietly as I could, but when I hear her speak more clearly, my blood runs cold.


    "I told you a million times, I need my Santoku polished nightly! Do you know anything about cutlery or are you a complete dolt?!"


    Harsh as they may be, it''s not the words themselves that strike me, or the fact she likes her Santoku polished nightly just like me. It''s the fact that her voice itself... it is me. It sounds more metallic, slightly monotone, but it''s my voice. I''m so stunned I don''t even realize she''s coming out of the trailer in a huff, and that''s when I see her: A gold-plated, blue-haired, sparkly-eyed version of myself. She looks me up and down, as if she''s taking joy in my utter disbelief, and extends her hand.


    "Hi! If you don''t know by now, I''m Lacey Castille, your opponent in the tournament. It''s an honor to be cooking against someone of your caliber."


    It all feels like a bad dream. I can''t even bring myself to touch her hand because my body is still catching up with my brain. I step gingerly around her, studying the curve of her back, the ''muscles'' in her legs, even the bat tattoo on her ankle... I only showed that in one picture on social media last summer. I look into her trailer, hoping to see some sort of film crew to tell me this is all a big prank, and find three people glued to their computers writing some sort of code, and a woman sitting in a corner clutching a long, thin knife, most likely the person this thing just finished accosting. I turn back to Lacey, and she just laughs before turning toward the tournament venue, but shouts one last platitude to me in an overly chipper manner:


    "Good luck with the battle! This will be fun, won''t it?"


    I stumble over my words, all I can get out being a garbled "what the fuck" before turning back to the trailer to interrogate her staff.


    "She''s a... Oh my god, I can''t even say it without sounding stupid. How do you work for her? How does she even know how to cook?"


    "Look, lady, we don''t have two hours to give you a crash course in programming and adaptive learning. All I know is that she pays good money and she updated enough to get to the end of the tournament. Like Ms. Castille said, good luck."


    A kid a third of my age told me off on behalf of his cyborg boss. I must be losing my mind. I turn to the other coders, and they all give me the same brush-off, but I could swear the girl in the corner was close to saying something. Before I can press her further, I see one of the coordinators for the tournament, Chef Evan Reyes, and make a mad dash to speak with him. He sees me coming, and instead of looking guilty or even a tad scared, he seems chipper.


    "Ah, Ms. Bastille! How are you feeling before the match?"


    "Well, I''d feel better if my competitor actually had tastebuds. You were on the committee to select the contestants; did you know about Castille was made of chrome beforehand or was that a later development?"


    "I''ll admit, when she first applied and told us of her... unique situation, we were skeptical, but we couldn''t deny her natural talent. I mean, it''s astounding how a machine could understand how to impart such deep flavors."


    "Astounding, sure, but eligible for a world-renowned tournament? That''s ludicrous! You do realize she''s a carbon copy of me, right? Her cuisine, her hair, her knife, everything about her is me with perkier personality and ti-"


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    "Ms. Bastille, I''m sure you''re overreacting. There are plenty of chefs with similar cooking styles, but that does not disqualify their abilities. Unless you have definitive proof that Ms. Castille or her intentionally stole your recipes or used your image without consent and did not accidentally become a close caricature, there''s nothing I can do."


    The alarm blares for the start of the match, and Reyes walks in to join the judging panel, leaving me outside with my fury. The girl''s name is two letters off from mine, but somehow it''s supposed to be an innocent mistake. I decide to suck it up and walk to my station, calming myself best I can. Lacey tries to wave to me, but I tune her out. I don''t care how many videos of me she''s downloaded; if human finesse can''t beat her, then the judges are blind.


    The clock starts. Three hours to make our favorite five-course meal, with the only catch being we have to use some kind of cheese and nut in every dish. I immediately have my courses planned out: A crab bisque, crostini, cavatelli with pesto, a wagyu strip with mozzarella sauce on the side, and a goat cheese souffl¨¦. It was a menagerie of my favorite dishes over the years, and I knew each one had been perfected over time. The audience and lights all fall into the background and my focus turns to every pot, spoon, and slice of dough and meat on the table in front of me. About halfway through, once my crostini and cavatelli are done and bisque is close to being in the bowl, I look up for a split second to see what Lacey is making, and it''s not even similar to mine. It''s the exact. Fucking. Concept. I smell a spice palette closer to Moroccan than my Italian route, shrimp instead of crab, and an alfredo sauce instead of pesto, but a minute difference like that means both everything and nothing in this competition. I peer at the judges and they''re staring at her, amazed. They don''t even realize her dish is a photoshop of mine. Years of burns, cuts, and missed vacations, and I''m getting shown up by a drone.


    The clock hits zero, it''s time to present, and I lay my case plain, just let the food speak for itself. Lacey does the same, and I swear she held her plates the same way, even if the colors and shapes are different. The judges observe how the dishes were arranged, smell, taste, then leave to deliberate. It''s an excruciating thirty minutes waiting behind the curtain, but it''s even worse when security brings me on stage to stand next to her.


    "Great match. You made some really strong dishes."


    I mumble a ''thanks'' to be polite, then turn my attention to the judges. Reyes grabs a piece of paper and begins the usual speech on how this was a long road with great competitors and so on, but when he flashes me a strange look, I already know what happened.


    The words come off his tongue like acid. Everything after that happens in slow motion: Lacey getting the check and flowers; judges shaking her hand and taking photographs; and then there was me, getting a consolation hug from Reyes before security whisks me to my trailer. For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel the urge to take a drink. I stifle it though, at least for now. I''m not risking years of recovery until I know why this happened.


    I wait until the interviews are over and Lacey and her team are walking to her limo back to the hotel, and I race after her, any decorum I had left draining out of me with each step. Once again, she waves at me with that creepy grin.


    "Hello again, Ms. Bastille-"


    "Save it. You know you''re nothing but a clone, right? Everything you''ve made is a rendition of my work. You''d have nothing if it weren''t for someone double-clicking and dragging parts of my life into your brain."


    "Wow, and I hoped you''d take the loss gracefully. Goodbye, Ms. Bastille; we have nothing more to discuss. Oh, and by the way, Ms. Maxim, now that the brand has gained this high honor, we''ll no longer be needing your services."


    I turn to see the girl who was sitting in the corner earlier, and she''s crushed. She looks scared to speak, as if she''s about to confess something, but she pleads her case nonetheless.


    "W-what? But, I-I built you! I helped you get here!"


    "I''m the one who did the learning, though. I have the skills everyone wants. I''m efficient, unique, and as you can see, I already have plenty better people to replace you. Ta-ta."


    Lacey and her goons step into the limo and drive away. At first I feel sorry for the girl, especially when she starts bawling, but then it hits me...


    "You made that robotic devil? And you used me to do it?! The hell is wrong with you?"


    She''s blubbering at my feet, practically a puddle at this point as she tries to explain.


    "M-my parents thought cooking wasn''t a good career path so I became a coder. I hated it and the hours were horrible, but I was good, and the money was more than anything I had seen so I kept with it. Still, I used to refine my cooking skills and tinker with an ice cream recipe in my spare time, and I decided to try and send a sample to you; I always idolized you because of how you mastered being a strong woman in the kitchen, how you never let anything get in your way, and I knew there was no one else I''d want to work with. I tried setting meetings, sending you packages, anything, but never got a response. Eventually, I decided to use my skills to my advantage and started designing a cooking assistant after you; maybe your company would want to buy it to help kids cook or something, I wasn''t sure. It was going well, she was evolving with the lessons normally, then it just... clicked. She started making larger leaps, cooking more advanced food, then she asked for a real body. I wanted to stop it, but she told me I could get all the culinary accolades I wanted if we worked together, so I helped. I gave her a body after you, I helped her pick out a tech team, I did everything... and she did this... I know you don''t want a sob story right now, b-but I''m so, so sorry..."


    She starts crying again and I can''t even stay mad at her. That hurt she''s feeling reminds me far too well of what I felt at the start of my career: Scared, alone, and worthless. I help the girl back to her feet and hope to console her, but my tape falls out of my pocket. I bend to pick it up, and an amazing idea pops into mind. I turn to the girl and find myself emulating Lacey''s smirk.


    "Hey, don''t worry, Ms..."


    "Gracie, call me Gracie."


    "Gracie, I''m sorry I never responded. You seem very capable, and I could really use someone with your talents on my team. The truth is, I''m not as perfect as everyone thinks, not by a long shot, but I do know the value of perseverance, just like you... even if it was a bit misplaced. If you''d still take it, would you like to join my team?"


    Her entire body tenses when she hears the question. The tears stop and suddenly her entire body is wrapped around mine. After a few seconds, she realizes the awkwardness and lets me go.


    "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, Ms. Bastille! B-but I don''t understand. Why would you hire me after everything that happened?"


    I pull the tape out of my pocket and hand it to her, my own gears spinning in my brain.


    "Don''t get it twisted; this won''t be easy, and this still has plenty of benefits for me. First, you''re going to make me some of that ice cream so we can send it to investors. Second, I''m going to show you some of my skills that haven''t been replicated by that bitch from online videos. Third... do you still have access to her code? You know, to upload new material?"


    "Of course, but I can''t delete her; the code is too advanced to infect her with a virus."


    "Oh, don''t worry, a virus would be too obvious. This is just your standard video of me for her research. A part of me no one has seen before. With a little luck, we shouldn''t have to worry about Lacey once she starts to connect with some of these."


    It was crazy, and perhaps a bit dumb, but what did I know about 0s and 1s? Gracie seemed smart; if there was a way to make this work, she''d find it. Besides, if these machines can learn our best traits and replicate them faster, cheaper, and maybe even ''better'', maybe they can replicate our worst moments faster and better too. I honestly don''t know if that possibility made me more happy or scared, but it was all I had... and if there''s more like her being built, all any of us have.

 Frankincense at a Funeral

    "We are gathered here today to celebrate the once eternal life of Mr. Weh. One cannot recall Weh''s life without remembering how he loved his people and did anything to protect them."


    Yuck. You''d think for someone who''s known for his lies, this bull would roll off the tongue, but propping up a guy like this is harder than you think. Get this: He had anger issues, was a major voyeur, held his employees to these weird rules no one could ever keep (Or even agree on half the time) and could never return a phone call. Oh, and did I forget he was just plain lazy? He admitted to all his faults, had some drug-addled assistants write it and add in some edited bits from other people''s stories for some extra pop, then marketed it as a way for ultimate profit. And it worked. My dad''s kind of mad he never thought of that, but hey, you live and you learn.


    I peer out the mansion window and everyone''s here. Some are actually upset, like his bodyguards and personal choir, but I think most folks are here to make sure he''s actually in the dirt. He''s pulled these kinds of gags before and trust me, no one laughed. Wow, even his old business partner Sam came to see him. They always played it like they hated each other after the company split years back, but I always had a feeling they still had a few deals behind closed doors.


    Well, can''t draw this out any further. Time to go. Still not sure why they chose me to do the eulogy; even though his employees had plenty of dealings with mine (And none of them good, trust me.), we never officially met. His son said Mr. Weh was a fan of my work though, and I didn''t want to be rude, so I agreed. I walk out to the stage but get stopped by my buddy Q right before I walk up. I hope it''s a pep talk since he couldn''t stand Weh either (His company got it worse than mine during one of Weh''s mergers), but as he gets closer, I can tell that''s the last thing on his mind.


    "Dude, they didn''t even spring for good food. They say this brown stuff is supposed to taste like honey, but it feels like sap!"


    "Keep your voice down, man. Do you want to piss this crowd off?! Weh''s son is sitting ten feet away."


    "Oh please, now that his dad''s gone, he''s going to get as drunk and freaky as possible. We all heard the rumors, it''s just a matter of time before we get proof."


    "People did say that the only ones who saw him that weekend were the local whor- you know what, never mind. I can''t believe I''m saying this, but I don''t have time for gossip. I just want to finish this and leave, okay? Any words of encouragement?"


    "Yeah, I got nothing. All I can say is if you do a good job, maybe we can get back a few employees from Weh''s Son before the takeover''s complete."


    I flash him a look that shows how low I think our chances are, then head to the podium. Weh''s Son gives me a thumbs up for support, and I unfurl my speech.


    "We are gathered here today to celebrate the once eternal life of Mr. Weh. One cannot recall Weh''s life without remembering how he loved his people and did anything to protect them. Let us not forget how he always gave them guidance, even if it was through unconventional means, and quickly built a reputation as a father figure to his employees. He expanded his company in record time, going across the middle east and Mediterranean to gain new business. He was vicious in making sure he was the best in the area, but it was all for family."


    A quick gulp to hold back bile as my mind flashes to when he came to my region. I thought the torches he used were unnecessary, but the past is the past. Refocus on the script, and back to work.


    "When his Son came and Weh rebranded the company, he truly showed how much he cared about community. Many said it was insane, even illogical how quickly he changed his business model, but the naysayers were proven wrong soon enough."


    His employees don''t even keep up with the revamped rules, so how much good did it really do? The minute Weh stopped holding conferences with his company, it all turned to shit. Nope, nope, don''t think about that, you''re almost done.


    "Of course, his greatest hits were his love for nature, Fire and water sports, and his particular favorite, big game, especially when he wanted barbecue! In short, Weh will be honored forevermore for his work ethic, strong connections, and the love he shared."


    A few laughs at the barbecue joke and a round of applause at the closing, and I''m bolting for the door. I see Q starting the boat, but I get stopped by Weh''s Son and the bodyguards. Man, this is not my day.


    "So, L-Boogie, great speech. I''m sure Pops would''ve loved it. You ever thought of joining the team full-time? Dad never really found someone who could fill Sam''s spot on the board."


    "No thanks, I''m fine with my dad''s company. It''s small, and sometimes has a lot of family squabbles, but it''s home."


    "Of course, totally understandable. Hey, how is your dad? I remember Dad''s stories and he said he was quite the fighter in the day."


    Don''t do it. Don''t let him rile you up.


    "He''s fine, just a bit sad nowadays. No one wanting to work with him and all that."


    "Such a shame, really, but hey, risks of the business. Always have to be prepared for losses, right? Especially in your neck of the woods; always so damn cold, it''s a miracle you guys held on so long."


    All I do is nod and brush by his guards for the exit. All he''s doing is gloating, waiting for me to strike and give him some ammo to say we''re the bad guys. Still, the guy doesn''t give up, and he places his hand on my shoulder. I turn to face him with the best fake smile I can muster.


    "Oh, and one more thing. We''ve been floating this idea of having some smaller companies make some comebacks. Nothing major, y''know, just some pop-ups to make it seem like things aren''t going well before we launch our new ad campaign."


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    "Let me guess, more guys in skinny jeans and songs about building an army?"


    "See, I knew you''d get it! So anyway, I looked at the list and you seem like the perfect guy to ask about this. What do you say? Want to feel like a big guy again?"


    I don''t know why, maybe it''s the tone, or the hand on my shoulder, but that''s the final straw. I pull out my claws and fangs and strike. Before anyone can respond, he''s on the floor and I''m ripping at those stupid nails of his. His bodyguards raise their swords to take me out, but soon I''m pulled off by none other than Sam, who''s now pushing me to the door and apologizing to the guards.


    "These young guys, I tell ya! Sometimes things just get a bit heated, yeah? No reason to make a hasty decision. I''ll take him home."


    Before I can argue, I''m getting pushed onto Q''s boat with Sam hopping in after me. He motions for Q to start rowing and he complies, not wanting to argue with such a legend. I, on the other hand, am in perfect arguing shape.


    "Why did you stop me? It doesn''t matter how much of a generous facade the guy puts on; he''s a self-centered douche."


    "And you don''t think I know that? Who do you think tried to talk Weh out of having him in the first place? That argument was part of the reason the company split."


    "Really, split? You guys have been chummy way after that split."


    He seems hurt by my statement, but he doesn''t disagree.


    "Look, I''m the first to admit that we had a few bets and freelance partnerships after we divided everything, but it wasn''t supposed to go that way. I made those contracts to try and make him look worse, not better, but he was always a master at optics."


    I''m not in the mood for a history lesson, so I get up and walk below deck. Sam seems persistent though, and he follows me.


    "I know what Weh did to your family, and it''s horrible. I also know you''re not the only one, and neither is your friend Q. There are dozens of companies that got screwed by YAH International, and none of them deserved it."


    "Your point? Stating the obvious doesn''t bring my family''s reputation back. We''ve been the butt of the joke for years while even the slightest jab at Weh gets you beat up. How am I supposed to find a bright spot in that?"


    Sam starts to pace the floor, planning what to say next. At first, I think he''s prepping a lie, but I can''t detect it. Only fear. Soon enough, he turns back to me with a serious look and asks me a question I can''t believe.


    "What if we could jab back? In a big way? No more YAH International except in history books."


    "I''d... be intrigued, but to what end? Weh has fucked up everyone''s alliances so much we''d all kill each other before we realize we could just reestablish separate areas of control."


    "That''s the hard part. We need to shut down all the companies, for good."


    I don''t know whether I should laugh or leave again. Shut down everyone? This had been their livelihood for centuries, and the plan was to just leave it all behind? It was idiotic at best, but somehow, I wanted to hear the rest of his pitch.


    "How would we do that? There''s too many people to do something on that scale."


    "I''m not saying it''d be quick, but it''d be worth it. We educate them instead of control them; give them something to work with through themselves, not us, and in time the problem would take care of itself. Sure, there''ll be a lot of ad campaigns to keep influence, and things will get ugly for a while like last time, but just like then, progress can''t be stopped."


    A part of it all made sense. Why fight head-on with old tactics and products when you can create an entirely new alternative? Weh''s son would never expect such a thing, and certainly not an alliance. A part of me wants to say yes, but I hesitate; what about my family? We''ve worked desperately to survive, and if they find out I helped Sam with this, it''d crush them.


    "What about the heads of the companies? What happens to everyone? Won''t we end up like... like Weh?"


    Sam nods and lets out a deep sigh. Clearly, this is not a plan he made lightly.


    "Loki, it''s a hard pill to swallow, but they don''t need us anymore. Sure, we were helpful when the world had a lot of unanswered questions, and when natural disasters came and they needed guidance, but we''re holding them back now. They need to fight for each other, not with, and certainly not over our dusty asses."


    "What... what would I tell my dad? My brother would kill me before I walk out the room."


    "When it''s all said and done, you tell them you''re sorry, and you cherish the time you have left. The harder we keep fighting this, the worse it gets for us and them. At least this way we go out on our own terms with a little bit of dignity left, and when YAH International retaliates, which we know they will, in worse ways than ever before at that, we do what we were made to do: Protect and guide, until we can fade peacefully."


    Sam turns to leave. He wants to give me time to think, but I know he needs an answer sooner than later.


    "How much of this plan is already set up?"


    "95%. All I need are partners to help me keep it hidden from Weh''s group until the time is right. I wouldn''t be asking if I didn''t already test all other options."


    I walk over to Sam, tears in my eyes. The thought of disappointing my family again, especially in this way, is almost more than I can bear, but I can''t help but agree with Sam. I refuse to let Weh''s underlings win for good, much less with such a smug look on their faces.


    "Weh amassed an empire, and all he used it for was to bathe the world in even more blood as people starved, died of diseases, and went through unimaginable trauma under his care, and barely anyone has been able to realize that. If we do this, we make it hurt, no matter the cost. Deal?"


    Sam at first seems shocked, but then he pulls me in for a hug and starts laughing like a little kid.


    "There''s the boy who used to lead giants into war! We''re going to put that wolf to good use, but first, let''s talk to Q. If anyone can help spread learning while blowing a few tornadoes Weh''s way to keep him confused, it''s him."


    Sam leads me on deck to talk to Q. This plan still seems counterintuitive to everything I''ve been told throughout my life, but for the first time in a long while, I feel excited; excited to have a purpose again, even if it''s for a short while, and excited to work with my friends. I had to make a promise to myself: No matter who I piss off, who comes after me, I stick to the path, because for once this is no longer about us. It''s about the billions who plan their every waking moment around us, and still go through unprecedented horrors. It''s about truly having the free will Weh loved to tote and protecting that right no matter what. And for me, it''s about finally finding justice for my people. One way or another, YAH International would pay for their crimes against humanity, cultures, and deities alike, and even I can''t lie about that.

 Fox in the Bullpen

    You''ve probably heard of hybrids, right? Lions mating with tigers, maybe a chimera or hippogriff crosses your mind. All of that is wonderful, I''m sure, but my life is nowhere near as fantastical as that. Settle in, folks; it''s backstory time.


    It all started when my mother, a lieutenant in the Taurean Forces, traveled with her troop through the Jungles of Calin during a vicious storm. Their usual route through the foliage was blocked, so they were forced to pass through Orc territory and stay the night. Each soldier in the group paid one of the townspeople for a room, with my mother staying at an apothecary''s cabin. They were apprehensive at first, but once the apothecary gave her a few tips on using Wither-Root to clean her axe, they talked the night away.


    After the storm passed and my mother left, they sent each other letters for months before she was finally released from duty and returned to the apothecary''s village to have a proper dinner. I tune out whatever happens next when my parents tell the story, but I''m sure you get the point. It all sounds like a perfect story, right? Well, there''s one problem: While my father''s home village was more on the charitable side (Or greedy, depending on how you look at it) by trading room and board for Taurean gold, the Orc and Minotaur kingdoms as a whole are vicious rivals. When my parents'' courtship grew serious, my father''s village began to deny her entry, so he started making treks to her cabin in one of the Minotaur military towns in the mountains, sneaking in by night. One day, they decided to get married, so they found a Taurean priest just drunk enough to complete the ceremony and not reveal their secret. It all would''ve continued to work just fine, except for my father''s horrible timekeeping; he did not wait until darkness had completely overtaken the town when he arrived on matrimony''s eve. When they were discovered in her home during their attempt at a honeymoon, they were banished, with my mother''s military achievements stripped. While she was most assuredly wrathful, her love for my father endured, and they left to build a new life together.


    After a few months of traveling, they settled in a human city, with my father opening a new apothecary practice and my mother becoming a bodyguard for the city''s elites. Another few months later, I, Matthew Strongholm, came to the world. Admittedly, both of them were a bit frightened when they first learned my mother was with child; an Orc-Minotaur hybrid had never existed before, so they had little idea of what to expect. They always tell me their worries dissipated the moment they saw me whenever they show me my baby photos, but I can''t seem to believe it. A baby with both tusks and horns, a tail, and spotted green-and-brown skin, with thick fur already growing on his arms and feet did not seem like an easy job, especially in a place where everyone already saw you as a sideshow. Luckily, my parents'' appearance never affected business; my dad Elbert''s apothecary always had a line, my mom Kirina protected her clients with her life, and I was always well cared for... but still, I couldn''t help but feel something was missing. Wrong, even. Whenever Orcs or Minotaurs visited the city for supplies, they always sought out my parents to exchange words. Some were simply chants of shame or calls for penance from "derogatory" ways, while others were more violent. I remember helping my father repair his shop three times before I was eight, and nursing a wound my mother sustained from her old Commander''s mace last year when I was ten.


    Somehow, all of that was easier to deal with than the isolation. At school, I was a freak, and finding solace at home was no better. I love my parents dearly, but I never had cousins to play with in the yard, or an aunt or uncle to tell me funny stories about my parents, or even a grandparent to slip me candy and toys when no one was around. It was just us. It was always us. I wasn''t the only one who felt it either; my father would talk about learning medicine with his brother, then trail off mid-sentence as if he had died, then he wouldn''t speak of it for weeks. Meanwhile my mother would always mutter names of old comrades from military school as she chopped wood. The pain of isolation crept through us like termites in a dilapidated house. Somehow, I secretly blamed myself. I was a living symbol of the sacrifice my parents made to be together. Every day, it was like small reminders of our burden popped up, whether it was a glare at the store, or my mother drinking bottles of ale during High Taurean holidays, it was everywhere. I couldn''t bear it anymore.


    One day, while my parents slept, I crept into my father''s storage room. I had helped him organize the shelves and run the shop on numerous occasions, so I knew where everything was hidden. Even the Nightshade and Monocaine. Used correctly in separate mixtures, they can be powerful medicines, but used together in any form, especially pure extract... It was stupid, I know, but I felt maybe, just maybe, if I was gone, my parents wouldn''t want to stay together. Maybe they could return to their homes and be with family again. Maybe my sacrifice would give them a better life. So, I left, walked straight into the woods surrounding the city, and waited until dawn so I could see one last sunrise. I opened the vials and mixed the contents together, the ooze reeking of pond scum as it turned a dark purple. I closed my eyes and held my nose so I could partake of the mixture without vomiting and undoing my work, but something disturbed my focus: A small blue glint in the distance. I can''t explain it, but something about the twinkle was undeniably alluring. I felt the need to follow the twinkle, then found another deeper in the trees. Soon, I was on a trail of short bursts of sapphire-colored light, leading me to a river flowing quietly down the hills. Then the glints stopped. I looked around, waiting for my eyes to reveal the source; perhaps a new kind of mushroom, or a firefly? But nothing... just me, the vials, and the bubbling water. I turned to see my reflection in the stream as my foolishness washed over me. Now, I wouldn''t even be able to see the sunrise. My foolishness seemed to increase still when I saw my reflection start to change into something quite different. Instead, I see the face of a girl about my age, with blue skin and red stripes. I think inhaling the mere odor of the nightshade-monocaine combination had already rendered me insane, until the face speaks.


    "Hello! Are you lost?"


    My only response was a scream before falling backwards, the vial breaking as I hit the ground. I simply stared at the puddle left in its wake as it burned the soil around it. I then turned back to the face in the river, now rising from the water to show her full form: A tall girl with a ponytail, butterfly wings. Of course! Fairies are known for taking morning baths in pure water... but wait, there was something else. Just below her wings flowed nine short tails with blue fur and the same red stripes, the blue glints I followed dripping off their tips. A fairy with kitsune tails? There was no way! Unless...


    "I said are you lost? Or injured, maybe? Oh, no, I don''t know how to use the dust to heal people yet, so please don''t be injured."


    "Uh- wait, what? No, I''m fine, I think."


    I got up and dusted my shirt off before turning to leave. I''d just have to get back home before my parents wake and wait until my father gets a new shipment of ingredients. The fairy-kitsune thing, however, stopped me.


    "You think? I can''t lie, you don''t look fine. What were you doing with that gunk anyway? It looks dangerous."


    "It doesn''t matter, just let me through."


    I started to get irritated and tried to push her out the way. A horrible mistake. How could I have forgotten the range of abilities both fairies and kitsune possess: Kitsune can heal and track, while fairies with enough power can read minds with a single touch. As my hand pushed her shoulder, it''s as if all the flashes of painful memories and acid-tongued thoughts wash over me, and her as well. She gasped and pulled away, then stared at me for a moment with pity in her eyes.


    "I... I''m so sorry. I''m Ramona. Do you... do you want to talk? I might know something about what you''re going through."


    "I don''t care what you saw; you don''t know a thing about me! Just leave me alone."


    "No. From what I just saw, I don''t think more solitude is the answer."


    I stepped back in shock from her comment, but I couldn''t disagree. I sat on a nearby rock in defeat and Ramona floated over next to me.


    "Sorry, that was probably a low blow. But really, I do get it. You saw my tails, right?"


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    "Kitsune and Fairies aren''t enemies, though. I''m sure your family is just fine."


    "Oh, Gods, no! My Mother''s father thought marrying a kitsune was beneath his perfect little girl, so he tried to have my dad arrested! Twice! My Father''s parents retaliated by sending mice to attack their farm, and that whole thing went on for a while, until my parents finally gave them an ultimatum: Accept it or they''ll leave for good. Now, I get two sets of really big presents every birthday out of generational guilt! Wait, maybe I shouldn''t tell you that part; my mom likes her privacy."


    "It''s fine, I won''t tell anyone. I''m glad it worked out, really, but my extended family took the second option. They don''t care about my parents anymore, and don''t even know I exist! Even trying to contact them will only end in more attacks."


    "So you thought drinking that was going to fix years of feuding?"


    "No! Maybe... I just want them to be happy. We shouldn''t have to be isolated just because of who they love. I want a family... a bigger one, anyway."


    I turned my head up to the sky for a while. I saw the sun streak by and felt a few beams dart through the branches and touch my face. Somehow, even though nothing changed, I felt a bit better. It felt nice to finally tell someone about this without judgment. I assumed Ramona already left so her family wouldn''t worry, but instead I turned to see her writing furiously on a piece of dead bark. When I started to ask what she''s doing, she finished up and thrust the bark into my arms.


    "Take this and show it to your parents, and maybe tell them a little bit about how you''re feeling too. It''s not a total fix, but if you come here it might help."


    Before I could say thank you, she darted back into the trees. I studied the bark and saw Ramona drew some sort of crude map. Not the best penmanship, given she was pressed for time, but it''s legible. I turned for home and decided to take Ramona''s words to heart; it wasn''t like there was much that could go wrong from me telling them, right? I got back home just as my parents were waking up and preparing for the day, and am met with eyes of shock and fear as I walked through the door.


    "Matthew! What are you doing out this early? Are you okay?"


    "I''m fine, Mom, it''s just... I''ve been thinking about something lately."


    "Well, you know you can tell us anything. Clean yourself off and tell us what you needed to think about outside in the middle of the night."


    I washed up quickly and came back downstairs. I explained everything: How I was feeling, the mixture, Ramona, the map. I could see the pain in their eyes when I laid out my night, and the ideations that preceded it. It started with anger, then sadness, and a bit of guilt for not discussing this sooner. Once I''m finished, my father walks over and pulls me in for a hug.


    "I''m sorry, Matthew. We never wanted this for you; we dreamed of one day having family visit so you could see everyone, but they''ve never responded to our pleas. We want you to be happy, to have a community... now, I can''t say I feel the best about taking the word of a random child in the woods, but if you feel safe following this map, I''ll go with you. Kirina?"


    All my mother can do without crying is nodding and walking over to hug me. The next morning, my mother woke us up early and hands me and my father two large packs full of supplies and clothes. My father can''t help but chuckle.


    "Always overprepared, eh?"


    "Of course. No fairy or kitsune is going to take our child without a fight!"


    After a light breakfast, we set off, following the directions Ramona had given me. At first, the trip was easy; a few rolling hills, cutting through some dense trees, and we were halfway there. However, once the terrain turned to rough, cragged rocks and a steep incline up a mountain, I silently wished I had my mother''s hooves to scale the stone instead of my father''s large, flat feet. My mother did not let us fall behind, though, and whenever we began to slow down she would grab our collars and pull us a few feet forward past some of the larger rocks. I was embarrassed, but my father seemed happy enough for reasons I dare not try to discover. After another hour, we found ourselves at the precipice, stretching out into a large valley surrounded by large trees with buildings of all kinds carved into their trunks and built into the high branches. A stream bubbled through the square as a group of children played in the water. The children, and the town as a whole, however, were not fairies nor kitsune. Every child me and my parents spotted was a mixture of parts; a boy with the tail of a monkey and the scales of a snake flung from the trees, while a girl with birdlike wings and devilish red skin ate a small pastry, and further still, an Ent and Siren walked down the street with a set of twins, with shimmering purple scales and kelp and vines growing from the back and legs. My parents and I stood and gawked at the sights of the town, drawing a few eyes our way... but instead of looking at us with suspicion, we were met with gazes of welcome and warmth.


    Our stupor was finally disrupted when I heard a familiar flitting coming our way, followed by a taller kitsune and fairy: Ramona and her parents, with Ramona pointing excitedly in our direction.


    "See! Those are the ones I told you about! From the forest!"


    Ramona''s parents waved at mine and shook their hands. Ramona''s father smiled with slight embarrassment and gestured for us to walk with them.


    "Hello, my name is Eret, and this is my wife Udonna. Ramona told us a lot about you. We''re sorry our daughter gave you such a scare, but it''s somewhat of a town policy to spread the word when we find others."


    "Other what, exactly," my father asked with curiosity and a hint of concern.


    "Hybrid couples. There is so much disdain between so many kingdoms, that years ago it was decided that this place be built away from prying eyes. Whether people live, work, or simply enjoy themselves here, it is a safe haven. A place of-"


    "Community," my mother said with a wide smile. Udonna nodded and returned my mother''s smile but turned to Ramona when a loud bell rung throughout the town.


    "Oh, Ramona, you''re going to be late for group! Say, if it''s alright with Matthew and his parents, what if you take him with you while we give Kirina and Elbert a tour?"


    Ramona was practically exploding with excitement, nodding rapidly in agreement. I turned to my parents to see if it''s alright, and they gave me the okay.


    "As long as they''re safe, it''s fine with us. Now, where can we get one of those pastries I saw someone eating earlier?"


    Eret laughed and began to lead my parents toward a shop with a flume of delicious smelling steam flowing out of the window, while Ramona led me to a small cabin in the corner of the town square. She knocked on the door rapidly and turned to me with a grin.


    "You''re going to love it, trust me!"


    The door opened and revealed an elderly centaur... with the face of a panther instead of a man. He turned to me and clapped his hands.


    "Ah, I see you found a friend, Ramona! Welcome; it''s always nice to have new visitors."


    He walked us in, and even though I''m a bit unnerved given no one has explained what this "group" is for, the smell of cookies immediately disarmed me until it is followed by a thick cloud of smoke. We turned the corner and saw a group of children (Some of the ones I saw earlier included among them) in the kitchen, attempting to salvage a batch of smore''s. The centaur teacher let out a "tsk" and walked over to help.


    "You two may take a seat if you like. We''ll begin group in a moment."


    "S-sir, what is this group for, exactly?"


    "Ramona didn''t tell you? Here, the children of town can discuss what it means to just ''be'', and how they connect their two somewhat conflicting identities. Sure, discussing this with your parents is fine, but sometimes it''s nice to find others who know the experience firsthand, yes?"


    I''m stunned. All this time, even if there weren''t other Orc-Minotaurs out there... there were people who understood. I had considered my uniqueness a burden for so long, so isolating, but it seemed there were places my uniqueness was a strength after all. I turned to Ramona, who whispers "Do you still want to be alone?", then turned to the teacher with a smile.


    "Yes, that sounds... nice. Actually, do you need some help with the cookies? Maybe we can talk while we bake and clean."


    "Excellent idea! Grab a cloth and some sugar, and we''ll get to work."


    I grabbed the supplies and brought them over. I turned to the other students, began to learn everyone''s names, even shared a few laughs, and let it all wash over me; I could finally be seen for all of me, not just one half or the other. I was finding my place. I was finding the things we all need in one way or another: Peace, connections, and Community.

 Error

    "Finishing Strike! Phoenix Blade!"


    The hit comes before I have a second to dodge. The blade strikes right at my neck, the flames entering my bloodstream like webbing. Soon, I''m enveloped in fire, and my charred corpse is stretched on the ground. My enemy stands victorious and proceeds to the castle, and my eyes close as I hear a booming voice overhead:


    "Rokar the Terrible has been defeated! Flawless victory!"


    The chime of the warrior claiming his prize rings in my ears right before I turn to dust... and then, 10 minutes later, I''m right back where it all starts: Another player, covered in the latest event armor, aided by an animal companion with the most atrocious name I can think of, ready to gain the Eye of Darkness by slaying me. Every day, about 30 players ranging from level 10 to 100 come here and duke it out as that stupid soundtrack plays overhead. Sometimes I win, and they spend another month gathering gold and spells to fight again, but the losses leave me with aches for weeks, and there''s a lot more losses than I care to admit. You''d think being the evil mascot for this game, I''d get some help; a few minions, some high-level spells, but nope! Anyone with at least a level 15 and some fire incantations can just come in and blow me to bits, with the only relief I get being when someone tries a cheat code and the ''Guardians'' (It''s really just overgrown rhinos in fancy armor) come to haul them away and knock the players down a couple levels.


    It wasn''t always like this. When the developers made the first model, I was supposed to be the king of the Shadow Realm. A nigh-unstoppable enemy with four might generals at my beck and call, but then the testing reviews came in saying I didn''t fit the ''vibe'' of the campaign, but I blame the forums. A deep dive on any given day and it''s just evil queens with bosoms the size of my mace. Well, apparently my creators were into that, and Empress Li''Ella was born in my place. My developers really liked my design, though, so they tried for a few months finding me a new job: A shopkeeper, a side quest NPC, and my favorite, the bartender. Damn, you get some looks at really weird mods doing that gig. When did tentacle hair become trendy? Either way, the testers still didn''t like me, so here I am... the dim-witted guard captain to one of Li''Ella''s strongholds. A woman I''ve only met during monthly repair meetings (Who is a grade-A asshole, by the way), and I''m supposed to be her undying manservant. I''m such a joke, even the players have created memes and stickers about it: A miniature version of me called "Rokar the Re"- you know what, you get the point. The gig is bad, the pay is nonexistent, and there''s no choice in the matter.


    Everything goes on like usual until the next repair shutdown. Everyone knows the drill: Players get kicked off for a few hours for updates and everyone gets a nice break. I could go down to the pub, get a pitcher of ale, but the last time I did that, Li''Ella and the Horsemen spent the entire time singing about their greatest wins... and the best jokes they heard about me. Instead, I decide to just look around a bit. Sure, I''ve seen it all a million times, memorized every note of this ridiculous lyre and pan flute music playing everywhere, even ridden the dragons and unicorns in a couple races during the early days, but it''s still nice to stretch my legs and get away from the tower. Now, it''s just me and the surrounding forest, not a sound except... wind and footsteps. Icy wind and footsteps, at that. Sure, it''s a medieval MMORPG, so you expect a few Ice Golems and mountain raiders, but they hate the forest. The only other thing in this game that sounds like that is the Snow Seeker Armor that was added two months ago, but it''s impossible; no one can enter during shutdown. Curious, I decide to follow the sound, maybe find an unexpected addition before anyone else, but instead my eyes meet those of a man with a long beard, a monocle, and the very suit of armor I just mentioned, with a flashing "Level 28" sign above his head. Before I can interrogate him on how he''s here, instinct takes over. I grab my mace from my back and charge at him, knowing full well he has more than enough levels to beat me, but instead of conjuring a spell against me, he just... pleads.


    "C''mon man, give me a break! We both spent 200 bucks on this cheat. If we die during shutdown our account could be wiped. Let''s just work together and search, okay?"


    He... he thinks I''m a player?! Has this guy even seen the poster? Then again, I don''t recognize his face from a fight, so maybe he''s just forgetful, and possibly dense. Must be if he spent 200 dollars just to sneak around for upgrades. I think it over for a minute, and realize that no matter how I handle this, there''s no trouble for me, so I drop my mace and shake the guy''s hand.


    "Sure. I''m... Randy. Who are you, and where are ya heading?"


    "I''m E-Money209, and I want to try finding that rumored pit with the mummy staff."


    Joke''s on him; they removed that pit last summer. I decide to play along a bit though, just for kicks.


    "Oh, yeah, I know that place. It''s between the forest edge and the mountains. I''ll show you."


    "Woah, thanks! Nice Rokar mod by the way. He''s one of my favorite characters, at least, his original version was."


    It hits me like a train, the memory of my former glory. Even more shocking, someone remembers it. I stammer for an answer that doesn''t give me away.


    "Y-yeah, mine too. Shame what those testers said about him."


    "Testers? The test reviews loved him, it was the producers who got horny and wanted a dom for a lead villain."


    "W-what... No, no, I saw the reviews. They flamed Rokar."


    "Yeah, that''s what they told the staff for a while, but it came out a couple months ago that they changed him for no reason."


    The fond memories are immediately replaced with rage. The men I saw as family, as visionaries, had done this to me for nothing. My throne was stolen from me for laughs and boys on the internet who want a cheap thrill. My ears start ringing and I don''t even notice where I''m walking anymore until E-Money knocks me into some bushes.


    "WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!"


    E immediately shushes me and points to the tree above me, where a poisonous arrow flickers with 0s and 1s. E then turns his finger to the tree line, where a similarly glitchy warrior wields a crossbow.


    "A reset shot cheat. I thought they patched it already, but one must have slipped through. You get hit with one of those, and all your armor, gold, achievements... poof."


    I run cold. For E, it is only the loss of a few play hours, but if it hit me, it could be the end. A part of me would love to be free of having to fight another player with "6969" in his user, but my fury fuels me to survive, so I lead E-Money through the bushes away from the glitcher. Of course, my foot is the size of a log, so our retreat does not last for long. The glitcher spots us, so E and I begin running at full speed away from our attacker''s arrows. I turn back for a split second, and see an arrow whizzing by E''s arm, barely missing my head. E falls to the ground, blood and gold leaking from his arm. I stop and run back to him.


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    "E! Are you okay? What''s happening?"


    "I-I''m getting re-re-reset, buddy. Like I said... a-all it takes is one... hit..."


    E-Money''s form dissipates in my arms, leaving behind only his helmet, and he''s gone. Now, the assailant is standing over me in triumph, ready to strike. I left my mace a few yards behind, so I''m defenseless, but even if I had it, I wouldn''t have been able to retaliate. I hear him load the crossbow, but a familiar hum begins. The glitcher turns around to face a bright ray of light, and soon he''s cursing uncontrollably.


    "Shit! Goddamn it, I thought they''d be deactivated! Motherfu-"


    The glitcher disintegrates and is replaced by the form of two large Guardians holding warhammers. They look upon me with confusion.


    "Rokar, what are you doing this far from the tower? And why are you holding a Snow Seeker helmet? Was there another player we need to take care of?"


    "N-no, it was just me. I went out for a stroll and the guy jumped me."


    "Hmph, and you were supposed to be the Shadow King. We''ll take care of this, and you go back home."


    I nod absently and stroll back home, E-Money''s helmet still in my hands. It''s strange; after so long being left without a fan or even basic respect, those few minutes of friendship meant everything. Then, two things hit me: One, the news of my betrayal, and the need to repay the pain I was caused somehow. Two, the helmet... the cheat is still inside of it. I wonder what it might do for me?"


    The next day, I''m back to the daily grind, with E''s helmet hanging on my hip. The first player, a level 40 with another Phoenix Blade, comes and prepares for a one shot aimed at my leg, but instead of an instant kill... he''s gone. A pile of gold and armor is left in front of me, and E-Money''s helmet glows an ominous aqua. I now know what the residual effects of both cheats offer me: Redemption. That day, as long as I hold the helmet just right when they strike, no one is able to defeat me. Days turn into a week, turn into a month of endless "Rokar Wins. All Hail the Shadow Realm!" chants as I march victoriously through the halls. Then, the next shutdown comes, along with a knock on my door. I walk over with a pep in my step that is instantly stolen as I look upon the two Guardians, who stare at me with rage.


    "Just a random helmet, eh? You really thought we wouldn''t notice your bumbling arse winning every fight? The complaints are astonishing! You''re harder to beat than Li''Ella."


    "You mean the witchcore whore who stole what was mine?! I deserve to be harder than Li''Ella; I''m the Shadow King!"


    "Wrong. You were the Shadow King until the developers realized Amazonians were in style, and kicked your generic ass down here."


    My mouth drops. This wasn''t even a secret kept from the entirety of the game''s inhabitants. Just me. The butt of the joke once again. The guardians stretch their hands toward the helmet.


    "Give it to us. We''re going to patch those cheats once and for all, and that''s final."


    I grip E''s helmet close to my chest, anger coming off of me like a dark aura.


    "You don''t understand what this has done for me. I deserve this! I deserve all of this! I''ll never go back."


    The Guardians pull their hands back and nod. Behind them appears a crystalline serpent warrior with whips growing out of his wrists.


    "And who is this? The precursor to a new pair of boots?"


    "No, he''s your replacement. Developers have gotten tired of trying to keep you around, so since you won''t go willingly, consider this a hostile takeover. Hope you like TV, Rokar."


    The white light envelopes me, and soon, I''m in a long black hall surrounded by screens showing me every inch of the game. Players fighting horsemen, Li''Ella, and each other. I look behind me and find large piles of bones. At first, I think it''s only a scare tactic, until I look closer... every character removed from Beta and Alpha files, all turned into this from lack of use. It''s horrifying, but I can''t help but be confused: There''s too many bones. Outside of a few enemy units and one horribly designed Jester NPC, there were no characters deleted. What are the other few dozen skeletons from? I traverse the hallway, finding nothing more than footage of Li''Ella''s victories until I hit a crossroads. Three crossroads, in fact. I quickly peer a few feet down each one, and it''s like nothing I''ve seen before: One hall shows a pixel game with strange beasts frolicking and running from little kids, another shows a well armored man with a large gun fighting insects, and the third shows a dinosaur in a cage, now being upgraded into some kind of exhibit. This wasn''t just a place for old assets to die, it was a connection between the games my developers had created. I had no idea they had made anything else. They were a small indie team. How could they manage this? But no, they were clearly much bigger now. I walk down each hall and gaze for hours at the amazing things in each world, astounded by the endless surprises, then I turn back to E-Money''s helmet. The second glitch that infected it had given me my unstoppable power, but I wonder... did the first of these still work?


    I walk to the space-and-insect themed hallway and spot a large spider-like being on a throne, cackling over world domination while surrounded by his followers, and touch my hand to the computer. A crackle erupts from the screen, and my hand begins to slip through to the other world... but no, not yet. If I go now, the equivalent to the Guardians in this game would find me and kill me for good. I had to wait. But how could I fill my time? An answer immediately greets me as I turn to the screen just below the large spider and see a small minion scuttling in the halls. He''s carrying loads of boxes, and I can just barely hear him muttering over his disdain for his duties. It''s almost too perfect.


    I reach into the screen and grab the creature, pulling him out to face me. His face is filled with shock and confusion as he whips around to understand his surroundings.


    "Wha-what is this place?! What are you doing? B-Belial shall have your head for this."


    "This Belial will do no such thing. Do you really think he cares about a single peon? He has thousands under his command; he considers all of you expendable. That''s why he sends you against the big bad soldiers every day, right? Knowing you''ll probably never return while he sits on his throne laughing at you."


    The beast looks hurt, mostly because he thinks this is true. I should know; it''s the entire reason I''m in the hellscape. He looks me in the eye, his entire body quaking in my hands.


    "W-who are you?"


    "You may call me Rokar... Rokar the Shadow King. Tell me, do you want power? Rise in the ranks and show your comrades you''re stronger than they could ever imagine? To no longer be tied down by Belial''s ridiculous tasks?"


    His face starts to perk up a bit, his pincers flexing with intrigue.


    "I''d love that, but it''s impossible. No one can overcome the great Spider Lord."


    "I can. I brought you here, right? I can give you power unimaginable, and you would be my top general. I could even find a way to give you a better, stronger form. Something worthy of a conqueror."


    I wasn''t sure I could deliver that last one, but if I could find one cheat code, I''m sure I could find another for that. Either way, he''s practically pulsing with excitement.


    "What is your name, little one?"


    "Yoth''Kr, Sir. What would I need to do to get this power, oh Shadow King?"


    "Tell me everything you know about your world. Once you''re done, I''ll show you around and we can get a few more friends. Sounds good?"


    Yoth nods and I release him, his immediate instinct to bow to his new master. As he begins to tell me of the asteroids and space machines that fill his universe, I traverse the other halls, deciding upon my next selections. I''d have to move slowly, strategically, but it''d be worth it in the end. Once I''m done with these worlds, my creators'' reputation will be in ruins. I will have shown them, and everyone else who doubted me, just how worthy of power I was, and they''ll all be sorry... that is, if I even give them the chance to show me...

 Just a Little Sparkle

    Wake up at 6 AM, make a breakfast sandwich and coffee, and hop in the car. It''s been my routine for 5 years since I started at Hidden Gem Marketing, and I can''t think of one thing I could change... except for the incessant buzzing that''s been following me since sophomore year of college. From sunrise to sunset, that stupid scoreboard has been following me with a flashing "3.5 Stars!"


    Most would think a 3.5-star review is decent, right? Not when you''re judged on a scale of 10, and all your siblings have an 8 or 9. Want to know what kind of competition I''m up against, or why we even have a scoreboard judging our every move? Let''s get started.


    We first saw the scoreboard at 18, right after high school graduation, but I had heard about it since 5. My dad wanted to hide it from all of us, but my mom loved the bottle a bit too much and things slipped out quite a bit. I never told the others though; the mothers got into arguments over the littlest thing, and I never wanted to set them off. That''s right, mothers. I grew up in a setting far,  far from the nuclear family. Our dad, Ezekiel Brant, was a geneticist, CEO, real Richy-rich type. For one reason or another, he never married, but always wanted kids, so he used some of his medical connections, found 16 single, low-income women from fertility clinics and made a deal: If they come to live on his family farm and use his ''seed'' to have a child, he''d pay for all of our expenses, schooling, everything. It sounds like the start of a dystopian horror movie, but it was actually fun growing up. I was always surrounded by different cultures, there was great food from the mothers competing every day, and dad was surprisingly fun. He always made time to play games with us (My personal favorite was when he took me to painting classes), go on field trips, and give advice. He even acted protective whenever we brought partners home; I''ll never forget how scared my boyfriend from my summer job in high school was when my dad asked him questions ranging from particle physics to how he defined a "person''s sparkle" while everyone got plates at dinner. Even after that, and wrapping his head around my football team of a family, he still wanted to date until we lost touch freshman year. After that, finding guys that could deal with 6 sisters and 9 brothers became... challenging.


    It didn''t help that I always had a drone following and filming me, calculating everything from food choices to sleep schedule. The purpose? So my dad could understand how each of our brains worked, how we would approach life, and testing nature vs nurture to new extremes. He could''ve just given each of us a weekly call, sure, but he liked to be thorough. 8-10 meant you had achieved a high level of personal success, but anything under 6 meant you had a lot of work to do. Now imagine being under 4. When it first started, we were all 10s, but after freshman year we sank like rocks to 2s and 3s as we figured out how to navigate the real world. Everyone except me. All my siblings were extremely smart, but I held the best test scores since middle school. I always knew what I wanted to study (Double major in business and psychology) and nothing could stop me. I was riding a solid 7.8 until summer sophomore year. Then Junior year came, and things got... strange. 6 of my siblings left college to pursue random crap like creative internships and hard labor trades, 7 more moved overseas to work with farms and eco-villages, and the other 2 joined film programs. Film. Their grades flew out the window, while I joined the honor program, and somehow their numbers soared to 7 and 8 and I fell to 5. I was devastated; I was always close with our father, and I''ll admit I was never great with tech, but I automatically began to feel a strange distrust to my dad and his experiment. What kind of algorithm could value their gallivanting over my hard work? I studied my ass off, graduated valedictorian (In four years, mind you! Not an overage in sight!) and yet it sunk another .5. Sure, my filmmaking siblings had a few award-winning short films, so of course their scores are a solid 8, but the rest ranged from starving artists to bleeding heart farmers to falling off the family grid entirely, and they all held the same level.


    Soon, the change in their voices started. The "Oh, you poor thing" voice. "What a sad little girl." It was nauseating; I had spent my life swearing to keep far away from the image of what my mother had done with herself, and even after all of my accomplishments they treated me the same way they treated her. I couldn''t bear it anymore, so when I landed my executive assistant role at Hidden Gem, I cut contact. I blocked any news story with their names, deleted numbers, all to escape any mention of my family''s convoluted view of the world. And yet the scores followed me. Everyone getting higher and higher numbers, barely ever dropping, and my name flashing with a red hue. I couldn''t help but imagine the laughter and shame they must''ve felt. How could their sister possibly fail in their father''s eyes? How could such a smart woman have such low standing with her own family? The more I thought about it, the harder I fought to prove myself to everyone around me. How else could I move from a go-fer to a manager to a vice president in half a decade, hmm? Only someone with vigor, with strength could do something so daring, right? So why did it still feel so pointless?


    Now, back to today. I get in my car, drive to the office, and my assistant stops me with a grim look before I even walk through the door.


    "Ms. Brant, I''m afraid I have some bad news. It''s a man claiming to be one of your brothers. Joel, I think?"


    "Oh, right, the body-horror shutterbug. What does he want?"


    "He says your father''s sick; something with his pancreas. They just found out, but it''s progressing quickly. He''s telling all of your siblings to gather for goodbye."


    A sharp pain washes over me. All of that anger I hold disappears for a moment. I stand completely still, considering what I should do for a moment, but I know there''s only one answer: If I wanted to say goodbye to my father, make up for a small piece of lost time, I''d have to endure the looks, the jokes, and the unspoken gripes of my family. Even if it was going to be like walking over hot coals, after all the pain this experiment has caused me, I''d do it. For him. I tell the board members I''d be taking some of my years'' worth of unused vacation days, and after the initial shock of learning I had family, the approval email hit my phone. I book my plane ticket for the next day and immediately pack my essentials. As I board the plane the next day, I''m met with a strange sight: For the first time in years, my score increases. It''s only .3, but still, it felt good, albeit a bit odd something as simple as stopping work and visiting my dying parent would bump it up.


    My brother Joel is the one who picks me up from the airport, his perfect little 9 hanging over his head as we walk to the car. Outside of the soft rock playing over the radio, we drive in silence, although I can''t help but shrivel my nose when I study his car; an old pickup with a faint smell of corn baked into the seats. He has 3 Oscars. Why would he willingly drive this? He seems to notice my expression, and before we turn the bend toward the farm, he turns and laughs.


    "I like to keep things simple. This truck has been with me since I started. All the ups and downs, and this baby always knows how to keep me going. It''s like a creative jumpstart, you know?"


    I merely shrug and stare out the window. Creativity, at least the kind he was referring too, had been out of my wheelhouse for quite some time.


    We drive up to the gold gates outside the farm, and it''s exactly as I remember: 16 giant cabins spread across the fields in a circle, with the large silver and black farmhouse sitting in the middle like a fair king''s castle. Recently, I had seen my father as anything but ''fair", but I kept whatever opinions I had locked away. I couldn''t make this moment about my grudge, especially with everyone here. Joel''s car stops in front of the main house, and I get out to look over the acres. It''s just as beautiful as I left, but I see a few new additions: Leafy greens, slender cane-like stalks, and small, dark bushes... wait a minute...


    "Oh, you can''t be serious. Dad let Levi grow that here?"


    "Yeah, he was skeptical at first but it helped when his arthritis got bad, so he let him add it to the family crop."


    "Wait, he has arthritis too? Why did no one..."


    I stop myself before I can finish the sentence; it''s my own fault I''ve been kept out of family business. Instead of getting mad, Joel walks over and gives me a hug. It catches me off guard, but I can''t help but embrace him.


    "We can tell you all about it, okay? Everyone''s really excited to see you. Everyone."


    He lets go and opens the door, but I''m confused why he put so much emphasis on ''everyone.'' My mother fell off the wagon and left after graduation, so I know she''d be one of the last people Dad would try to find on his deathbed. I follow Joel into the kitchen, with its shiny white walls and expansive stove filled with scents of the same baked bread and pasta recipes we used to make when we were kids. Two of my siblings, Rodney and Ella, glide from station to station preparing the food while Levi washes some corn in the sink. Everyone else is gathered around the table, but everyone stops when me and Joel walk in, all eyes landing on me. I''m at a loss for words for a moment, but I eventually wave my hand and show a small smile.


    "Hey, sibs... How''s life been?"


    A few of them look a bit displeased to see me (I swear I hear my sister Natalie call me an obscenity in one of those dead languages she researches), and I can''t blame them, but Joel seems to show some unspoken gesture, and everyone gets up and hugs me. Rodney even makes me a plate filled with polenta and meatballs, my favorite meal. I smile and take the plate, and nearly fall over once I take a bite.


    "Oh, my God, this is delicious! You two really have some skills!"


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    "Yeah, you pick up a thing or two at Apicius. Besides, they don''t give Michelins to just anyone."


    "You got a Star?! Ella, that''s amazin-"


    "We both got a star. At the restaurant we opened. How the fuck do you no-"


    "We''ll cover all that later, guys. Do you want to wake Dad from his nap?"


    Rodney and Ella back off and walk back to the kitchen, but they give me one last glare. I expected it, but I feel a different emotion than what I expected. Instead of anger, or pity from expecting some of them to have given up their pursuits, I feel... shame. And for some reason, envy? I know my worth, and I have an amazing life, but their lives all seem so exciting. I spot the posters for Joel and Sasha''s movies in the corner, next to Eli''s platinum album, and a magazine showing Lisa''s announced pregnancy after winning the world cup. I look closer at the date and realize that was 2 years ago. On the table next to the magazine is a swathe of framed family pictures... she had twins. In fact, half of my siblings had 1-3 kids, and I didn''t know any of their names. I had been an aunt for years, and I didn''t even know it. A door down the hallway opens, and I turn to see who''s walking out; everyone is around the table except for everyone''s mothers and Dad himself, but instead of any parents exiting, I''m face to face with yet another facet of my past: Thomas, my high school boyfriend, wearing a pair of purple scrubs. He stammers for a moment, and I stammer back, until Joel gets up and slaps him on the back.


    "When Dad started going downhill, he started going to Mayo for treatment, and we saw Thomas had become a nurse there. He remembered how he held up to his questioning when we were teenagers and decided to hire him as his full-time aid."


    "W-Wow! That''s amazing. You left a position at the Mayo Clinic to help out my Dad?"


    "Of course. Your family was always so welcoming and loving, and I was getting tired of the rat race in Minnesota, so I thought ''why not?'' How... How have you been? I heard you''re a VP at an ad agency? How fun is that?"


    "Yeah, it''s nice, but not really much time for fun. Calls, emails, and meetings fill a lot of my days."


    "Well, there''s nothing like coming home to fix that, right?"


    I smile and nod, and just look at him for a moment. God, he aged well. He smiles back, and Joel seems to notice since he clears his throat and pats Thomas again.


    "So, T-Bone, how''s Pops doing? Is he okay for visitors?"


    "Oh, yes, he just woke up. He''s feeling better at the moment, so if someone wants to talk to him, you can go in."


    Joel thanks Thomas and Ella hands him a plate, encouraging him to sit. He walks over to a seat, but turns to me again.


    "It was nice seeing you after so long. I can''t believe we lost touch."


    "Y-yeah, I just got the new job, and was so busy, and I didn''t want to, you know, put you through a big ''thing.''"


    I gulp hard, nerves turning my legs to jelly, but Thomas just shrugs.


    "It''s fine. We were young, we''ve both changed a lot. Bygones be bygones, right?"


    I nod in agreement, but before we can continue, I hear a cough coming from Dad''s room.


    "Is-is that my dear Hazel? Come in; it''s been so long since we''ve talked."


    I''m frozen. It''s been so long since I''ve heard my first name and not ''Ms. Brant'' that it feels foreign, not to mention hearing Dad in his weakened state. He sounds frail, and I can tell he doesn''t have long left. I walk down the hall to talk to him, and Joel follows me, but Dad raises his hand.


    "Just us this time."


    Joel seems stunned, but he nods and closes the door. Dad gestures for me to sit on his bedside, and I oblige.


    "I remember when you used to sneak over and sit right here to pull the tablet out of my hands so I could stop focusing on work and help you draw. You were only five, but you were already so wise."


    For a minute, I can barely remember that time, but soon it comes back to me. I remember the feeling of my old leather notebook and colored pencils and dragging anyone in sight to watch me trace the flowers in the yard. I wonder what happened to that book. Dad snaps me out of the memory with his hand on my shoulder. It feels colder, thinner than I remember.


    "So, tell me what you''ve been up to."


    "You already know, Dad. You see from the... you know."


    "Sure, I see the outside; the interviews, the new campaigns, the big events, but what about inside, hmmm? You''re telling me you haven''t found a way to ditch the drones for a moment for a date or maybe a nice relaxing trip?"


    "Dad, you know I can''t leave work for that stuff. I have too many people I need to look after to worry about that."


    "Funny... I had biotech company for 40 years and I still made sure to watch you kids grow up, and still made sure to find someone new to run it that wouldn''t turn into a comic book villain."


    "You sold the company?! But Dad, that''s our legacy! No one in the family wanted to run it?"


    "I didn''t want anyone in the family to run it. They have their own paths to create, and hell, they all hate the business more than me."


    "What do you mean? I thought it was your passion. You always loved helping people, and finding solutions to the world''s problems, and-"


    Dad pulls me in close, to the point he''s staring me in the eye, and I feel his wavering breath on my forehead, just like when I was little and got in trouble for not doing my chores. I know he means business.


    "I was interested in it, sure. I saw it as a science-fiction tale, a massive story all under my direction. But I hated the day-to-day; it was nauseating. It turned away from why I actually joined the field to endless budgets in a blink. I wanted to change careers, become a professor, but then we always made new breakthroughs and I felt obligated to stay. I lost the thing that made me sparkle, and I''ll always regret that. Do you understand what I''m saying, Hazel?"


    "Wh- are you saying I should regret my career?"


    I step back from his grip with a furious look. I pace the room, confused at how the conversation turned.


    "I thought you''d be proud of me, but instead you look at my life like a failure!"


    "Darling, that''s not entirely tr-"


    "A 3. A 3, Dad! Tell me, what is it about my position that pisses you off so bad?"


    "BECAUSE YOU LOST YOUR SPARKLE TOO! Your artwork was amazing, and you just pushed it to the side to prove a point! You are a master of your craft, yes, but painting, sketching, any form of art was your passion, your fated purpose, and don''t act like I''m lying. Don''t tell the others, but Hazel, the drones and scores were never about how much wealth you amounted or what position you rose to. Sure, it''s nice perks, and it gives you a lot of options in life, but the point was who could tap into their sparkle; personal success meant personal satisfaction, happiness, pleasure! As long as no one is hurt and my children could find ways to enjoy their lives while enriching others, that is all I ever wanted."


    I''m stunned. I always thought he cared about the money we made, or the accolades, but it all boiled down to joy? It was a bit trite, but I suppose that''s a deal many kids would dream of.


    "I-it doesn''t matter. I''m sorry you couldn''t pursue your dream, I really am, but I am perfectly fine with my career. Sketching was just a-"


    "Hobby? Tell that to the smile you had when you held a pencil, or when you cried in awe when we went to the art museum, or when you dressed up as famous painters for Halloween. You never had that kind of happiness when it came to your studies, and certainly not your job. Every finals, you called me in tears. Every meeting, there was a panic attack. After every donor event, there were tears, vomiting, and sleepless nights. That is not how life should... be..."


    Dad starts to gasp for breath and a beeping starts in the corner of the room. Thomas rushes in to feel his chest and Joel picks me up and pulls me into the hall.


    "What happened to him? Is he going to be alright?"


    "He should be fine. It spread to his lungs and he gets choked up when he''s excited, but it usually passes. What were you guys talking about?"


    I don''t think I have the strength to tell him yet. Especially since most of it revolves around a piece of information Dad told me not to share. Instead I just cry silently and Joel pulls me in for another hug.


    "I''m going to stay a while longer, if you''ll have me. I need to stay for as long as dad has, and to help with whatever you guys want around here. I have a year of vacation days, two months of sick days, and if I pull a few strings, maybe I can- I can..."


    "It''s okay, Sis, you can stay as long as you need. Whatever it is, we''ll work it out together, okay? It''ll be fine. You''re gonna be fine. You''re home now."


    I sniffle and cough for a few more minutes, then once I''m somewhat composed, I turn to look at Thomas, giving my father an injection to put him back to sleep, then to the basement door on the other side of the hall.


    "Hey, maybe while I''m here I can relearn some of the family trades? Help Levi farm, maybe get some cooking tips from Ella before she lobs my head off. And possibly... look through some of my old stuff downstairs. I think I left something really important here. Thomas seems to know the house pretty well nowadays."


    Joel smiles a knowing smile and pats me on the back.


    "Oh yeah, did I mention he''s been single for a few years now? Anyway, I''m sure he''d love to help you around here, catch up. As long as you stay in your own cabin and give me absolutely zero details, family therapy will go just fine."


    I give him a joking punch but follow it with one more hug. I look down the hall and see my siblings. My family. I had seen them in such horrible lights for so long, trapped in my own bubble, while they thrived and built their lives. I don''t know what Joel''s idea of ''Family therapy'' would look like, but I know it''d certainly be rough. But I''d deal with it as long as we can learn each other''s lives and I can eventually meet my nieces and nephews, even if we have to get unconventional. Besides, I hear art therapy is all the rage now...

 Keep Breathing

    "Thank you, Dr. Rael; I finally feel confident enough to ask her out! I''ll update you next week like usual?"


    "Of course, Ethan. I''m sure it will go great!"


    Last patient of the day gets up and walks out. I won''t sugarcoat it; he has a 50% chance of this going his way, but what matters is the confidence, right? At least, that''s what a good portion of this job is. Give people a kind, listening ear; add in a few caring nudges to get them on the right track; prescribe the occasional sedative, and you''re through. I enjoy helping people through their issues, no matter how bleak or downright icky, but I have a bit of selfishness tied up with the happiness I get from my profession. The drama of my patients'' personal lives has a way of keeping me... level. The more I focus on their latest bout with their abusive boss or how they communicate with the neighbor who has parties at 3 A.M., the less time I have to look inward. I''m sure it sounds backwards for a psychologist to steer away from his personal struggles, but even I must admit some boxes are better left unopened.


    Once my receptionist clocks out for the day, I grab my coat from my office closet and walk to the door, keys in hand. I turn to my watch and see the time with unease: 5:15. How could we have gone half an hour over our time? Had he really explained his plan to ask Tracy out that many times?! I usually take my medicine at 5, but of course I forgot the bottle at home. If I use the alleyways on my drive, maybe I can make it in time. I walk to the door to hurry home, but instead of seeing the plaid hallway I''ve grown accustomed to, a man with a green dress shirt, matching slacks, and wingtips stands in my doorway with a grim stare. I''m used to a random person coming to me after hours for an evaluation, and usually I convince them to leave without any extra intervention, but something about this man is extra unsettling. Something in the way the light from the hallway bounces off his skin, or the flutter in his eyes, or even the strange thickness in his breath that seems to add a chill to the air. I step back and smile thinly at the man, making sure to avoid using my ''doctor voice.''


    "Good evening, Sir. I''m off the clock at the moment and need to get home for an urgent errand, but I do have an opening tomorrow morning if you''d like to-"


    "Please, listen. I have nowhere else to go."


    His voice hits like a sharp blade. It''s shrill, low, and cracked, barely reminiscent of a human. I take another step back in shock and try to pry more information.


    "I-I''m sure your situation is quite important, but I really need to go. Are you sure tomorrow morning can''t work?"


    He clears his throat, as if he wants to alter his tone, then speaks again in a calmer, less-infernal manner.


    "I may be dead by morning. Can''t you hear it? It''s already deteriorating. Oh, God, why did I have to break the rules..."


    "What rules did you break, Mr...?"


    "Just call me Lok, for now. Listen, I heard from Tony that you were amazing with very difficult cases. I''m begging, if I can just tell you my story and you give me some advice, I''ll help you with whatever you need."


    I slightly cringe when I hear Tony''s name; he''s a nice guy, if not a bit chatty, but he''s told me the crowds he associates with. None of them are people I''d like to meet under any circumstances, and here I am as a hostage of what could be one of the most dangerous. Seeing little way to escape, I comply.


    "Step into my office. Let''s have a chat."


    I gesture toward my meeting room door, and he steps in, sitting on the patient couch with a shiver. He stares at me for a moment, as if he''s discovered a new piece of information, but instead of speaking he just looks down at his feet and whispers to himself, saying "idiot, you''re doomed" over and over. I walk to my chair and sit down, taking a quick glance at my watch. 5:20. If I can wrap this up by 6, I''d have a chance. I grab my notepad, lean over in the typical ''caring, listening therapist'' position, and motion for Lok to start.


    "Alright, Lok, you have the floor. Where should we begin?"


    Lok closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths to steady himself, then turns to me and opens his eyes, now gleaming black and purple. I keep my outward composure, but my heartrate quickens. It doesn''t take a genius to know this can only mean something really, really bad.


    "I''ve always made sure to keep the rules; don''t show anyone your true form, don''t feast during the penance, and don''t try coming back without proper payment, and now I''m breaking two out of three. You have no idea how bad this will get for me."


    "Let''s not think about that right now. How about we talk about ''coming back''. Where did you come from, Lok?"


    Lok glares at me for a moment, like I''ve insulted him. Still, he relents and answers.


    "Promise not to laugh?"


    "Of course."


    "I... I come from the underworld."


    "I see. Are you a, er, is demon the right word?"


    "Demon, Oni, it''s all under the same umbrella. Whatever the case, it''s been common for my people to get passes to go to Earth for a few days or months during holy holidays or seasons of the year, but sometimes we can live here permanently as long as we keep a solid human form and don''t kill or aid in killing during the penance, which is usually late spring to the middle of summer. I moved here a century ago to enjoy the evolution of human culture, and I''ve always followed the guidelines, but as the world around me got worse, people getting more and more vicious, less caring for one another, the urges came heavier and heavier... It was only a day until penance ended and I couldn''t make it..."


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    "Lok... what did you do?"


    "She wasn''t even a bad person, like we''re usually supposed to target. She was nice, just got her nursing license. She wanted to work in the pediatric ward."


    I think for a moment and remember a news report last night about a nurse being found in the lake. It took the police running the serial number from a screw in her leg to identify her because her skin was so badly charred and her head was, well... gone. Lok begins to cry, unable to continue explaining, so I carefully hand him a tissue, making sure not to set him off. I turn to the clock, and it''s now 5:45. Time is running out, and my leg starts to twitch. I can feel it coming over me like a wave, but I have to stay focused.


    "We don''t have to continue talking about that right now. How about you tell me about home. What is it like? Do you have any family that could help you?"


    "They stopped contact when I left. Said it was an embarrassment that I wanted to live among them. We came from high standing in the Underworld; there are five castes of my people. Insectoid demons are at the bottom, mammals are next, shadows above them, and mine, the classic horns and wings group, are second only to the generals. They expect utter perfection from us, as we are their direct servants, and it is the generals who will exact punishment for my crime. Do you understand the powers they possess? To rip your very nerves apart and stitch them back together. Feed you to the vilest beasts to ever exist and allow you to feel their stomach acids turn you to excrement. And that''s just on a nice day."


    As Lok explains, vivid images start to dance in my head of all he''s explained and more. I try to stop them, but it''s as if he''s forced them into my brain. The horror grows more and more unspeakable, until I fall out of my chair in anguish, foam streaming down my mouth and my fingers practically ripping the carpet from the floor. Look gets up to help me and pulls me to the couch, tears once again streaming from his face.


    "I''m sorry, it''s hard to control that power sometimes. But you see now why I have to find a way to escape. I hate so many parts of this world, but I have to continue experiencing it. There has to be something you can think of, please!"


    I try to piece together some form of advice to keep him calm, but I have nothing. It''s clear that these repercussions are difficult to escape, so I attempt to balance comfort for what might be his final moments and giving him anything that may give him a little more time.


    "Your people are very warlike. If you were to challenge one of the weaker generals in combat, or even a high-ranking member in your own caste, perhaps you could overcome them and win freedom? If you fail, perhaps just the show of strength will be enough to knock down the charges."


    "But how? I''m not strong enough to do that! I- I''ve always been told I was weak..."


    "Lok, I have spent years building my mind''s protections. All throughout school, I''ve been taught the inner workings of the mind, and you broke mine to show me those... things, even if it was just for a second. If you can do that, I''m sure you can stand against whatever comes next. Your previous moments of weakness do not need to define you, nor whatever was told to you by your peers. You had the courage to come to me for help, yes?"


    Lok looks uneasy for a moment, but then he opens his mouth in a small smile. Suddenly, his skin turns from pale ivory to a dusky gray. His entire build grows from six feet to eight, with four massive horns erupting from his skull and large, leathery wings ripping open his back. He towers over me, hot breath reeking of death and despair dripping on my face... and he hugs me.


    "Thank you, Dr. Rael. Tony was right; you are a miracle worker. Even if I fail, I know I at least tried. Better to go down swinging, yes?"


    "Definitely. Good luck, and take care!"


    Lok turns to leave and I struggle to hide my excitement, the twitching in my legs and chittering of my teeth growing harder to hold back by the moment. Just as I think I have gained freedom, Lok stops and turns back with suspicion.


    "What do you mean you built your mind''s protections?"


    "Oh, I simply meant I learned many ways to keep my composure and stay sane from experien-"


    "No. No human can resist my kind''s powers without extreme magic. Real magic, not mantras and therapy techniques. And what about saying my people are warlike? How could you have guessed a challenge might be possible?"


    "Please, everyone thinks that about demons, all due respect. It''d be shocking if I didn''t suggest something related to violence."


    "People assume demons are violent and warlike, yes, but not organized. They don''t assume we have a strict set of laws and leadership. We''re seen as feral by the masses, and that is how we kept our strength for so long."


    Lok stares at me, then turns to an empty point in the room to think. His eyes widen, and he backs away in fear.


    "Th-that feeling when I sat down! I thought it was just my nerves, but I knew I recognized that aura! Your name; Dr. Rael is-is short for... oh, no."


    I sigh and turn to my watch. 6:00. Well, I suppose the jig is up. I close my eyes and let it all out. My skin turning an endless, inky black. My teeth growing from small squares to long, sharp fangs. My legs changing from those little meat sticks I''ve grown accustomed to over the last 500 years to my usual avian self. I now tower over Lok at a stark 12 feet, and smile.


    "General Azrael, at your service."


    Lok screams and turns to leave, but I slam the door before he can even take a step. I grab him with my hand and pull him close.


    "I honestly would''ve vouched for you, Lok. You seem like a nice guy; smart, takes responsibility, been beaten down by family. Everyone makes mistakes, but this is too big for me to dismiss."


    "I won''t tell a soul, my lord! I swear to you?"


    "Tsk, tsk, tsk... I think it''s clear you like to open your mouth when you get frustrated. I''ve spent too many centuries living here, learning the movements of humanity, studying their growth, enjoying their wars and feasting on those left behind, and taking this little side gig for some downtime, and I won''t let a little imp ruin that. Now, I think it''s time for me to open my mouth."


    Lok tries to battle against my grip, but it''s futile. In the middle of my chest, my ribs rip from my thick skin to form a sort of mouth, with nothing but void sitting beyond. He tries to beg, like they always do, but it just makes it more delicious. I throw him into the pit, and in an instant his screams are gone forever. I close my ribs and sit on my chair, angered I had to reveal myself, although I have to admit, it was nice to stretch my legs for a little while. I hear a small storm crackle in the living room, and two more imps erupt from the cloud. They gaze upon me in shock, and immediately bow.


    "Lord Azrael, we sensed the criminal Bellok here. He is wanted for breaking the law of the penan-"


    "Don''t worry, boys, I''ve already dealt with him. My feasting is allowed during penance, especially as punishment, yes?"


    The imps nod in agreement and retreat to the cloud, leaving without another word. They know the fate of those who disturb me for too long. I stretch in my chair and sigh. I''ll return home to take my pill and keep myself calm in a moment, but now I''ll just enjoy my meal and remember: No matter how long or how deeply I hide it, the demons will always find a way out.

 Council of Wings

    "What is your defense?"


    "I didn''t do anything! I-I''m just a history professor researching cultures in the area! Why are you doing this to me?!"


    My brother, Deon, looks upon the man with disgust, as if he said something only an idiot could confidently utter. He strides toward the man''s prison, a mature tree in the mountain forests surrounding our family''s home and taps his lighter on the professor''s cheek.


    "You dare to come to this place, our kingdom, and lie on what our warriors have done for the people? We are the Legion of Cygnus; we have protected these hills and grand woods for centuries."


    "L-Legion of Cygnus? That''s who you lunatics are?! You haven''t done a thing to protect the surrounding villages; you terrorize them and attack the sitting leadership whenever you get the chance. You''re a menace!"


    "Silence!"


    My brother kicks the man''s jaw with his steel-toed boot, spattering blood from the man''s gums across the nearby trees. He was always touchy whenever someone disparaged the Legion. He had taken over when he was just 15 when our parents and most of our soldiers were killed by invaders. I was only 7. Over the following decade, he reformed the Legion with stronger warriors and led Cygnus'' resurgence across the region. He''s my hero, and he would never let another interloper threaten our family. Deon snaps his fingers and two soldiers stride to his side with large canisters in hand. They open the canisters and pour the contents over the tree. Deon clicks open his lighter and smirks at the professor, who''s now shaking his head wildly.


    "You can''t do this! People will come to look for me! You can''t escape forever, you psychos!"


    "I''d be happy to see them try. Now die, heretic."


    Deon throws the lighter at the tree and it instantly bursts into flames, with high-pitched screams mixing with the crackling of the bark.


    "You three watch the tree. I''ll take Kai back to base."


    The other Cygnus bow and stand by the tree with pride, but I bristle as me and Deon walk back home. I understood we needed to honor our parents wish to continue the legacy of Cygnus, but couldn''t we do it without so many explosions?


    "Did you really have to do that? He didn''t seem violent. Maybe if we had just taken his research and roughed him up a bit, that would''ve been-"


    Deon stops and pulls me eye to eye. He only did this when he meant business, and I hated when he meant business.


    "Do you want us to succeed? Do you want to help father''s plans? Remember what he told me, brother: Protect the family, spread the way of our kingdom, and let the High One guide us. We can''t upset father''s spirit, and certainly not the High One, right?"


    "R-right, but I thought the High One didn''t like death..."


    "Only when it is not necessary, but I assure you, it is necessary here. We are at war, and the enemy can never gain a foothold. I should know; I am the High One''s ordained speaker. If anyone knows their orders, it''s me."


    I nod in agreement and continue walking, but I''m still not happy. Sure, I had been trained to work a gun and build a dead man''s switch since dad was around. It was a source of pride for me, feeling their admiration, knowing I was helping the High One, but seeing the tools I made for fun being used like this... it didn''t feel good. It didn''t help that Deon''s orders seemed to shift a lot. When he was happy and drinking with his girlfriend Leah, he would say the High One wanted us to celebrate our victories, even if we hadn''t gone into battle for weeks. When he was with his wife Sasha, however, he always seemed meaner and wanted us to train, duel, and work the soil all night because we had upset the High One, but still, we had done nothing beforehand to warrant anger. I''m shaken out of my pondering when we reach our home: A palace designed in the ways of our ancestors with modern tools: massive turrets, strong walls and moats, and an intricate tunnel system beneath the complex for easy escapes. It was an exact model of our family''s first home before we were attacked. I don''t remember much, but Deon always reminds me: some other country''s army came, swooped in, and blew it up, but Deon was able to find me and bring the survivors to this safehouse to start again. This army didn''t even stay to help the villages or stop the fires the fighting caused; they just hopped on their plane and left. I must admit, the retelling of that story is the only time I feel a twinge of violence.


    We enter the main hall and turn to the dining area for dinner. The food is already laid out for us so we simply sit and eat, nary a word shared between us until a messenger hands Deon an envelope. He opens it and nearly jumps out of his chair with excitement as he reads it.


    "Tell the men to spread the word; if this is correct, we strike at night at the end of the week!"


    The messenger bows and leaves to hand out the orders, but I''m confused. I didn''t know Deon was waiting on any updates, especially anything pertaining to a larger attack.


    "The end of the week? What''s coming for us then, Deon? Are we in danger?"


    "Far from it! It''s the moment we''ve been waiting for: Retribution. The same unit that killed our parents like dogs is coming here for some sort of meeting. Our spies tapped into one of their secure lines, so we have every detail, including where and when the meeting will take place."


    Deon gets up and walks over to me, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me somewhere between viciously and playfully.


    "Saturday is the day you become a man, understood? You will finally take arms along your people and defend our way of life."


    "W-What? But, I''m better suited for building things, maybe moral support..."


    "Now is not the time for fear, Kai. You must ask the High One for the strength you need. And if you need a little more help... like I said, you are almost a man."


    I sense the change in his tone. Usually, when he sounds like this, he calls for a few girls to entertain his best soldiers. I know I''m in no headspace to enjoy something like that, so I''m almost glad when he pulls out a small bag of greenish powder instead. He pours the powder into my hand and smiles.


    "What will this do?"


    "Open your eyes, brother. Devour it and sit amongst our birds, and perhaps you will gain clarity. I shall do the same in my own quarters."


    Deon grabs another pouch and pours it directly into his mouth and nose before skipping toward his room. I''m apprehensive to indulge in the mixture, but Deon''s never steered me wrong. Why start now? I cautiously lick the powder and swallow it with a hiss; it''s bitter and tastes like wet socks, but I continue per my brother''s orders. I then turn toward the opposite hallway and exit to the courtyard, where a massive cage sat, commanding awe from all who saw it. It was filled with creatures adorned with the most luminous feathers and curved, dazzling beaks, that flitted to and fro through the plants fitted to the metal floor. These birds brought my brother peace, but he''d never admit it; he always said the High One saw birds as holy, so Deon viewed the aviary as a temple he was obligated to protect. At first, I sit watching the birds, feeling no more clarity than what I usually sense when I enjoy the aviary, but suddenly it hits me: The world seems warped, sounds feel far away, and the birds... the birds are so pretty...


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    "Hello, birds, I am Kai. I''m the brother of the High One''s prophet!"


    The birds stare at me, confused as I start to sway around the courtyard, but when one of the hawks in the enclosure screeches, it almost sounds like he''s saying ''who?''


    "You know, Deon! The High One chose him after our parents'' died. He understands his orders better than anyone."


    The hawk continues to stare at me, but he''s joined by a shimmering green duck, who now pipes in with a shrill ''how?''


    "Well, he just does. He says he can''t explain it because the High One is too complex for most mortals... although, if the High One wants everyone to follow him, it''s strange only one prophet can understand him. And why is he always so violent?"


    The duck repeats my ''why?'' back to me, causing me to ponder a bit deeper.


    "Well, it''s weird; violence killed my father, his last prophet, but he could''ve stopped the violence himself by warning my father, or simply destroying the invaders before they attacked. Why command my brother to attack the unit, which probably has all different members by now, and not punish the actual perpetrators? My brother shouldn''t want to fight these people... it feels icky."


    The hawk and duck have now flown away, and their spot is filled with a bird I have never seen before: A massive beast with a long neck, a crown of thin feathers, and a brilliant plumage of green and red covering its body. It scratches under its wing before turning to stare at me and, this time in an extremely clear, human voice, ask me ''what to do?''


    I turn to the side of the cage and see one of Deon''s radio panels. They were all connected, so maybe I could find the soldiers'' radio line and warn them, tell them not to come to the meeting. It might make my brother mad, make the High One furious, but it could also all be a test; finding peace within the fire, right? I could show everyone I have true wisdom, and maybe help the legion find peace. I bow in respect to the birds, thanking them for their guidance, and traipse over to the radio. I don''t remember anything past grabbing the radio, finding the unfamiliar line and dialing, but as my eyes close and I sleep the rest of the night away next to the glorious cage in a pile of my own drool, I feel the clarity my brother spoke of. What I wake to is the exact opposite.


    When my eyes stretch open at the sight of the morning sun, my nose is assaulted with ash while my ears are met with the pound of bullets. High-caliber, imploding bullets. My mind can''t help but drift back to the memory of my parents as I shoot up from the floor and see the cage door flung open, the inhabitants'' wings beating furiously as they make their escape, my brother encouraging them by waving his hands wildly, a pistol strapped to his hip. The minute I''m on my feet, he rushes over and pushes me back to the ground, pulling the gun from his hip and aiming at my forehead. I instantly panic, screaming at him to lower the weapon.


    "Deon, what are you doing?! What''s going on?!"


    "Oh? You don''t know? You''re the one who called the enemy and gave away our location! I didn''t spot what you had done until it was too late; they came half an hour ago in full force, surrounding the gates, and destroying the escape tunnels. We''re trapped! What on earth would possess you betray your own brother?!"


    "I-I thought it was a t-test. The powder gave me clarity; maybe the High One would want us to f-find a way to broker peace instead of fi-"


    Deon cuts me off with a crack of his gun to my cheek, foam beginning to drip from his mouth.


    "I should''ve never given you that shit. God, how much of an idiot are you? Actually, no, I''m the idiot. I should''ve told you this a while ago... There''s no High One! At least, not for me."


    I don''t know what to process first: the fact my own brother had gotten so wrathful he''d assault me, the fact our home was burning around us, or the fact Deon was saying such insanity. I decided to start with the latter.


    "No High One? That''s ridiculous! W-what about Dad and Pop-Pop and-"


    "This crap was real for them, sure, but I haven''t heard a peep from any sky king since Dad died. All of this, the fighting, the bases, the women, it''s all for power. Folks around here have believed the legend of Cygnus coming down from the clouds with a divine message for so long that they don''t even question the so-called prophet because they need that validation so bad. Confirmation bias is the deadliest drug out there kid, and it''s kept us living the high life for a decade, and now you''ve pissed all over it for a clean conscience!"


    "It... It can''t be a lie... how could you defile our father''s dream like that?"


    "Like I said, Kai, we had to survive somehow. Why not keep up the family trade and use the oldest trick in the book, right? It''s the same story everywhere; everyone wants to think about something bigger and grander while they forget about what they can do to make the here and now better. Crappy, but insanely profitable."


    I''m speechless. Deon had burned people alive, sent soldiers who believed they were divinely chosen to die and increasingly vicious ways, just to make a buck. And I never saw it. Instead, I went along with it until I ruined us. I''m so devastated, I don''t see the taser whizzing by my head and taking down my brother. For a split second, I smile as he writhes on the floor in agony. All those lies, it''s the least he deserves. However, he''s still my brother, so I slide over to try and help, but I''m stopped by a heavy boot on my leg and the sound of a gun cocking behind my head. I turn in horror to face my new assaulter and see a burly man in camouflage pointing an assault rifle at me. I breathe heavily, staring back at him like he''s a tiger and all I can do is stay still hoping he''d move pass me. He looks at me, then my brother, and laughs.


    "I knew I recognized you kids. You''re all grown up now it seems... You see, I was on the original team who stopped your crazy father. I was just a rookie back then; nice to see how it all comes full circle, albeit bloodier than what I''d expect."


    The horror in my body is momentarily replaced with rage, but I know the slightest strike against the man, and I''d be a corpse. Instead, I try to sate the man''s appetite for a hunt.


    "I-I''m the one who called you. I warned you about the attack. Please, I beg of you, show us mercy!"


    "Mercy? Kid, short of handing your brother over on a platter, there''s no way you could''ve gotten out of this. You''re just as deep in the shit as he is thanks to you hanging on to him like a rag doll at every one of his effigies and ''statement attacks.'' Until you and your brother tell us what we need to know about your suppliers and associates in the area, you''re going to the deepest hole we can find."


    The man grabs me by my arm while two of his comrades take my brother. They walk us to a large helicopter outside the compound as dozens more soldiers take the rest of the Legion away, all of them staring at me with disgust and murderous intent, and each glare pushing more and more shame into my system. I couldn''t possibly decipher what might happen to me and Deon; I had no idea who my brother communicated with, and Deon was too proud to tell any information for less than immunity, so it seemed clear we''d be kept someplace unspeakable for quite some time. Someplace not even the High One, whether he existed or not, could find us. As the helicopter doors close and we lift off, all I can do is stare at my brother''s comatose body and offer a silent apology, tears streaming down my face and my thoughts racing. It''s mostly garbled glimpses of what I could''ve done instead of calling the enemy to give them a way of escape, along with a newfound agreement in Deon''s original plan to slaughter them like cattle, but one thought chimes above them all: I had sold out my family for my personal interpretation of a much larger, increasingly dangerous lie, and no one would ever know. They''d all just see the little zealot boy who fucked up, or a traitor against the almighty, never questioning the mission we followed. Somehow, the second group began to feel far more dangerous than the first. Worse still, another memory peeps into mind, of other countries and cultures where similar prophets enjoyed worship and gifts from their congregants... if my brother could bring hundreds, perhaps thousands, under his rule with no more than my father''s words and a few parties and ''magic powders'', what could one do with access to millions of dollars and people, all willing to do anything to prove their loyalty to a being they had never met?


    How common was this phenomenon? How many people out there had done something and felt just as stupid as I do sitting in this transport? I couldn''t bear to estimate, but I knew from news reports that had blared over once happy breakfasts with my family that there were plenty of groups just as ferocious as ours and with far more resources, their only credibility coming from much larger numbers. Some might question, like me, and find a piece of information that will change how they view their community forever, but most will just stay in their bubble, never questioning or prodding for more knowledge. And that, manipulated by the right people, could be more dangerous than any bomb or gun...

 Save Em All!

    "How much farther do we have to walk? It feels like we''re walking on needles here!"


    "Maybe that''s because we''re in the middle of a rainforest with thorny vines littering the ground. You all knew what you signed up for with this expedition, so I don''t want to hear any sniveling about how much walking or cutting is involved."


    Was it a bit harsh? Of course, but could you blame me? I, Nigel Herdstrom, had been leading this team through the Marong Rainforest for the past week, and all I''ve heard is silent groans and questions about the direction we''ve been heading. This is what happens when research grants start drying up; you have no choice but to grab the bare minimum of a crew. No experience in such sweltering conditions, especially with what''s at stake.


    I cut through another row of twisting, serpentine vines like butter with my scimitar and stop by a smooth stone. I touch its cool top and grin. It''s frigid. Far too frigid to exist here naturally. I immediately know we''re close to our target. I hold my finger to the air and feel the wind glide to the east.


    "Come now, folks! We have a specimen to find!"


    The team begrudgingly follows, tools and kits in hand, and the youngest among them, a local boy acting as our translator, seems shaken.


    "Mr. Harstrom-"


    "Herdstrom. It''s Dr. Herdstrom, lad."


    "M-my apologies, sir. But, Dr. Herdstrom, what are we looking for exactly? You said you''d tell us when we got our first check, then when we landed, then when we''d make camp. It''s been six days and still nothing on what we''re hunting."


    I try to hold off answering as long as possible. You see, there was a reason the research grants dried up, and it wasn''t just greed... Okay, perhaps greed was still a major part of it. These days, most labs act like kittens in the big businesses'' litter. They don''t care one way or another for the Visimon survive as long as they can continue breeding the strongest for their fights. It used to be done with respect to the creatures, an understanding to their personal physiology and needs, but the sport became bloodier and more vicious with each season, and soon the ''margins'' just didn''t support the protection protocols anymore, so everything got repealed. Of course, no one listened to the professionals, but can you guess who was right? Let me give you a hint: It''s been twenty agonizing years since they repealed the last Visimon defense act, and 90% of their species are either extinct or endangered, surviving off of scraps in conservation zones that can barely gain enough funding to survive. Still, they just laugh me out of the room every time I present my findings: the dangers of the Visimon''s near annihilation, among them being ecosystems worldwide collapsing due to a lack of unique Visimon abilities to keep everything balanced followed by our economy failing due to low investments in other fields. Most of my colleagues, even my own mentor Professor Wollemi, gave up and became drunks somewhere along the way, but I couldn''t allow myself to drown in the lake of tears and failures. I had to crawl out of the muck and do something, and this was my last chance. I turn to the boy, realizing I can lie no longer, and sigh.


    "I assume all of you have heard of the legendary Twins? The Opal and Amber masters?"


    "Of course. My village holds a festival in the honor of Nobelion and Impericus every year! It is said that if they are ever attacked, their powers will awaken nature itself and all Visimon will fall under their command, bringing the world into an era of endless jungle."


    "Wait a minute, lad, don''t the legends say those things reside somewhere around here? In fact, this area is supposed to be... illegal to pass through..."


    The man who complained about his aching feet puts the pieces together and backs away in fear.


    "You''re insane. You brought us out here for a suicide mission!"


    "A bit dramatized for my liking, Leopold. We have all the tools necessary to approach the Twins and survive."


    "But at what cost?! What could you possibly want with Nobelion and Impericus that wouldn''t end the same way the boy told it to us? I thought you were some kind of nature guru, not an apocalyptic idealist like the groups years back."


    "I am! Why else do you think I''d come all the way out here? The legend also tell that Nobelion and Impericus are understanding if you come to them with a grand enough plea. I can think of nothing greater than the survival of their race. Their powers, when used correctly, could bring back the Visimon and ensure human survival."


    "No, no way, Doc. If you think I''m sticking around to get turned into a crystal, you have another thing coming. Good luck get the crazy jungle gods; I''m heading back to the village to get a beer."


    Leopold turns to leave, trudging back through the trees. Honestly, I''m not surprised; with all his yammering, I expected him to leave ages ago. Still, one less man is one less person to help me make my case. I turn to my other companions, who seem to be weighing the idea of following him, and I start to feel the lake pulling me back under... until I hear a distinctive howl from the trees, followed by Leopold shrieking and running back toward us.


    "Have you changed your mind already? What did you see a little bug you wanted us to kill?"


    "Something''s out there! It looks like a... but it can''t be! They went extinct 5 years ago. A-And it looked so black, and deranged! W-We have to go, now!"


    "Come now, Leopold, that howl can''t be less than 2 to 3 miles away from us. There''s no way a Visimon of such violent nature could catch up with us that quickly. Now tell me, what did you believe you saw?"


    "I didn''t believe I saw anything! It was some kind of-"


    The Visimon seems to answer for him, leaping out of the trees and swallowing Leopold like a thanksgiving ham, leaving nothing behind but his work boots, and for the first time in my career I am proven wrong: A beast of such vicious nature could catch up with us, especially when it''s a 15-foot tall Rofang. Speed and Light type, mean old bastards when they''re hungry. However, two things are abnormal about this current threat: One, Rofangs do not live in such humid climates; they prefer near-arctic temperatures. A Rofang out here should have died in days. Stranger still, this Rofang does not share the white and black coloring of its kin. Rather it is a devilish red and green with shimmery, poisonous saliva dripping from its maw. And last, but certainly not least, Rofangs never eat humans, making this situation all the more insidious. Whether the explanation for this strange condition be genetic testing or climate malfunction shifting his biology, there is no time to analyze this phenomenon as he turns his eyes onto the boy.


    "Everybody, move!"


    Without a thought, I grab the boy''s collar just as the Rofang unleashes his Sun Wave attack at us, charring another of my men but narrowly missing the rest of us, allowing us to leap to the tree line and race for cover. We race through the foliage like antelope from a snarling lion for what feels like hours, but can''t be more than a few minutes of glints of sunlight peering down on us between the leaves. Eventually, we find a small cave and I hurry everyone inside. My three remaining assistants huddle at the back, while the boy holds tight to my coattails.


    "What was that thing? Why is it attacking us?"


    "I believe the answer to both your questions is a culmination of years of bad business decisions, but we don''t have time to get into that. Just huddle with the other and stay quiet."


    The boy nods and I unlatch his nails from my leg, urging him deeper into the cave. I grab my necklace, a Bunthorn tooth with a gold chain gifted to me by my mentor, and quickly thrust it into the dirt; Bunthorns are a Rofang''s favorite food, and even a fossil would be enough to draw one over.


    All seems quiet, a crisp whistle floating on stagnant air, and soon we begin to feel a glimmer of safety, quickly snuffed by a faint growl tapping overhead. One of my assistants reaches for his sidearm but is stopped by the boy.


    "What are you doing, you little brat? That thing is going to kill us!"


    "It doesn''t know what it''s doing! Maybe there''s a way to help him."


    "H-HELP?! You''re just as delusional as the doctor!"


    I march over and take the man''s gun, glaring at him to get him to shut up. Although I had to admit he was right about one thing; the kid''s fervor in the Visimon''s survival reminded me of myself during my undergraduate years. If I survive this, I should probably go back to that hairstyle; I did look amazing with a mullet. My hairs feels as though it''s about to be cut permanently as the Rofang''s maw sniffs in the cave, growling and hissing, with its teeth only a few inches away. The beast opens his mouth, another Sun Wave building in his throat, until a shining gleam of light blue engulfs the Rofang and fills the cavern. I almost don''t believe it once the light dissipates and the Rofang is back to its normal color, standing in confusion. By its foot is an equally shocking site: A Bunthorn cub playing with a gold chain. My gold chain. I immediately know that my expedition is not in vain. The Bunthorn hops away with my chain in tow and the Rofang simply lets him pass, then looks upward with awe. We hear a calm yet booming voice ring out beyond the cave, giving a distinct order.


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    "Go now. There is no threat here."


    The Rofang bows and leaves, and a long, shimmering neck ending with a lion''s head peers into the cavern, shining lights dripping off its mane like miniature stars. It was like a dream; the Opal Twin, Master of Life, Nobelion, standing in front of us. My assistants nearly faint and the boy can''t help but smile, but I spot something disconcerting: Nobelion''s neck is gashed. Not a fresh wound, but not that old either, possibly only a few weeks. I can tell by the way his legs sway that it is not the only damage he has recently received. I choose now to establish contact.


    "Oh, Mighty Nobelion, we thank you for your aid. We mean your realm no harm, but we do have a request."


    At first, Nobelion is silent, but then he releases a small chuckle.


    "State your case, human, but dispense with the formalities. It''s been a while since we''ve had guests, and I hate this overbearing professionalism."


    I nod and urge my party to follow me as Nobelion pulls his neck from the cave to allow us to exit. The boy once again grabs my coat, but the others stay frozen.


    "What are you fools doing? Nobelion is of no threat to us!"


    "That''s what you say, but you haven''t been the best guide in keeping us breathing. We''re going home."


    I growl at the cowards, the urge to strike them growing, but Nobelion places his paw on me, his cooling touch flowing through my veins like a calming mist.


    "It is fine. You and the boy can follow me home, and we can discuss what you seek. What are your names?"


    "I am Dr. Nigel Herdstrom, and this is my translator..."


    "Ravi. It is nice to meet you, Mr. Nobelion."


    "Nice to meet you as well. Hop on."


    Nobelion bows his head and allows us to climb on. I daintily fix myself on the arch of his back, understanding the level of trust that must be given for any Visimon, especially a Mystic One, to allow such an act. As Ravi hops on, Nobelion groans and nearly falls down, his knees struggling to stay locked.


    "Are you okay? How long ago were you injured?"


    "Three weeks. Hunters came hoping to steal some flowers from the forest, but we dispatched them... not before they got a few good hits in, though. I am healing fine, but Impericus is a different tale."


    Nobelion gingerly struts through the forest, his grim warning resonating in our minds. The thought of malicious invaders creeping even here is more unsettling than almost anything I''ve witnessed thus far. The trees begin to shift from what we''ve seen in the rest of the Marong; instead of dense jungle and murky rivers, the trees change to thin saplings from almost any biome on one side, and desolate, almost burned patches of desert on the other. The realm of Nobelion and Impericus, just as legend told. Nobelion can sense our wonder and smirks.


    "Thank you for your appreciation. It is nice to see someone still cares. Save a bit of your amazement, though; we are about to reach our destination."


    Nobelion lifts his claw to turn our attention to the cavern upon a craggy hill just above our heads, lined with shimmering opal and amber, along with dozens of other gemstones, like an emperor''s throne room. Nobelion takes a deep breath and leaps onto the rocks, almost like a natural obstacle course, and lands safely in the long hall. A shining orange long necked being, almost identical to Nobelion outside of the spiked mane and scorpion tail, lays at the back, muttering with pain. Nobelion turns to us; my face is wracked with concern, while Ravi is still composing himself from the jumps.


    "Apologies for the sudden leaps, but I hoped you would consider it fun. Are you okay?"


    "Yes, yes we''re fine... Is that Impericus?"


    "I''m afraid so. One of the hunters stabbed him in the gut. Usually he heals almost instantly, but now... please, tell us your query, Nigel."


    Nobelion lowers himself to allow us to dismount, and we walk toward Impericus so he can listen as well. Between the two injured, yet ever-imposing Twins, I almost lose the will to speak, but I look at Ravi, somehow trusting a stranger enough to bring him here, and the courage fills me.


    "As you know, things have changed worldwide for Visimon, and the environment as a whole. Entire ecosystems are hanging on by a thread, and most of your brethren have left our world long ago, and I fear humanity is to follow. If the mutated Rofang is any sign, it is that action must be taken. Action that our leaders refuse to take. I know we deserve nothing near a second chance to live among you, but I beg, if there is any way... please use your powers to bring life to the world once again. I swear, if such a thing were to occur, permanent change can begin to make sure history does not repeat."


    Nobelion smiles, but Impericus seems skeptical. He lifts his head, barely lucid, and draws his face close to mine.


    "Do you see what your kin have done? How can we trust justice could be served? You should be lucky we did not release our devastation when this ambush first occurred."


    "I won''t lie, many of us have given up, given in to pursuits that drive nothing forward but their own banks, an asset that proves useless without the communities they claim to protect. I know my assistants from earlier are an even worse example of whatever goodness might still be in us, but if you can look past them... look at this child next to me instead... there can be a glimmer. There are thousands, perhaps millions of young people who want to have a voice but feel defeated before anything has begun. Seeing such a revitalization, with you and this boy at the helm, could be the driving force we need. There is only so much we can do divided."


    Impericus is silent but seems to consider my points. He looks at Ravi with interest.


    "Do you know why the humans deemed our race Visimon, young one?"


    "Y-yes, they called your that because you were said to be bringers of peace and wisdom. You were to be revered as sages and wells of knowledge."


    "And your people drunk those wells dry for pieces of paper and metal with nothing but arbitrary value. What would you do if your people were killed, paraded around as show ponies, and ground down to dust for magical powders to cure a quick sniffle? Would you want to give your assailants a second chance?"


    Ravi ponders for a moment, fearing he may have the wrong answer, but decides to take the risk.


    "I''d want to destroy them. They shouldn''t have another chance to harm a single soul, but there''s another factor to consider here: The young people, those yet to be born, have no need to be punished for being forced to live in a world where these things occur. They know nothing of the world before, but with the proper teachings and revelations, they would throw these ways aside. I''ve seen what we can do, even in something as small as my village, and it is amazing. Let us show you our power, great Impericus."


    "Hmmm, the ''great'' part is a nice touch," Impericus jokes. He places his paw on a rock and pulls himself up, his teeth gritted.


    "If we were to help you, there is something you should know; our powers do not come without a price. We are obviously known as masters of Life and Death, but for the pinnacle of our powers to work, a sacrifice of each must be made: Life created, and Life given. We have plenty of seeds here for creation, but for the giving-"


    "I''ll do it."


    The words escape me before I can process them. I guess I didn''t want that mullet after all. Jokes aside, there were only two of us here, and I could never let this innocent soul take on the pains of the world. It''d be too big a price. Ravi grabs my arm, shaking his head.


    "Doctor, with all due respect, that''s ridiculous! You need to stay, to help all of us!"


    "Ravi, I''ve lived a good life. I''ve led and taught many leaders of tomorrow, and in time, you could be the best of them. I''ve been stabbed in the back by too many people recently, people with a lot of power, and I see no better way to both end my journey and strike those very same people. I need you to go, and once this is done, you must stand on my message. Mine and the Twins. Lead the way for the future, Ravi."


    Ravi is close to tears. It''s strange, having such a close bond to someone you''ve known no more than a ten-day jaunt, but I''m thankful for it either way. Ravi hugs me like a constrictor, then does the same to each of the twins before dashing out of the cave. Once Nobelion makes sure he is a safe distance away, he turns back to me.


    "Are you truly prepared for what comes next? What you''d be giving up for all of them?"


    "Well, that depends, is there a third one of your sitting beside some white clouds with a bunch of singing Visimon I''ve never seen before?"


    "I wouldn''t know anything about that," Nobelion chuckles. He lays his paw on my shoulder and nods.


    "You are the first of your people to impress us in a long time, Doctor Herdstrom. Take pride in that."


    I bow with respect and spread my arms, nodding to show I am prepared. Nobelion walks to a small seed on a stone and opens his mouth, the opal flames from earlier engulfing the seed and causing it to explode into an endless cloud of glowing pollen, floating above us like sentry bees waiting for the queen''s command. Impericus follows and opens his mouth, his fire preparing to engulf me and activate the ritual. I close my eyes and smile. It feels like a warm hug, calming me before what I know will be beyond excruciating. I don''t mind though; one man''s sacrifice is nothing if it means possible billions have a chance. I feel incredibly lucky to say I have no regrets, no remorse, only hope. Hope for Ravi, and all the others like him who will gain courage from this day as the new flowers bloom and Visimon of old rise again. That hope is the last thing I feel before the Amber covers me and I slip away, into the fire, to remembered as part of the most healing flames the world has never known... and I wouldn''t have it any other way...

 Charmer

    Adobo-rubbed chicken wings, beer-battered onion rings, a piece of cornbread, and a mint-chip milkshake. Nothing fancy, but damn, this is delicious. I can''t believe the gall these people have to rush my meal; twenty minutes to savor each bite? Usually I''d take a good 35, perhaps 40 before finishing the milkshake, but I decide to swallow my pride and rush through the enjoyment, not wanting to leave a single bite behind. Besides, I won''t need to worry about a stomachache after today.


    "C''mon Joseph, it''s time. Get up and take your medicine."


    "Medicine? I thought I was going out by firing squad?"


    Greg, the death row guard for the past eight years, is not amused. He walks toward my cell with baton in hand and I jump up from my bench. I haven''t worked out in a while, and I didn''t want to walk into my big day with a black eye from an easily avoidable fight. The jokeless Greg opens the cell door and hitches my ankle and wrist cuffs to his belt, pulling me down the hall as the other inmates whoop and howl; some snide jokes, others neurotic ramblings.


    "You''re gonna get it now, Joey!"


    "It''ll be a rush like no other, brother! Come back and tell us all about it!"


    See what I mean? I don''t mind though; I''ve been prepping for this day for the last decade, and I''ve prepared my last words: I have no regrets, and my soul shall fly away in peace. Not too long, just the right amount of weird, it''s perfect. Greg pulls me through a few twisting hallways, through C-Block, around H-Block, and right to the backyard door, the place I meet my end. But instead of stopping and opening the door, he pulls me further down the hall and stops at a blue storage room. He opens the door and it''s been reorganized into some sort of interrogation room, with a metal table and a chair on the far wall. Strangely, no chair near the door.


    "What is this? If you think this is like one of those cop shows where the detective comes back to pump me for information on any cases I never admitted to, forget it. Not only did Paluso die two years ago, but I''ve never been shy about my kills, so if you guys found a body with my M.O., leave me out of the Hannibal Lecter remake."


    "Shut up and sit down! He''ll be here in a minute."


    Greg pushes me into the chair (A bit rougher than usual, but it''s a special occasion, so I''ll let it slide), locks my ankle cuffs and wrist cuffs to the table leg and metal ring on the tabletop, respectively, and slams the door behind him without explaining whom this ''He'' might be. Correct me if I''m wrong, but firing squad usually denotes three or more shooters. I look around the room as if a clue will appear, but all I find is a camera shining on me from the top left corner near the door. Warden must want to make sure I stay dead once this is over. Probably a few thousand folks on some sort of livestream too, but I don''t want to sound conceited; my ''stardom'' dried up a bit years ago. I turn back to the door when I hear it creak open, and underneath Greg''s massive arm holding the door is a man no younger than eighty-five rolling toward the table, almost reminding me of a rabid racoon tumbling in a trash can the way his beard bristled when he stared at me. His arms quivered a bit, but he seemed focused. Greg reached toward his pistol, unstrapped the weapon, and handed it to Professor X from Wish.


    "I''ll leave you two to talk. Do you need anything before I leave, sir? Water, a blanket?"


    "No, I''m still full fro"


    "QUIET! Mr. Faraday, would you like a water?"


    "No, officer, I won''t be here long. I want this over with."


    Greg nods and leaves, giving me one final death glare. Emphasis on the death, albeit much more confusing than I first expected, especially given the surprise guest. I didn''t recognize him until Greg said his name: Mr. Faraday, the father of my last victim. He watches my face for a minute, smirking when he spots the reaction he wants.


    "You remember who I am now? That day in the courtroom when you were sentenced?"


    "Of course. You were the only person in the gallery who wasn''t visibly gleeful I got the death penalty, which makes you being here even weirder, not to mention somewhat illegal."


    "Well, at first I thought the death penalty wouldn''t bring my daughter back, that the damage had been done and you could just rot for all I care. Then, I saw on the news that the state had passed a bill that allowed bereaved family or friends to apply to be the one who administers the final blow the day of the execution. I found myself signing up before I fully understood what I was agreeing too. I''d say it was dumb luck I got chosen but given my daughter''s status and the fact she was your last victim, I guess I got bumped up the list, and here we are."


    Ah, the Retribution Bill. I remember the groans from my cell block the day it passed. I never considered it much given most of my victim''s families were either children or, most likely, on the way to prison themselves, and I certainly never thought the old man who can barely breathe on his own would come up to bat. I blame my lawyer for pushing for saying there''d be a chance for a sympathetic jury in Oklahoma. For fucks'' sake, it Oklahoma! The old people are fueled by church and vitriol and the most forgiving thing out here is the skunks. In hindsight, it''s possible my lawyer secretly wanted me to get the death penalty, but too late to think about that, isn''t it?


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    "Hey! You listening to me?"


    Mr. Faraday slams his fist on the table to bring me back to current events. You know, the actual execution of it all. I turn back to him and nod.


    "What did you want to tell me, Sir? I hate to be rude, but most stories I hear about include baby photos, maybe a home video, and you don''t seem to have any of that. Not that it''d really change much; I know you don''t want to hear this, but there''s nothing you can tell me that''d change how I feel. I killed her once, and I''d kill her again, and I think my reasons speak for themselves."


    Mr. Faraday laughs for a minute, which turns into a cough reminiscent of a sandstorm, then clears his throat and taps his fingers on the cold metal.


    "You used to call yourself the Friend of the People, right? You''d go after folks you think are making life worse for the ''little guys'' and wait for the praise, acting like some comic-book vigilante."


    "Well, for one, I always loved Deadpool, and two, are you really telling me I was in the wrong? I got my start like anyone else in my profession; small fish, more messy kills, but instead of targeting innocent girls with pigtails I went after the guys who go after the girls. And the guys who target minorities, or drag bars, or schools, or anything else that deserves some damn respect, and for a while I was a friend of the people. Cops didn''t even investigate the cases back then."


    "Yes, back then. After your twelfth, you got greedy. You got bored taking out neighborhood racists and small-town militia leaders and started going big. And then you lost sight of things."


    It was strange. Instead of getting shamed or berated, it sounds like Mr. Faraday... liked my work? It felt like I was arguing more over methodology than the actual deaths, and it caught me off guard. I wanted to stop, but something compelled me to continue the debate.


    "How did I lose sight, exactly? Was it when I got a little exorbitant and let the wizard float down the Mississippi? Or was it when I took the preacher who was taking little boys into the pulpit and introduced him to some grizzlies? I mean, he was bald, it was too good to pass up! Or, perhaps, are you referring to when I hit the homestretch?"


    "I still don''t know how you got past secret security agents to get to senators and congresspeople, but it was unneccessary. You could''ve continued hunting the ones spreading that venom on the ground, getting into childrens'' minds, attacking people in the street, but you messed it all up."


    "I SHOULDN''T HAVE BEEN THE ONLY ONE FIGHTING TO STOP IT! They were getting paid to enact laws to stop them, but instead they donated to the groups I was fighting. Had dinner with those same preachers and militants. How are they any different than any other victim? Just because of a title?"


    "Because eliminating them changes nothing! It just proves their side''s point that you were nothing more than a terrorist. A gloryhound who was in it for the praise, not the cause. Killing folks like that... like my daughter... it didn''t do anything but let the creeps waiting in line take their seats."


    I sit back in shock. Not only did he not try to defend his daughter, but he openly admitted she was scum. I mean, given the piles of evidence showing her doing the two-step next to a certain flag marked with a starry X, there wasn''t much defense to give, but how is he not on the same side?


    "Look, why are you telling me all this? Why are you so easily throwing your kid under the bus? What am I missing?"


    Mr. Faraday closes his eyes and rubs his face, tapping on the pistol.


    "I raised Sam by myself on a steelworker''s salary. As the story goes, that money dried up in her pre-teen years, and that mixed my following health issues had us in a pretty long rough patch. I tried telling her how it happened, show her the facts, but the teachers, the churchfolk, everyone else was pulling her in the opposite direction. I thought she''d give up all that crap when she got into the Ivies. You know, being around people of different backgrounds, right? It only made her dig in worse. I lost my daughter twice and never got a chance to say goodbye, either time. Once when you burned her, and the first... when she started speaking that hate."


    "I... I''m sorry. Did she at least support you? Have any fond memories before... what I did."


    Mr. Faraday shakes his head weakly.


    "She just sent checks in the mail. Was always too busy with one rally or another to stop and listen to me try to knock some sense into her. Never had the heart to speak against her publicly. Maybe if I did... maybe you wouldn''t have picked her."


    I''m silent. If you haven''t noticed, that''s quite difficult for me. The old man in front of me seemed to be more resigned than me; it was as if the only thing keeping him alive was holding all these thoughts in for so long. At this point, I think he came here to vent more than he did to shoot. I''ll give him credit; in a strange way, he actually made me feel some guilt.


    "Y-you did the best you could. Even if she didn''t say it, she did love you. She... she called for you. Before she died, she told me to make sure you were okay after she was gone. I honestly would''ve heeded that wish, but they caught me before I could. By the way, those tasers hurt a lot worse than they say."


    I''m able to get a small chuckle out of him, and he spreads a thin smile.


    "Thank you for telling me that. I''m not sure how true it is, but it makes an old man happy to hear she still gave a damn. Maybe you aren''t such an idiot after all."


    His movements seem in opposition to that as he slides his hand toward the gun and lifts it, right in line with my head.


    "I like you, I really do, even have a bit of respect for you... but I still have to be a father, one last time..."


    "I understand..."


    I close my eyes, happy to grant the man''s final wish. Instead of the click of the gun, however, I hear strained gasps. I open my eyes and see Mr. Faraday choking, his eyes beginning to dilate. Heart attack. I peer outside the door and see guards rushing to the door, struggling to open it. Apparently, Greg got so mad he locked us in. As they try various keys, I look into the old man''s eyes. I know how death looks, and I know that even if they get to him in time, the man in the cloak already has him. I know what my fate will be whether Faraday pulls the trigger or not; the gun is only a few inches in front of me. If I just stretch a bit more... my hands touch the trigger. It''s been so long since I held a weapon, it almost feels foreign to me. No time for nostalgia though, as I hear the subtle click of the door. I won''t let the guards get the satisfaction of ending me, not when Faraday still has a few breaths left. I make sure his hand is still tightly on the gun and pull his finger to meet mine on the trigger. I always hoped I''d go out with a bang, but I didn''t think it''d end up feeling like a good deed. Much more than most of my kills, if I''m being honest. As the guards push the door open, I push Faraday''s fingers onto the trigger... I hope, even after sharing a laugh with a sociopath, he felt like he fulfilled his mission, acted like a father one last time, even for a few minutes...

 Defining a Soulmate

    I tap my foot on the cold cobblestone road, looking across the street from my little blue bench with Percival in my lap. He''s an old little nanodragon who hates going outside at night, but he puts up with it because he knows how important tonight will be. After all, I''ve been yammering to him about it for a whole year, ever since the shaman told me about what would happen. I know what you''re thinking: "But, Liam, Shamans are a dime a dozen in Briarvale! One minute, they tell you you''ll be king, the next, they turn you into a frog!"


    I''ll admit, I was skeptical too, especially when she said Percival was a ''Micro-Basilisk'', but her magic was unlike any spell I''d seen before. She showed me this exact street, on this exact night, with me sitting here. The temperature, the clouds overhead, even the postman rushing for a late delivery. And to ensure she was telling the truth, she showed me several large news events that she divined would occur in the next year, and like clockwork, they came to be (Still a shame about Mrs. Carruthers in that oven fire, but I digress)... even the Shaman''s own death two months after our meeting while foraging for ingredients. Even so, I knew my friends would try to commit me if I told them I was doing this, so no one except for my and little Percy know I''m here. It wasn''t my first choice, especially since I''ve never been to any of the cities in West Briarvale, but it was the best to save myself from ridicule. They just wouldn''t understand why I have to do this. Why this might be my last chance.


    You see, in all my 25 years of life, I''ve had daring adventures, faced mighty beasts, and dined with royalty... but I''ve never loved. Sure, I love my family, my friends, nature and animals, but I''ve never had a sensual love. A passionate love. It''s never been for a lack of trying; princes have asked me to balls, and I''ve had to flirt with a mermaid or a succubus once or twice to help my crew, but it always felt forced. Hell, I''ve never even had a boyhood crush! I always thought I was cursed, but my mother assured me that the most favored goblin priest in the tribe conducted my blessing, to ensure I would be kept in favor. Yet, as my siblings start families and carry on our namesake, I can''t help but feel like a failure. I, Liam Grimwalk, have to finally admit that under all my glamor and supposed valor, is a hole that I don''t know how to fill, or even decipher. But no more! That shaman guaranteed that tonight I would find my soulmate, and I would be foolish to try and avoid fate now. All I have to do is wait for the first person to walk by me and... finally.


    A tall dryad walks by in a flowing dress and shining rubies. Most likely coming from an aristocratic event, she looks a bit tired, but a glint in her eyes as she spots me tells me she''s intrigued. She stops for a moment and smiles, and I smile back, hoping for some sort of spark to emerge. Nothing yet, but maybe once the conversation commences, it will happen.


    "Good evening, Ma''am. How are you doing this fine evening?"


    "I''m doing well, thank you. Say, do I know you from somewhere?"


    Her voice floats like lilies on a spring breeze. I stutter a bit but pull myself together and respond.


    "Not sure, but I most surely would have remembered you. Perhaps you know me from my hunting party: The Glorious Hippogriffs?"


    "Oh, of course! The Gargoyle Barbarian Ember; the Scarab Archer Zalas; the Lionfolk Cleric, Heinrad; and most brilliant, their leader, the Goblin Paladin Liam! You just came from fighting those dastardly bandits in the Tundra, didn''t you? I''m amazed you all made it out alive."


    "Well, it''s nothing a little flare with a blade can''t handle, yes?"


    She chuckles and looks at Percival, patting his head. Usually, he doesn''t like strangers, but he takes to the woman almost immediately.


    "Who could forget the famous Percival? He''s even cuter in person."


    "Thank you, Miss..."


    "By the Gods, I''ve lost my manners! I''m Dreya. Dreya Moonhaven."


    "A pleasure to meet you, Dreya."


    I bow in respect, and as I rise, I spot a slight blush emanating from her jade green cheeks. I''m unsure if it''s from an attraction, or my celebrity status, but she seems to like me. And I feel... well, happy, but certainly not attracted. She''s devastatingly gorgeous, and quite friendly, but I don''t feel the slightest urge to hold her close and whisper sweet nothings in her ear, like all the great heroes of myth. Still, I know fate would never steer me wrong, so I take a chance.


    "Miss Moonstone, I know this may seem sudden, and I''m unsure if you''re in such a mood, but would you be open to going to the local pub to continue our conversation in a friendlier environment?"


    She smiles, and she seems to consider it, but just as I feel she''s about to say yes, she steps back and looks at the street.


    "Thank you for your offer, Sir Grimwalk, but I''m afraid my pollen flows differently, so to speak."


    My heart falls into my stomach. I can''t believe it; the fates said that the first person who''d walk by the bench would lead to my soulmate. I had been sitting on that damn bench for two mind-numbing hours, and I know for certain she was the first person. I''m most certainly not mad at her, but at myself... perhaps my friends are right to ridicule my belief in the fates. I turn to Miss Moonstone and nod, keeping a smile on my face.


    "Understood, Miss Moonstone. My deepest apologies for the implication. May you continue to have a wonderful evening."


    "You as well, Sir Grimwalk. I''m actually going to meet my Love and a few friends right now. A few of them are single, if you''d like to tag along. I''m sure they''d love to meet the leader of the Glorious Hippogriffs."


    My eyes widen. Perhaps the fates did not forget me; the shaman did say ''lead me'' to my soulmate, after all. I perk up, ready to accept, until a great booming grows behind me, and Dreya''s face droops. I know that kind of face droop well. Danger is near, and I am far too tired and unprepared for a full-blown brawl. I turn, hoping to charm my way out of this like usual, but instead I''m met with the spiked knee of my opponent. I look up, and a good six feet above me is the scowl of an orc maiden, battle-axe attached to her back, with three comrades standing close behind. She growls and looks at Dreya.


    "And who might this be, my dear?"


    "Come now, Alia, he''s harmless. He''s a member of the Hippogriffs, remember?"


    "Oh yeah... you guys cut my cousin''s left arm off a few years back. Does the name Jonah Shortmane ring a bell?"


    Crap. Crap. CRAP. This is certainly not the first time I''ve met a family member of an old mark, but why did it have to be an orc? I take a step back and chuckle nervously.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    "Well, yes, but I''m sure he''s gotten past that, right?"


    "Nope, and I''m sure he would love to hear I bagged one of the spineless frogs who took his second favorite appendage while he was trying to talk to my girl."


    "Darling, just let it go, please!"


    "Don''t worry, Dreya, I won''t rough him up too bad... I''ll leave that for Jonah''s hyenas."


    And that was my cue to leave.


    "Percival, showtime!"


    With the order clear as a whistle, Percival leaps out of my arms and emits a radiant crackle of lightning straight into the orcs'' eyes. With the threat momentarily disoriented, Percival flies back to my arms and we make our escape. It doesn''t take long before a roar loud enough to split the street in two comes barreling after us, followed by the three orcs flinging their massive weaponry as if they were streamers from a child''s birthday party.


    "You''re doomed, runt! Accept your fate and we''ll consider making it quick."


    "You''d be surprised how many times I hear that. Spoiler alert: they''re always lying!"


    A dagger whizzing by my head tells me that Alia and her goons won''t take no for an answer, so I increase my speed, turning and twisting down the largest street at each intersection; maybe if I can find a nice crowd, I can lose them. I eventually hit a street where a small nighttime market is opening, and I find a perfect hiding spot behind an old merchant''s boxes of rice and produce. When the man turns his back, I leap behind his wares, holding Percival tight to ensure not a single yelp escapes his maw. Alia''s heavy boots clang on the street as she sniffs the air for her prey. She stops at the merchant and questions him with a growl.


    "Have you seen a scrungly little goblin knight? Should be carrying around a scrawny lizard that sneezes lightning."


    "Nay, M''lady, no such folk have crossed me path. Best I can offer you is some wares for your hunt."


    Crap.


    "Would ye like a few apples?"


    Whether cruel joke or hapless coincidence, the merchant lifts the box of apples and reveals my head poking out from between the fruits and vegetables. The merchant squeals with shock, but Alia smiles and snaps her hand forward to grab me. Not enough room to draw my sword or jump to safety, so I immediately find myself wrapped in her paw, stinking of mead and what I hope is boar (Trust me, the other options are far, far worse).


    "I expected better from the leader of the Griffs. Eh, no matter; less running for me, more fun at the family reunion."


    "Is there anyway we can just forget this ever happened? Sure, I understand defending your woman''s honor, but I feel this has gotten far out of hand... well, clearly it''s in your hands now, but I''m sure you get the point."


    "Nah, I think you''re the one that''s going to get the point soon," Alia chuckles and she taps the top of her axe on my forehead. Alia and her crew turn to leave, beginning their trot back to the pub, until they''re stopped by three hooded figures. Alia lifts her axe and motions for them to leave.


    "Out of our way. We have important business to take care of."


    "Not with him you''re not."


    The figures remove their cowls to reveal a gargoyle, scarab, and lion-man, all in majestic armor and carrying shining weaponry; my fellow Hippogriffs. My closest friends. Rather than the usual look of fear when we make our grand entrances, Alia smiles and cracks her neck.


    "Excellent! Now I can bring all four of you to my cousin for supper. You two, break ''em apart!"


    Alia''s goons charge at my team, hammer and mace drawn, but Heinrad already has a protection shield ready, bouncing the soldiers backwards when their weapons connect with the bubble. Now, it was Zalas'' turn. She pulled her bow and readied two jet black arrows. Just as the two enemies were regaining their surroundings, Zalas released her arrows and, on impact, covered the foes in an inky goop that hardened in seconds. Nigh impossible to break; your only hope is that is disintegrates by the end of the week. Enraged, Alia straps me to her back and readies her weapon.


    "Ugh, this is what happens when you let the wimps handle it! C''mon then; face the great Alia the Terrible!"


    "More like Terrible Breath," I snicker, but a tightening of Alia''s armor straps sends a clear message to shut up. She releases her glass-breaking Warcry and charges at the group. This time, Ember is prepared, and flies at Alia with nothing but their bare hands, scraping her cheek with their claws and pushing her into the wall face-first, to ensure I was not damaged further. Alia groans and begins to rise, but Ember is already preparing a second dive and wrenches me and Percival free from our imprisonment. Ember lands next to Heinrad and Zalas with a smile, and once I''m safely on the ground I immediately embrace my friends, albeit with a wave of confusion.


    "While I am thankful for the rescue, how did you know where I was?"


    "You left a copy of the map to Ironhelm on your desk with this neighborhood marked. It wasn''t hard to connect it with that Shaman we met at the carnival last year, so we figured there might be some trouble."


    I hang my head low. I don''t know whether to be more embarrassed they had to save me from my foolishness, or that they remembered the source of said foolishness. Either way, my shame would have to wait as Alia finally collects herself.


    "You''re dead. You''re all dead, you hear me?!"


    "Maybe someday, but not right now. Take care, Lady Alia," smiles Heinrad. "Uthe Zazure!"


    With the wave of his hand and a sprinkle of purple mist, our group is now in the forest surrounding Ironhelm, far from Alia''s screams. Ember chuckles and slaps Heinrad on the back.


    "Ah, that never gets old. Now, let''s head back to the caravan and eat. We had to skip dinner to help you out of that jam, so I hope you brought an appetite for a big meal."


    Ember, Zalas, and Heinrad start marching back to the caravan, but I''m fixed in the grass like a newly sprouted flower. They notice I refuse to follow and walk back, Heinrad kneeling with a sigh.


    "Come now, Captain, what seems to be the problem?"


    "You''re... you''re not mad? You just had to get into a street brawl with a bunch of Orcs because of me."


    "Wh- Liam, that''s our average fucking weekend. Why would we be mad just because you wanted a little me time?"


    "Well, you''re always telling me to stop believing in these Fates guiding my life and joking about my nonexistent love life. I... I feel like I hold you back sometimes."


    My friends stare at me for a moment with sympathetic eyes. Heinrad puts his hand on my shoulder and smiles... then they all burst into laughter. I barely hold back a wave of tears as I search for an answer.


    "Is this a game to you?! I''m always viewed as the big hero even though I keep screwing up and getting you guys in danger, all because I can''t keep my shit together."


    "Liam, that''s all of us," says Zalas. "We would never discredit your feelings, but we refuse to agree that you are anything close to a screw up, or that you hold us back. I mean, you''ve known me and Heinrad since the Academy."


    "And me since we were children," chimes in Ember. "And even when the three of us first met and wanted to kill each other, you kept us level. You''ve always kept us level, even when we didn''t want you to. And we''ll do the same for you."


    "Agreed," says Heinrad. "But why do I feel like it''s not just you feeling like a so-called screw-up? What else is going on? Why did you feel the need to obey what that drunk Shaman said?"


    "What? She wasn''t drunk!"


    "She reeked of mead and you know it! Now come on, spit it out."


    "Fine... As you know, I''ve never felt that ''tug'', you know? That instant, fiery attraction. The animal feeling of wanting to bed someone and not leave for days. The passion-"


    "Right, right, we get that. What of it?"


    "I wanted to try to find it. See if it was possible, if the Fates wanted it, if... if I was actually broken or not."


    Heinrad pulls back as if I had insulted his grandmother.


    "Liam, you could never be broken! Just because you don''t want to love and leave every gentleman and maiden we come across? You should never feel bad for your feelings, or lack thereof! You do not need this mythical partner just to be seen as a complete person. If a day comes and you find one, huzzah! If not, then huzzah once more! Because this is your life, and we''ll be here to support you either way."


    A pair of ''Ayes'' rise from Zalas and Ember and all three come over to embrace. Granted, they are twice my size and I can feel my lungs collapsing from the pressure, but I allow them to hug nonetheless. Once I am released from yet another death grip, I take a deep breath and smile.


    "Thank you, truly. I''ve felt like I was ''wrong'' for not wanting it, that I had to force it by any means. I can''t say that feeling is gone completely, but it''s certainly on its way. I do know this, though: I love you guys, and you are truly my family."


    "Same here, Mini-Marauder," jokes Ember. "Now, can we get to that food? I did not have those fish marinating for three days for nothing."


    "Of course," I grin, and we begin our trek back. Suddenly, it hits me: the Shaman was right. I didn''t a romantic soulmate, but I was led back to my other kind of soulmates. Through blood, tears, good food, and years of memories, I had found what I needed long ago. And no ''one great love'' could ever replace them.

 The Voyage Home

    I watch the blinking red dot slowly cross my screen. It''s funny; I''ve been here for years alone, hoping for someone to join me, but now that it''s here, I feel scared. Scared of what news they''ll bring, what brought them here, even what they brought with them (Our systems are not exactly the best. One power surge and we''re down for a long weekend). Still, only a week''s time separates our meeting, and I need to get to work. The gardens have been tended, the water reservoirs are full, now it''s time to complete the houses. Granted, calling them ''houses'' is a stretch given our limited supplies, but the designs should be comfortable enough. A few of the thicker vines tied just right, plus a nice amount of "Puffbaby Plants" as I call them, have been a great mattress for me over the years, why not them?


    I take a quick gulp of my whiskey (Shame, it''s my last bottle...) and head out of the control room, down the shiny orange hallways of the station I know so well, and out the door to the environment beyond, once an alien terrain, now more familiar than my point of origin ever felt. Funny, to think when I first agreed to come here, I thought I''d die from inhaling a noxious gas or getting eaten, when in reality this place was the least of my worries. The agency said despite the dangers, everything had been prepped and approved for maximum safety. I''d be remembered as a hero, a trailblazer. I knew they were full of crap when I first heard the pitch, but I still had the pull. Something about those first pictures from the satellite, the strange aura I felt... like I was getting pulled in by a siren''s song. The placeholder name - Adito, the greek word for Sanctuary- felt so fitting for such a tranquil place. I signed the dotted line in a heartbeat. I didn''t consider my friends, my community, no one and nothing but this moment. I didn''t even think about why they really chose me; I had been a low-level engineer building rocket parts for 4 years, skipped over by most promotions because of my ''blood'', and had never met a single one of the higher-ups until the recruitment day. Perhaps that is another reason I feel so afraid of what the newcomers will tell me: There''s a high chance that my mission was the catalyst.


    I kick off my slippers at the foot of the base and walk along the swaying grass, shining a black-purple tone in the evening light. It grounds me when I feel the sharp points nipping on my soles, a good reminder of my connection to this place. I''ve become a part of this ecosystem, and I had to respect it to the best of my abilities. Even if there was a certain interloper making that difficult. Almost on schedule, a loud clang comes from the homebuilding site and I race over, as I''ve been doing for the last month. When I reach the site, I see two huts barely finished, and a pair of clawed, silver feet jutting out from a pile of wood next to a half-finished third.


    "You tried building the roof by yourself again, didn''t you?"


    The silver being erupts from the wood pile with a howl and stares at me, his yellow eye and opaque eyelids clicking with disdain as he blinked rapidly.


    "Oh, so it''s still my fault," he growled, "not the fact you have been late helping me for the past two weeks?! We finished everything else without issues, but somehow the knockoff HGTV project is what has you stumped? Explain yourself, Phineas!"


    He wasn''t wrong. Every time my dear assistant Odin told me it was time to work on the huts, I dragged my feet. It just made their arrivals too real, too soon, but I knew I couldn''t tell him. After all, we''re being forced to live on his planet and figure out a way to survive, take over something we had no business to touch. He has no reason to show sympathy to us, yet the day we met three years ago, he calmed me, helped me build a way to survive, showed me how to hunt, even aided in cataloguing local plant and animal life. I always found it strange though; all this time, I''ve never seen another like him, nor has he mentioned a village or home of his own. He even spoke perfect English since day one. He''s always here with me, right when I need him most. I realize I''ve been in my head a bit too long when Odin starts snapping his fingers.


    "Well? What''s wrong?"


    "It''s... It''s nothing, Odin, I''ve just gotten lazy. Let''s see if we can finish House Three, and maybe most of Four if we have time, and talk about what we''ll do once they land. We''ve never really talked about how things will change."


    "I beg to differ. You know where I stand with their arrival, as well as your original home."


    "While I thank you for accepting us to this planet so openly, your plan of action is not plausible, nor agreeable. That ship is a one-way shuttle by design, remember?"


    "Of course, but I believe we can find a way. After all, that base started out closer to a pile of rubble than its current, mansion-like state. I''m sure we could find a way to make retaliation a reality."


    I pick up a hammer and few planks of wood and get to work, ignoring Odin''s pleas. His input has always been important to me, with his opinions almost acting as a perfect opposition to my usual train of thought, but on this topic, he always knows how to go too far. I can''t blame him though. In the beginning, we were furious all the time too, hoping for a time to get revenge, but over time things cooled. Whether it was because we simply wanted peace or we had finally been broken, I do not know, but one thing has remained constant: We were always the outcasts. Ever since news of an "offshoot of humanity" began to spread about a century and a half past, there were fears of replacement and reports of demons taking neighborhoods. Sure, a person with stripes and horns like an antelope and shiny, multi-colored eyes is a bit off-putting, but we were no different than them. We just wanted to live. Still, that seemed more and more difficult as time progressed. Governments couldn''t exactly curtail us like a virus, and there would still be just enough outrage to make capturing us a political nightmare, so they found creative ways to keep us underfoot. This current situation is not even the most sickening I''ve seen in my lifetime.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    Over the next two hours, House Three is ready for two more newcomers. I''m tired and my hands are close to ripping, but I feel accomplished. I turn to Odin, and he''s already preparing to start House Four. Always keeping me productive. As he begins to lay the rock base, he asks a question I would''ve never expected.


    "Do you ever think your people failed?"


    "How so?"


    "Do you think they failed in surviving? Or, better still, overcoming their enemies?"


    "The world was never our enemy, Odin. It was the fear. The anger that spawned in a heartbeat whenever people couldn''t or wouldn''t understand. We fought that wave every way we could, until there was nothing left in us. We never failed. As long as we breathe, we do not fail."


    "Is that why my idea upsets you? It confirms their fears? Spurs more anger?"


    I can only nod, tuning my focus to the pounding of my hammer. Odin growls in an apologetic manner and sighs.


    "I am sorry. Your pain should not become a battlefield."


    We work in silence until night completely overtakes us and my hammer blends into my hand. I step back from the house and assess our work; about 75% complete, an hour tomorrow should be enough to finish the job. I walk back to base, and somehow Odin beats me inside, smiling as he leans on the hallway wall. I could never understand how he was able to pop up behind doors I was sure I locked. Still, I couldn''t help but to admit it was amusing.


    "How many are on the ship?"


    "Given the projected size of the craft, maybe 15. No way to figure out ages or demographics but expect most to be young."


    "Why would they put the weight of such a lengthy voyage on children?"


    I dodge the question, turning back to our housing dilemma.


    "If we work at a similar pace as today, we can have all the houses built 2 to 3 days before arrival. Once we''re ready, we might not have much of a break. We''ll need to prepare for more groups."


    "How are you so sure? There''s no way to know anything until the shuttle lands."


    "That''s not entirely true..."


    Odin acts like I''ve spoken another language, staring at me until I elaborate. I know there''s no way around it, so I relent.


    "When they first sent me here, there were files hidden in the code. I managed to pry a few open, and they detailed plans for expansion of the project; more ships, bigger teams, self-sustainability, everything in place once funding came through. I thought it was for factories or farming, but when the engines on my ship were remotely terminated, I figured out that wasn''t the case."


    "Why have you never told me of this?! We could have prepared for these people ages ago!"


    "I-I couldn''t admit it to myself until I saw the first ship. It''s selfish, I know, but I thought maybe... maybe they''d change their mind, or new people would take over the company and terminate the project by force, or-"


    "Phineas."


    Odin''s tone is rough yet calming. It lets me know I need to gather myself before I continue, so I sit and look at the stars. Strangely, one of them is blinking. It takes me a few minutes to realize it''s the shuttle, finally in clear view. It''s official. It''s finally happening, for better or worse. Odin seems to spot it too, and he takes a deep breath and squats beside me.


    "We''ll get through this, you know that. At least they''ll all be safe here."


    "We don''t know that. They have the location of the planet, satellites to track us, and absolutely nothing stopping them from following us. We could be surrounded before we even have a chance to find out we''re being ambushed."


    "But you won''t let that happen! You''ve been preparing for this in your own way since you landed; with you as their leader - or at the very least, advisor - they will be protected."


    "I can''t guarantee-"


    "THERE ARE NO GUARANTEES! What matters is you live, Phineas. Live to keep fighting, building, something. Put this misplaced shame to bed and get up, because whoever or whatever is on that shuttle is going to need you. Do not back down."


    I can barely look him in the eyes. I just sit there, tied into a ball, rocking and shivering. Odin lifts my head and places his forehead on mine.


    "Odin."


    "Yes?"


    "Why do you care so much? You know nothing of us, our struggle. You took me in without question, and you continue to do so with an unknowable number of my kin joining me. Why?"


    "Because you deserve kindness, all of you. You never asked for this, so why make you suffer more? You understand how to ensure this planet''s safety more than any researcher. I have hope that you can give that and many more gifts to future generations."


    "Thank you, Odin. I promise I''ll make you proud."


    "You''ve already done that. Now make your people proud. Remember your family is always with you."


    That last sentence strikes me. I had never told Odin about my family; I hadn''t had a horrid upbringing, but it just never came up. My parents were part of a circus, as was common for us back then, and we had a good life, but as the story always goes my parents wanted more. They brought me parts for my little gadgets, tolerated reading my elaborate blueprints I made with my imaginary little assistants, and showed me videos on how to build better and bigger machines. I probably wouldn''t have become an engineer without those moments. My dad had died two years before my mission. Bacterial infection got him because the doctors claimed they ''didn''t know how to treat him.'' My mother followed with a broken heart two months later. Perhaps the loss pushed me to leave; finding my own personal ''Adito'' to heal, away from the pain, suffering, arguing, had been my inner goal without realizing it. Now, I needed to give that to these people. They have the same fears I had, perhaps worse, and they deserved to feel safe again. Odin was right. Whatever shame I had, I would need to replace with something better, brighter. So we can work together to thrive. Even if they come for us, even if hell rains down all over again, we will be ready, and we will stand.


    I open my eyes to hug Odin, but he is gone. I look around, expecting to find him in the corner holding the last bottle of whiskey, but I still see nothing. Through the halls, on the radar, there''s not a blip. Gone, once again. Alone for just a little while to ponder. But it''d be fine; he''ll be back soon to help me again, and next time, it will be with new family, and little children racing around the forest. It''d be with homes, and beloved pets to fill them. With culture, laughter, brightness, and pride. With all these things, we''d finally win. Someday.

 Places to Be, People to See (Ending)

    "While there are clearly many heinous people on this version of Earth, I wish only the best for Phineas in his pursuits and do not wish to see his people wiped out. Universe Utro-Z58 may continue."


    The screen shifts from Phineas and his space station to its usual silver block and whooshes away from me, leaving me in my chamber. Well, if you could call it that. My home is quite different from the worlds I observe; nothing exists but an endless white surface, a sky filled with the glowing screens that make my task possible, and myself, floating along through the cold, paperlike realm. I am both its ruler, and its prisoner. I have no idea how I got here or what I might have been before. I can''t even tell you how I look; every time I look in the screens for an answer, nothing appears. I look at my hands, but still, even to my own eyes, I am but a specter. An endless wisp given a duty of great nobility... and even greater sorrow.


    When I first woke here, I was terrified, confused, desperate for a way to escape, even just remember (If there was anything to remember). I acted as a caged animal in a place that most people would find peace. Then, the first screen appeared. It emitted a slight whistle that almost forced me to docility. I sat at the foot of the strange contraption as it delivered my instructions: "Decide what continues and what ends."


    I couldn''t understand it at first. Continue? Ending? Why was I the best thing for this task? I knew nothing, saw nothing, was merely a conscious without any experience that required thought, yet I was told to make choices on anything? My task became even more unnerving when the screen switched to the first scene: Vega-L79. The sky looked like papyrus, and the townsfolk were like stick figures had come to life, darting around the screen smiling and laughing. It was peaceful, happy, but I was still confused, and shamefully, a bit bored. I said I wanted it to end... Then it became clear. Immediately, the world was engulfed in flames. The screams still bellow through me. The world soon turned to black, and it was gone. I screamed, begged the screen to bring them back, that I had changed my mind. It did nothing, simply lifting toward the sky and sticking to the top, like a devilish honeybee collecting my sorrow and despondency like nectar. I did not know if what I saw was real or simply random scenarios pieced together. Honestly, I am still a bit unsure. I didn''t care, though; I vowed to choose ''continue'' as many times as possible. I say ''as possible'' because whatever entity ordained this caught on to my plans quickly. Even when it showed me the worst, most vile acts, I knew it was only a single, small piece of a much larger system. I couldn''t bring myself to say end when I considered what might lie beyond. So whenever this happened, the entity chose for me, bringing calamity and hellfire to countless innocents. I soon realized that my job was not mercy, but coldhearted, unnuanced judgment. Watch the scenario, analyze the details they give me, and make my decision. Once I finally figured out the rules, things became less combative... but the ''ends'' are still far more frequent than I like. Worse still, I can only watch the darkness that comes after an ''end'', never the brightness after a ''continue''.


    I''ve done this for longer than any being can count, with nary a break between scenarios. You''d think they would start to blend together, yet amidst my sorrow over the lives ended, and the wave of dread over what may come next, I still perk up like a child when a new screen appears. What secrets do these people hold? What do they treasure? Who do they love, hate, or something in between? You start to see a slight symphony rise from the most monotonous of actions; the way they drink their water, a slight widening of their gait, a change in their tone when talking to a coworker versus a family member. They all weaved a patchwork tale of comedy and tragedy for me to enjoy. It has been the closest I have gotten to real interaction. I was content for a long time with this being my reality. At least I did not have to experience the pain of losing a family member to a violent death, or being betrayed by friends over money, right? But somehow, a relatively short while ago, something changed. The girl, oh such a strange girl. Her family; no contact for most of her adult life, and she was secretly miserable for years. Even when she returned, despite the pain of old memories and grudges resurfacing, she was as happy as she was as a little child on her father''s knee. It was puzzling: How is it that even with all her pain and deep sorrow, she still had the urge to try? To fight for a family she thought long lost, despite all the turmoil she knew it''d bring? Was it possible, just possible, that behind all the rage and grief and sickness and death, that the value of connections was greater than all of it combined? I had never considered the notion until that scenario. I was not only excited for her new life to begin, but it made me wonder just how I would want mine to look.


    I concocted a series of legendary duels, outrageous schemes, passionate love, terrifying beasts, and heartwarming fireside chats. Any of everything that I found interesting from my watching, I created my own versions, where I was the star. Nay, not the star, but one of many twinkling along a space filled simultaneously with terror and joy. It was a sensation like never before. My what-ifs consumed me to the point that I could no longer complete my duty. The screens simply followed me angrily, showing more and more worlds. Instead of judging, all I could do is take even more details to add to my own world. Even when the screens howled that howl that first sated me, it did nothing but turn into a gleeful song playing in the background of one of my dances, or a funeral march for a departed friend. My heart -whether I had such a thing, or if one was currently growing- was full, but no longer was it connected to this place. My fervor to find something more was renewed. I raced to find an edge of this realm, anything to show me there was a way beyond. It did not matter how long it took, for what was time to me? It did not matter how futile, for what did I need to worry about? All that mattered was the possibility. My passion kept me going.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Then the screens tried something new. They surrounded me, lifted me toward the sky, and ensnared me in a swarm of their companions. Since I failed to judge properly, they made me watch all the worlds I had missed burn simultaneously. The weight of the agony after so long without it nearly broke the passion. I had been drained of my hope, left with a sadistically placed wound for my disobedience.


    And so I went back to work, judging fairly, all the way back to Utro-Z58. I pass my judgment and wait for the next screen to come. But this time, it shall be different. Another screen comes, but before it can bring me a new world I lunge at the screen, hoping for a way to get through. It had worked for one being I had watched, why not me? Of course, it is not that simple, and the screen easily rebuffs my assault. For my disobedience, another swarm descends upon me and hoists me to the ceiling. They tighten further this time, constricting like a cobra. I somehow feel out of breath, my vision blurring. Suddenly, it hits me: If I can command the fates of worlds, why have I been so convinced I cannot command the fate of my own? Have I been so warped to think a being or force I have never could be so calculating that I have lost my sense of self? No, I would not continue. I pray this place dies with me, but if not, I pray the next poor soul realizes this quicker than I. I muster my last breath and shout: "End this now. End me now."


    --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    "And then what happened, Grandpa?" rang out the voice of a mop-haired boy, sitting among a group of five young children at the foot of a thin-framed old man, with a bald head and a beard that nearly touched his knees. The man smiled and leaned toward the children.


    "Oh, now I don''t think I have quite enough time for all of that."


    "Please! Just tell us quickly!" pleaded the little boy, with agreement from his companions. The old man sighed, unable to resist the childrens'' cries, and continued his story.


    "I''ll keep it concise, but it loses a bit of spice. As it goes, I was born to this world to my loving mother, and grew up in a peaceful home, never really fitting in with the schoolchildren on account of my much greater life experience that took me years to untangle in terms of trauma. After secondary school I decided to train as a writer, finding the notion of releasing one''s feelings with pen and paper and allowing the world to enjoy it quite invigorating. I took some of my most favorite scenarios from my old life and made dozens of plays, novels, and the like, raking in quite a penny from theaters to bookshelves. I then used that money to train myself as a baker and open a small shop in my favorite coastal town, still continuing my writing whenever I felt the urge. It was at that bakery at the age of 30 that I met your dear grandmother, and the spark was instant. I had learned long ago to never let fear overtake you, so I asked her out for a drink the day we met, and the time from courtship to marriage only lasted a year. And then, our 40 years of love and family started. Your mother and aunts and uncles were born, and we shared many laughs and tears as we raised them, and then you all came along. And heavens above, you are all so precious. Never forget that."


    The children rose in raucous applause and ran over to their grandfather, embracing him with the loving death grip only a child could give.


    "We love you, Grandpa!" roared the children.


    "And I you, my loves."


    An old woman with long black and silver hair then shuffled into the room with a wide smile.


    "Alright everyone, let''s give your grandpa a break. Don''t let your supper get cold, okay? I made chicken wings!"


    The children released their captive grandfather and formed a line to the kitchen, hollering with glee over the food that awaited them. Once they exited, the woman walked over to the old man and kissed him on the forehead.


    "Your stories never cease to amaze them. Or me. Tell me... did you ever figure out just what that time, that eerie place, really was? Just a horrific hallucination, a fever dream, or something more sinister?"


    "I never have, and I hope I never will. All I know is that those hellish moments granted me this life. I don''t need to go digging for something that can bring nothing but pain when I can stay here with you, basking in a harmony of peace, community... and perhaps a little pain. Especially from those kids and their claws."


    The woman chuckled and jokingly slapped the man''s shoulder. She looked at him like a honeybee upon a shining flower and sat in silence for a few moments, adoring this puzzling person she had lover for over half her life.


    "I love you, Gregory."


    "And I you, Margeurite."


    "Will you join us at the table?"


    "Yes, in a moment. I just want to finish thinking."


    "Oh, Honey, that will never happen!" Margeurite joked. She shuffled toward the kitchen where the ravenous howls of the children could be heard, and Gregory was left in his favorite chair in his home. He wasn''t really sure what he was thinking about today, until a single word popped into mind: Sorry. Almost all of his favorite universes showed people apologizing for something, whether their own fault or not. He felt anguish over their self-inflicted wounds, but he was lightened by the fact that he held little of that within himself. Sure, a little for the universes destroyed, but there was no other choice to be made; it was heinous, perhaps unforgivable, but no avenue ended the madness other than his escape. Strangely, he did not feel upset about how long it took him to escape either. If he had left earlier, would he have still met Marguerite? Or learned the lessons that gave him his success? He did not know. All he knew was that the most formative, most crucial moments of his life, no matter how vile or righteous, happened in perfect time. It was his sole wish for the world he lived in, and however many that existed beyond: To experience that perfect, chaotic timing, at least once, so that their lives may someday make sense on a random day of reflection surrounded by loved ones, or alone in bed. It was a gallows kind of comforting, and it suited him just fine.


    And so, with his thought of the hour completed, Gregory rose from his chair and walked to join his family for supper to partake in his wife''s amazing cooking and share yet another lesson from his life; a journey he could never be quite sure ever existed.