《The Written Scraps of the Star Sea》 Catalogue The Little Starfarer in a Bright Blue Boat (Fantasy) "In which a child begins to sail for the stars." The Purple Pangolin on the Crystal Axis (Fantasy) "In which a pangolin paces down a rod for all eternity." The Red Lizard in the Tin Podracer (Sci-fi) "In which a red lizard participates in a planetary race." The Badger with the Ancient Key (Psychological) "In which a stranded badger tries to open a gate." The Green Raptor who Strung the Stars (Fantasy / Myth) "In which a dinosaur brings light to the sky." The Legendary Whaler of the Resplendent Sea (Fantasy) "In which an old man tells a story to a curious one." The Bismuth Golem, Manse Protector (Fantasy) "In which a golem protects a manor from marauders." The Broken Titan from an Ancient War (Sci-fi / Psychological) "In which a machine plots the annihilation of all Life." The Dreaming Thing at the Universe''s End (Fantasy) "In which someone pontificates the existence of something profound." The Wasteland Walker and the Dying Dream (Contemporary) "In which a survivor visits home." The Cat King vs the Supermurine Defenders (Superhero) "In which superpowered mice protect their home city." The King who was Also a Mountain (Fantasy) "In which a king visits another kingdom." The Onyx Emperor and their Empire of Sand (Fantasy / Psychological) "In which everything is sand." The Marching Band of the Clear Dawn If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.(Fantasy) "In which gnolls march and play music." The Colored Phoenix and the Painting Knight (Fantasy) "In which a majestic bird loses its colors." The Princess Snake goes to the Birthday Planet (Fantasy) (Multiparter) Part 1: "In which a princess runs away." Part 2: "In which a princess emerges from her first trial." Part 3: "In which a princess is healed." Part 4: "In which a princess flies to the sky." Part 5: "In which a princess tells her wish." The Convenience Store on a Large Asteroid (Fantasy) "In which a shopkeeper tends to a store." The Wolf Chained in Hollow Dreams (Fantasy) "In which a boy meets a sealed away beast." Thundertail, the Warrior Born from Lightning (Fantasy) (Multiparter) Part 1: "In which a warrior is born." Part 2: "In which a warrior fights a raid." Part 3: "In which a warrior and mage meet." A Legend of My Own (Fantasy) (Multiparter) Part 1: "In which a son writes a letter." Part 2: "In which a son undergoes a ritual." Part 3: "In which a son dreams of his father." Part 4: "Aftermath I." Part 5: "In which friends visit the son." Part 6: "In which doubt rules a friend." Part 7: "Aftermath II." A Loyal Companion''s Undying Loyalty (Fantasy) "In which a loyal companion follow its master''s light." The Fireshaper builds a Monstrous Machine (Fantasy) "In which a fiery inventor creates his magnum opus." The Candy Kobolds need a Hero (Fantasy) "In which outsiders invade Candy Island." There are Worms in the Sky (Fantasy) "In which a fisherman contemplates about worms in the sky." The Climber Roulette and the Upside-Down Mountain (Fantasy) "In which somebody seeks for a mountain." The Spires in the Blue Ice (Contemporary) "In which researchers search for a frozen city." I''m Flesh, Not Cake (Horror / Fantasy) "In which a survivor is not cake." Neon Arcadia (Horror / Contemporary) Part 1: "In which a boy enters a secret world." Part 2: "In which a secret world finds a boy." The Little Starfarer in the Bright Blue Boat The little starfarer was a young little one. They lived a happy life in an island amongst the stars. It was a nice little island with stones of greenish grey. The leaves of the plants that grow there was brilliant azure. The little starfarer was born on this island, begotten by two wondrous people living on this parcel of heaven. They and their ancestors had lived on this island for generations. When the little starfarer was of age, he oft found themself by the harbor. They would watch the shipwrights assemble starships and gaze upon the ships that dock upon the jetty. While they watched the ships fade into the distance, crossing the golden horizon between the sky and sea, the little starfarer''s eyes are guided upwards to the starry heavens. What a wondrous sight it was. It was one of the nicest things about the stellar island they lived in. Although high noon was the hour, the stars were visible in the tapestry that was the sky. The little starfarer was oft enamoured by their twinkling shine. They oft pictured themself visiting these distant points. Though the telescope they owned weren''t resolute enough to render their surfaces in high definition, the little starfarer let their imagination make the rest of the picture. They examined one distant star with brilliant white shine. They imagined a beach that stretched as far as the eye could see with crystal sands white as salt. They pictured a marina erected upon the shore, with docks made of milky white marble and roofs blue like lapis lazuli. Another they observed had a dim golden glow. They saw a forest with trees that bore leaves the color of gold. The trees bore wood red as blood and the soil below was a matted in butter-yellow moss. Another they found a sphere shining a pleasant blue like that of a cloudy turquoise. They imagined a hilly land with gentle slopes made of pale blue snow. By the river that flows between the hills were little houses made of ice and decorated with silver baubles. Lengthy pale worms jumped from the fine snow like dolphins in the sea. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. The little starfarer adored these little images in their head and wished that they could approach those distant stars and see their true selves. Imagination alone wasn''t enough anymore to sate the curious dream that burns within the heart. Splurging the little allowance that they possess, they acquired a small wooden sailboat for them to sail across the space between stars. They took loving care to paint the hull with their favorite bright blue paint. They furnished the boat with their favorite fluffy sleeping bag and hung shiny ornaments upon the boat''s rim. They filled the tackle box with their favorite snacks: licorice, jerky, and candied durian. Leaving a note for their parents to read, the little starfarer was excited to leave behind the haven that had been their home for many years. They wore their favorite navy-blue vest over their old cream shirt. Plopped upon their head was a pricey space helmet for when they wanted to take a spacewalk. Upon their neck hung a gold five-pointed star. It was a memento that they will cherish in their journey. The little starfarer began their interstellar odyssey with a row. They rowed off the coast of the stellar haven that they had called home for all their life. As the harbor and the island grew distant, they watched it shrink and shrink until it was small like a model town. After a little bit of reminiscing on their life on the island, the little starfarer pulled the rope that opened up the sails. The orange sails swelled as it caught the flowing solar wind that blew through the solar system. Slowly at first, the bright blue boat sped up across the star ocean, and soon, the little haven of whence they came soon shrank to a blue-green shining point. Enough looking back, the little starfarer looked foreward. Their little starboat bobbed over the calm ocean. The orange blinking light atop the mast signalled their presence upon the desolate space between the stars, but the desolation of the star ocean wouldn''t scare them. They turned their gaze to above, and saw the hundreds of constellations. The tapestry of starshine filled them with a determination to visit them all, to visit a sizeable amount of them. They could see their multifarious colors beckon to them. Turning below, they could see even more stars shining with the same fervor as the stars above. The little starfarer found solace in their constant shine. Their beautiful rays fill the vast universe with chilling light. It was a lullaby to behold. The Pangolin on the Crystal Axis There was once a pangolin with scales of purple flourite. It had eyes of amethyst and claws of heliotrope. It stood solemn on the crystal axis, the axis on which the cosmos revolves. The pangolin had stood upon this axis for eons and millennia, pacing up and down its mighty length. This almighty rod stood constant at the universe''s center. It was made of an unknown mineral with crystals that glimmered gold in the starlight. This axis of crystal spanned the universe''s diameter and had a girth to rival moons. Few are fortunate enough to observe a part of the great rod''s visage. Even fewer are fortunate enough to be close enough to examine the great axis up close. Rarer than both is to meet face to face with the cosmic purple pangolin. Nobody quite knows what occurs in the creature''s mind. It just paces down the length of the universal rod without pause. At times, it gazes upwards to observe the celestial bodies that go to and fro upon the cosmic theater, but its steps never falter and its paces stay perfectly regular. It does not eat, does not sleep, nor does it relieve itself. It is an untiring machine. Some conjecture state that the pangolin might not be alive at all, that it is an automaton whose purpose is to pace the length of the axis ad infinitum. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. The pangolin does not care. It heard them all. The pangolin had seen it all. The pangolin had taken an innumerable number of steps upon this crystalline axis and paced its length an unknowable number of times. It had witnessed countless deaths and births of stars. It had seen how the universe skate in its orbits and paths. It had seen how it could have flown apart and implode and explode. Very few celestial bodies ever fly by the great axis to check on the pangolin. It was a beautiful sight, an unforgettable memory amongst a beach of countless others. The pangolin''s mind is a treasure trove of such things, but no one can quite pry it from the pangolin. And so the pangolin so paced up and down an axis immeasurable. Where it came from and when it came about is a mystery, but the mystery of its occurence is a greater mystery. It paced this great rod for as long as the cosmos had existed and it will pace it until it and the cosmos is no more. The pangolin walks the length to the edge of space and end of time. The pangolin continues on, and when all steps have been taken, it will make some more. The pangolin will walk. The pangolin will pace. The pangolin is eternal. The pangolin walks. The Red Lizard in the Tin Podracer In a distant planet in an elliptical galaxy lives a red lizard. This lizard was unlike any other. He stood a mere hand tall and drove an equally teeny machine, the famous tin podracer. The tin podracer was as it sounds; it was a clunky machine of clockwork and tinplate. His mechanical genius aunt built it from rubber bands, gum arabic, and parts bought from the junkyard. He had spent much of his meager childhood piloting the tin aerocraft, to dust the farmland upon which his family had grew shekelsol, eringl?, and virrimit. Such was the life of the red lizard, everyday was a drudgery on the rural planet they live in. The natural short lives of his species and the seasonal change by the hour had the red lizard crave action beyond an endless cycle of securing and ensuring. He wished to do something, something daring, something death-defying, something life-changing. Almost all of his time he spent on piloting the meagre aircraft. He went speeding across the wide open air, twirling between the dry twisters characteristic of his home planet. He went on daredevil trips, performing loops, rolls, and tricks high in the sky. It became a point of contention with his family at times. He was reminded oftentimes that the duster, though tinny and shoddy, was not a toy that is to be played and broken. The tin aircraft, despite being antiquated and used, was very cheap. It was a bargain of course, but a dozen gringes was a still a heavy price paid. It was then that he had overheard of an event occurring very near. This event was the Tri-Sector Area Open Registration Podracing. It was a well-known biannual event, but to a farmer in a rural planet, it''s something unheard of. His dreams of the greatness that many up-and-coming champions aspire to achieve began here. Up above the skies of their farm, trailing behind a speeding sky-yacht, the ribbon advertisement of the TSAORP fluttered in the wind. It displayed proudly in the local tongue and script an invitation to the event, an invitation that the lizard received and entertained. It was an opportunity of a lifetime, and something that the lizard cannot simply reject. The lizard hopped onto their tin crop duster and fired up the on-board reckoner to direct him to the registration hall. The hall was lively that hour. Foreign registrants fell in line before the booth. Racers from numerous systems flocked to the planet to participate in the contest. Except for the red lizard, no other local could be found vying for a spot in the contest. Podracing had never been a tradition or popular sport in the agrarian planet. The lizard was overjoyed to take a spot in the TSAORP, but the same could not be said to the rest of his family. Of his 42 siblings, 63 niblings, and 237 cousins, the number of those who approved and are excited in his placement to the sport was no more than he had fingers. The only person who felt excited with fullest sincerity was his aunt who built the machine. While the rest of the family argued over the practicality of the crop duster being gone and busy for multiple hourly harvest cycles, the ultimate decision fell to that aunt. For she created the machine and so it shall be her responsibility to decide on the matters of the tin crop duster, and her decision had been set from the very beginning: may it be the farm become disadvantaged by the disappearance of their trusty duster, a rare opportunity had shown itself to them and it would be a shame for it to be ignored and a little bit more labor for the meantime is worth it just to grab this opportunity. This had driven up the spirits of the red lizard and promised that he would acquire the foremost place in the race. The day of the contest''s start was a few days away, but the lizard hadn''t lazed nor neglected his duty on the fields. When the tin aircraft wasn''t busy in the dusting of fields, the red pilot would take it for a spin across the skies. The lizard drove the dusting machine across distances at record speeds. He handled curves with utmost expertise never before seen by his family. Soon, the day of reckoning came: the biannual Tri-Sector Area Open Registration Podracing had begun its opening ceremonies. Atop the platform built upon the surface Gretin, a rocky of moon of the Jovian sixth planet of the his home solar system, the numerous racers of various renown stood by their vehicles. The gleaming metallic and colorful hulls of the parked spaceships stood out in the cold desolate landscape. Their flying machines stood contrast to the dull olive rocks and craters that peppered the moon. There were many vehicles, fitted and designed with their pilot in mind. Each of them sized appropriately to accommodate one sole passenger. Their shapes and engineering varied wildly from one to the other: some were boxy boats while others were arrowhead yachts. The red lizard and his tin podracer stood out in crowd. He was by far the smallest participant of the contest; a third the size of the second-smallest participant. His tin podracer was smaller than a Thymeian Universal breadbox. His appearance had attracted a little curiousity. His size was commented upon, nicknaming him the Croissant and the Tin Breadbox. He paid it no heed. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. As the opening ceremonies and sponsorship announcements came to a close, the race proper was slated to happen. The pilots boarded their the podracers and started their engines. The hum of engines and fumes of exhaust filled the platform. One by one, the vehicles slowly floated off the platform as the signal light flashed the color of jormit. When the signal turned kinneek-colored, all the racers simultaneously flew off the platform, albeit at differing velocities. The spacecrafts were mere blurs in the speed of their flight. The race entails that the participants fly to 22 buoys in order. The organizers had stationed these buoys in the upper of atmosphere of gas giant Gretin. The buoys emitted an constant signal to indicate their location and order. The reckoners of each podracer had been programmed to direct their pilots to the next buoy. The racers approached the first buoy, floating placidly at the far reach of the planet''s atmosphere. The race would only get harder. While races that dip into a planet''s surface are not unheard of, an entire course mostly going through soupy Jovian air was uncommon. Most podracers are often designed for optimal performance in the vaccuum of space, but podracers are also designed with some semblance of aerodynamism. The red lizard had an advantage here. His vehicle was designed for aerodynamic flight first. Of all the podracers that entered the gas giant''s atmosphere, the red lizard''s was the only one which sped up as it entered. Whereas the others struggled to speed up, the tin podracer accelerated to the front of the race where it stayed. The red lizard deftly weaved between the thick clouds that jutted above the top cloud layer. The buoys were strategically placed so that the racers had to take curves and even turn around. Even against racers with advantageous equipment, those with bigger thrusters and stronger engines, the tin podracer flew spearhead with its efficient design. Its pilot used its efficiency to fullest as he skillfully wove through cloud clusters to reach the buoys they surround. The red lizard soon came to spiral around a thunderhead. The cumulonimbus towered over the swirling cloud layer below. Its teal body rife with crystalline precipitates stood contrast to the orange surroundings. Atop it was the final buoy in the planet; the rest now lay in outer space and on the greenish-blue surface of the moon Herlta. The tin podracer breached the atmosphere of the Jovian soon after it tagged the buoy. It is where its advantages would wane. The tin podracer moved in the airless void of the space between the moons with the speed of a hopping kirneeki. Despite its slowness in space, no other racers had passed by since he was so far ahead in the race. But the other racers flew like the wind in airless voids, and soon the red lizard''s headstart would wane. The second placer had already crossed half the planetary-lunar gap when the red lizard had grazed his podracer near the first buoy on Herlta. There were only three buoys on Herlta, and the moon was frankly tiny compared to giant size of the Jovian, but its smallness was no excuse for poor performance. The moon of Herlta had a geology made mostly of banded and speckled rocks. Its surface was rife of wide deep crevasses. The organizers of course put the buoys inside the cracks. The red lizard wasn''t the first placer anymore. He had placed firmly in fourth place as a few others had passed him, but he was not discouraged. He had a chance. He had just exited the little crack that housed the final buoy and it was on the final stretch. A few kilometers of relatively flat landscape stretched between the last buoy and the finish line. The first three raced placidly for the finish line, conserving precious fuel and energy. It was not only to ensure their place, but also to occasionally avoid the spikes that jut off the surface. The mostly atmospheric course took toll to their reserves, but to the red lizard, it was a blessing. When the others spent their resources to speed up in the atmosphere, the atmosphere sped up the tin podracer. The tin podracer still had half of its gas tank even in the last leg of the race, an advantage that the red lizard will soon take. With the finish line clear in sight, the tin podracer accelerated. The lizard put the pedal the metal and his ride zoomed across the landscape. This act drew the gasps and oohs of the audience as the vehicles rapidly approached the leading racers. The red lizard used his piloting expertise to weave between the jutting spikes. His tinny vehicle oftentimes came to close calls where it barely avoided crashing onto the extruded rocks. The sharp turns and rapid speeds made his performance thrilling, but nothing brought more excitement than his quick approach to the finish line. Many had thought that even at this speed the lizard could only place fourth, but some had faith that the reptile could make to the top. It was a close one. The leading three had an oncoming challenger rapidly approaching. They were packed closely, seeking to overtake one over the other, seeking to take the prized the first place. They were confident. The finish line lay just a hundred meters away. ''There was no way the pipsqueak could pass us by before we could make it,'' they thought in their heads. Oh how wrong they were. The foremost racer just lay approaching the finish line five meters away. They were confident, it was for sure, the runner-ups thought so too, but before their vehicle could graze the sensor array that detects their crossing of the line, a podracer whizzed by them with alarming rapidity. It was the tin podracer passing by fast. The lizard held on his steering wheel as he guided his vehicle to victory. Verily victory. The former foremost followed him past just a scant half-second. With no more fuel and energy, the tin podracer sagged. It dropped from its comfortable height above the surface and crashed into the rocky lunar ground, grazing the a line that stretched a few meters. It was a wild victory. He exited the tin podracer as the hosts and press approached him for his victory. It was an unprecedented victory that would cost a pretty penny to some betters. He would bring home a gilded trophy and some prize money to the farm. The runner-ups stared aghast at the winner, but nonetheless took his victory in stride (albeit with a tinge of jealousy). But this close victory was just the beginning of the illustrious career of the Red Lizard in the Tin Podracer. The Badger with the Ancient Key There was once a rock in the middle of the Star Sea. In a remote region of Gamma-Theraviel Void of Cassiopeia Superocean, lay the Badger''s Rock. It was an uninteresting rock made of worthless greenish-gold stone. Nobody wants this rock. This inconsequential rock of unremarkable igneous rock does not attract any customer. In the middle of a large void far away from any shipping routes and parsecs away from the nearest celestial archipelago, it lays alone. It stands in its lonesome in its parcel of the void where nothing ever happens and where nothing ever finds it. Surrounded by an ocean so deep that the waters that surround are more black than blue, the rock was a great pillar that jutted from the invisible ocean floor, defiant to the rather placid currents. The air of the void was perpetually calm, so calm that sails and windmills can barely catch any wind. On this out-of-the-way rock stood a house made of blue-green wood. This is the badger''s house, the house of the badger which the island was named after. Its walls were bound by copper nails and wire whilst its roof was tiled with dark slate. It''s an old house that had stood enduring in the face of the Gamma-Theraviel Void. The aforementioned badger lived in this house. She had lived in this house for a very long time. She could not count the passing of years or days because there was no sun to indicate a cycle of day and night. She had no clocks to defer timekeeping to except the biological rhythms that ticks within her. The badger was stuck on this tiny rock in an unforgiving universe for as long as she could remember being stuck. She could not remember being elsewhere but this little island in middle of the frosty sea. The distant stars beckoned her, taunting her a life of light. Their glow shone faint in the sky as if at any moment, their brilliance may fade without warning. They felt so cold, so far away, that the badger had no hope of stretching her arm far enough to grasp their majesty. She could only imagine the warmth they could be exuding on the rock where their rays had already grown cold by the distance. In her consolation, there was only one thing that brought her greater hope, a hope that the distant lights of her stellar neighbors were bare: an ancient key. There was no indication that the key was ancient, she only knew, and she trusted her intuition in this regard. The ancient key was a large bronze key, made a dark dull brown by dirt and skin oils. It''s design was that of an archetypical medieval key used in cartoons. Small dull-teal patches grew at parts of the key; whether the teal patches were oxidation, weeds, or fungus colonies is uncertain. Atop the badger''s house was a strange contraption. Two pillars made of tree trunks stood erect two meters apart. It was banded with metal bands engraved with magical inscriptions and geometric matrices. Two fake crystals made of melted glass (from the occasional bottle that drift by) were fastened atop the pillars by metal spikes. The entire construction thrummed with excitement... or perhaps that''s just the badger''s heart hammering, giving the illusion of thrumming. There was great significance in the construction. She decorated the pillars with friezes of constellations and various mythical figures of badger-kind; the designs were made to emulate the style of the ancient key. The creation that stood before her resonated with her spirit, echoing alongside her sense of satisfaction. The badger held the ancient key forward, in the space between the two wooden pillars. She held it solemnly and religiously. The key in her hand quivered as if beheld by strange magic. Electricity flowed in the pillars, going up to the crystals atop and casted signals to the void. Her hands quivered harder as the magic did their work. Tension filled the air, made it tingle with excitement and anticipation. A fire was burning inside the badger''s heart and behind her eyes. She was finally going to leave the accursed island, the island that she was condemned to dwell upon without resources and escape, surrounded by a vast sea devoid of abundant life. The emaciated form under the coat of wild black and white shook at the very thought of existence outside the rock, beyond the gate. The ancient key in her hand shook intensely. She held on to the ancient key for many minutes, waiting for the event. The air was filled with electric excitement that made her body shake with anticipation. The ancient key shook... And shook... And shook... This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Sending pulses of imperceptible electricity up the pillars... Casting signals to the void... The ancient key shook... And nothing. Nothing happened. The ancient key fell off the badger''s hand. She dropped to her knees as pyres of hope were extinguished in her heart. The key made a dull thunk on the wooden floor. Nothing was happening. She could feel things happening. She religiously built the gate. She made sure that it was properly built, that its dimensions and designs were apt for hooking onto higher dimensional ledges to allow wormhole generation. She meditated on the physics of it! There should be things happening, but alas, it was all wishful thinking. Her designs were mere daydreams and her scientific contemplation was a fiction. Her portal had been destined to fail from the very beginning. It was fake, constructed from pseudoscience and desperate hope. The distraction it provided shielded her from sanity-draining loneliness, but it was now over. The badger sobbed. She was here for so long, she was tired of it. She was tired of perpetual darkness and eternal dampness. The stars judged her unworthy; their light continued to glow dim and gloomy, and none of them came close to pity, berate, or accept her. The loneliness was getting to her. She was hungry, thirsty, lonely. She needed things, things that weren''t on the measly rock that she had made her home. The ritual had siphoned her of energy. She was tired... She was tired... She needed to sleep. Abandoning the ritual, the badger went downstairs to her bedroom and slipped under her bed. It was a quaint room with a quaint bed made of wood and sawdust. She looked out the window to gaze at the stars for one last time before falling asleep. She sobbed until she fell asleep. She fell asleep... A deep sleep... A deep restful sleep. Lord knows she needed it. She hadn''t had a good one in a while. A comfort it was, but even then, the sleep was for nothing. She knew that she would wake on the same rock she slept on the next day. Sleep could take her away from it, but she could never leave it permanently. ~==*==~ The badger woke up, roused from her sleep by her instinct. She tentatively extracted herself from her bed. She stretched her meager muscles as she got ready for her morning activities. She sighed as she looked out the window to gaze upon the pacific waters of the void sea. She saw an expansive plateau of sun-parched ground. Small weeds grew from the cracks while small hardy creatures scampered across the dust. As she breathed, she witnessed tiny short-lived dust devils twist into existence and die before her eyes. She realized something was amiss. Some sort of light source was overpowering her sconces. The light filtering through the window was filling the room with warm buttery light, a light that she had never felt before in the longest time on the desolate rock. Exiting the bedroom, the badger rushed up the stairs to the rooftop. Something was weird. Something queer was going on. She had to see more. The thumps of her steps harmonized with the beat of her heart. Stepping into the open air rooftop, she gazed upon the vista that stretched around her. Instead of an endless sea of dark water, she saw an expanse of dusty pale orange earth bathed in the warm rays of the overhead sun. Speaking of the sun, she turned her head upwards and examined the spread of bright blue firmament. She saw glittering clouds drifting peacefully across the sky, carrying newborn stars in their embrace. Beside them all, a glowing object attracted the attention of the badger. It glowed so bright in the sky above that it made all the other lights appear feeble. The star above shone with such great intensity that its bright rays tinged the sky above with a cheerful pale blue. It was beautiful. Bathed in its light, the badger felt her body warm up, warmer than it could be in the cold desolate void. The badger fell to her knees admiring the lights above. Unlike what she could on the rock in the middle of a void, the stellar lights above appeared so close, so near, she felt she could touch them just by stretching her arms up to them. She fell over. Tears flowed out her eyes. Lying on the floor, she saw the ancient key between the two pillars. The floor beneath key was charred black by some sort of discharge. The wooden pillars that reach for the skies beside it were riddled with a spiderweb of black scars as if it had been struck by lightning. The black scar stretched from where the key was to the tippy tops of the pillars where laid two shattered crystals. Gathering up some strength, she stood up to inspect the place she found her house and herself in. As far as she could see, the dry dusty pale orange land stretched as far as the horizon, but even if it couldn''t be seen, the badger was confident that the edge of land wasn''t too far (not on the scale of light years at least). She was confident that the shores of the Star Sea would only be a few kilometers away. Looking down the side of the house, she found that her house stood upon the cliff of a deep crevasse. Down at the bottom of the crack, the badger could spy a small river flowing through. Tracking the crack with her eye, she found that the crevasse her house happened to stand beside stretch far into the distance in opposite directions. The badger was happy. She was now somewhere else. She could go somewhere else now if she wanted to. The stars above and below had blest her. It was a great blessing. She wasn''t stuck to a rock with not enough space to go anywhere in the middle of an unpopulated void. The celestial bodies in place in the sky felt so near that she could touch them. Maybe she could. Maybe she really would. The Green Raptor who Strung the Stars Long long ago, when the dinosaurs used to roam the earth, the entire world was a jungle. The thick jungle canopy veiled the world in dark shadow. If one were to crane their gaze upwards, they will only witness an seemingly endless expanse of leaves. The world was orphaned of light. The forest floor had never since witnessed the glory of light. The solar glory of daylight would have been fully gobbled by the great jungle trees and canopy plants. During this era lived a raptor. She was clad with green feather, to better blend herself with the jungle green. She lived her life on the branches of trees, away from the terrors of large predators who roamed the floor. She hunted many creatures smaller than herself to sate the need of her hungering belly. She feasted on rodents, small snakes, tasty bugs, and the unwary lizard. The undercanopy may be safer than the floor, it was no less dangerous that the weedy ground. Large snakes coil upon the branches, awaiting for the foolish to pass by. Insects by the thousands and tree-dwelling hunters make their hunts and on this forest level. The green raptor had lived on the branches for all her life. She had hatched on a nest built on a branch by her parents. She had grown fearful of ventures to the ground after witnessing catches of large and ferocious predators who call the floor their hunting grounds. She lived up there and so would her offspring for until the end of time. Once she pursued a large plump beetle through jungle''s upper foliage. She followed after her meal tirelessly, snapping whenever the insect came close but never catching it. She was determined to catch her meal. So focused was she of her running prey, she hadn''t noticed that the next branch she stepped was rotten. The branch snapped beneath her weight, sending the raptor to a journey to the jungle''s undergrowth. The green raptor''s eyes widened as she realized her blunder, but it was too late: the branch she stood upon broke and she couldn''t reach another branch in time. So, the green raptor plummeted far, far from to tree tops and down to the dirt below. She fell far, farther down the farthest down her kind had gone. She squawked in fear. She was slated to crash to the ground, but as she impacted humus below, the floor beneath her fell away, revealing a deep crevice beneath. The raptor squawked louder. She was filled with terror as fell to depths she had never thought possible. To the dark deep where the light of the surface was a distant dream, devoid of the light of the various bioluminescent creatures that called the ancient jungle home. She was surrounded by a profound darkness that her tree-dwelling night vision couldn''t resolve a clear picture of the world she fell into. And because of that, she fell into the river that flowed placidly and deeply at the bottom of the crevice. She splashed on the river, the water cushioning her tall drop. She flailed uncomprehending of the substance she found herself immersed in. She struggled in the slow moving water until she found herself pulling her body onto dry land. She heaved after that exercise. She tried to calm her quickly beating panicked heart, but barely succeeded as she was in a terrifying strange new place. She didn''t understand fully what the river was. She could surmise that the substance that flowed through the channel was water, but she had never seen water flowing in such great quantities. She had seen water flowing from the top of the canopy to the jungle floor, but it was always in drops and small streams, barely a fraction of grandeur of the river she fell into. Laying on the rounded rocks, the raptor rested. She couldn''t feel any injuries on her person, but it always helps to be cautious. The raptor stood up, sufficiently rested. A common wisdom once said, "One should never stay in one place for too long." Predators could be on the prowl and she wasn''t keen on becoming prey. She opened the eyes she had never noticed she had closed. She expected to see a dark gloomy place, but the place that greeted her eyes was anything but dark and gloomy. The dim glow of the forest floor was invisible at this depth, but world around was alight with colorful dots. The walls around her was decorated in various glowing rocks. It was wonderful and magical. She had seen glowing things before, bioluminescent insects and phosphorescent fungi, but she had never seen anything that glowed as bright or vivid. Such bright greens, brilliant reds, and beautiful blues; she could not remember ever seeing anything as colorful. It was honestly blinding in the darkness. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. She was enamored. She examined the glowing rocks embedded in the walls. She found that her claws couldn''t extract them. She didn''t know what the rocks were, but she found them really pretty and enchanting. Looking at them, she could almost see patterns in their arrangement, almost as if guiding her upwards. She wanted to bring some to the rooftops. She looked to the pebbles beneath her feet, she found some of them glowing like the rocks on the wall. She carried some of them in her beak. The raptor then began to scale the crevice walls. Although the walls were steep, she found plenty of handholds. She slipped and fell a few times, but she thankfully did get too injured. As she climbed, she found the lights was guiding her. Wherever there was light in the wall, she often found crack for her hands to hold. She thanked the lights for guiding her for her happy ascent. With the guidance of the wall lights, after long time of strenuous climbing, the green raptor eventually found herself on the jungle floor. Her feet dug into the decomposing leaves as she finally found rest for her weary limbs. Unaware of the predators prowling, she relaxed as she found herself halfway on the journey upwards. Opening her beak, she produced the glowing pebbles she tucked away in her mouth. Exposed and unsheathed, the rocks glowed aggressively in the darkness. It drove away the gloomy dimness permeating the jungle floor. It filled a world unfamiliar of light. The predators snarled and roared as their eyes was suddenly assaulted with incredible brightness. It took the green raptor out of her reverie of being fascinated with the rocks in her hand. The shiny rocks, covered in slimy saliva, had been rounded by river into almost perfect spheres. The raptor dropped the rocks as she scrambled for the tree tops. The rocks clattered softly on the ground. The predators were very confused of the phenomenon they just witnessed, and once the blinding shine had been hidden beneath the undergrowth, the predators went on a rampage. An unknown madness had befallen all the large creatures with eyes, claws, and canines. The raptor held on the wood was the world shook along with the stomps of large animals. The woods was filled with noise, with shrieks, roars, and cries. Whether they cried out of pain, frustration, or true madness, the raptor could not decipher. She held on to the tree as if her life depended on it. Eventually, the noises petered out. The noisemakers that rampaged around these parts had departed to not be seen for some time. Their presence had crushed and flattened much of the vegetation in the area surrounding. Some of the rampaging animals fell perhaps to their doom to the same crevice the raptor had fallen into. Once the raptor had surmised that the coast was clear, she rushed to the place where she dropped the glowing rocks and quickly brought it up the trees. There, safe from most of the predators that had almost made her their dinner, she fascinatedly examined the rocks. The rocks glowed with such intensity that they created a halo. Their brightness in comparison to the glowworms that live in the damp rainforest made them much more closer than they appear to be. Their biting brightness assaulted the eyes of all those that witness it, but that same quality enamored the green raptor. The raptor had looked at the shining stones for countless minutes before she had realized something was wrong. Not wrong per se, but something out of the ordinary. Normally, anyone who idles in one spot for too long would be swarmed by insects, yet no insects had approached the green raptor. Her skin had been untouched and not a drop of her blood had been sucked. She could see insects flitting about in the dimness yet they seem to be ignoring her or perhaps repulsed by her. Soon, she heard the branches creak. While her kind normally live their lives on boughs above the ground, there were always brave ones who decide to scavenge on the leftovers of the predators. When they arrived, they saw the green raptor, holding unknown rocks, unbothered by the rest of the world. The rocks looked magical. All the other raptors wanted some too. After that momentous day, raptors placed rocks near their nests. The bright shine of the rocks would drive all the predators and repulse the bloodsucking insects. Climbing down the crevice to gather shiny rocks became commonplace among her kind. Soon the forest canopy was filled with their radiant brilliance, bringing dark gloom to an end. The raptors had decorated the branches above with countless shiny rocks. They made the canopy theirs. A long time later, the predators had become used to the rock''s blinding light. They had become bold, no longer fleeing from the brightness, but even then, they could not hunt raptors. As the predators had grown and evolved, the trees continued to grow. They became higher and taller until their branches were no longer reachable by mortal means. After millennia, the canopy became the sky, and the shiny rocks that decked the tree branches became the stars. The raptors oft carried some of the shiny rocks and wandered the branches; they became planets. The Legendary Whaler of the Resplendent Sea Scooter walked down the boardwalk. The dusk sun was just about to dip into the horizon. He was here to meet someone. He wanted to know more about something, or rather, someone. He wanted to learn more about the further truth of the Legendary Whaler. The town of Resplendence had a long storied past with the sea. The Resplendent Sea upon whose shores the town was built. The town was named after the sea and the sea was so called after its abundant seafood and the iridescent sheen of its foam. It was the spice that gave the Resplendent Sea its signature sheen. The waters which flow in the bay are green for the very same reason. The tale of the legendary whaler had its roots in this very town more than 200 years ago. A seawall higher than a man was tall stood steadfast against the advances of the sea. Only the highest and stormiest of waves would hope to splash their water upon the boardwalk above. Residents of the town lay safe upon the foundations of Resplendence, knowing that the sea will not wash their homes away. Scooter walked down the boardwalk. He ignored the number of shops and stalls peddling souvenirs, snacks, and services. He was here for a very specific reason. He saw him standing by an old lamp post. The lamp post was clearly old. Its well-cared-for wrought-iron post was of a style newer posts do not adhere. Upon its top was a lamp once lit by candles or oil but had since been retrofitted to accept electric lighting. The man who stood by the post idly turned his head until his eyes met with Scooter''s eyes. He was an old man, wearing a faded wine-red coat, matching cap, and brown pants. He had lightly wrinkled brown skin and a headful of grey hair. He leaned on the post, puffing a smoke on his tobacco pipe. This must be him. Scooter approached the old man and asked, "Excuse me, but are you perhaps Flotsam?" The old man focused on Scooter. His mustache bristled at the mention of the name. "Yes, I am he. What do you want?" "I''ve heard that you knew a lot about the legendary whaler. I''ve always wanted to know more about him, but I''m not really sure if the details they give are really legit," Scooter answered. The old man scoffed. "It''s a legend, kiddo. It''s in their nature to be dubious." "Please, Mr. Flotsam. At least tell me your story," Scooter pled. "Erg...," Flotsam mumbled for a moment, thinking it over. "Fine." "Ahem," the old man cleared his throat. It''s clear that he had told this tale many times before for he spoke it with well-practiced voice. Flotsam turned to the sea. He leaned on the parapet of the seawall as he turned his gaze to the setting sun. The green sea, shining with the colors of the rainbow, extended to as far as the eye can see. It reflected the sun''s fiery image like a flowing broken mirror. The calm waves of the low tide rocked the boats that fish in the distance. Many of the boats return to shore, to moor onto the stone piers and drop their catch on a nearby fish landing. "Once upon the time, there was a whaler who lived in Resplendence. Like many who lived in this town, their livelihoods depended on the Resplendent Sea, may that be fishing, pearl-diving, or whaling. Whaling back then wasn''t a illegal. In fact, it was a very important industry, the source of much oil and wax." "What was the whaler''s name? Nobody seems to know." "They are right. Nobody knows for sure." "Do you at least know one suspected one?" "Some say that the whaler''s name was Quest, but well, I have been told that that may be a nickname." "Is the whaler a boy or a girl?" "Nobody knows. Gender was a trait people take as irrelevant to the story and leave it. You can call the whaler he, she, or they if you want, but I''m calling him he for the sake of my story. He could have been a lady for all we care. Anyway, where were we? Oh yes, the whaler. Whaling is a dangerous job. To hunt whales upon the Resplendent Sea, one must take their boat to the deep where the waters turn from cilantro green to azure blue. Boating in these parts of the sea is dangerous. Beside the whales, there are large monsters who call the waters their hunting grounds. Many a brave fisher and whaler had perished from being capsized and eaten by these beasts of the sea. Quest the whaler had whaled in these deeps before, and was confident to find success there. Alongside his trusted apprentices, they had speared a couple whales and some fatty fish with their black harpoons. They loitered in the deep blue looking for beasts to attack. Minutes turn to hours and morning turn to afternoon. They watched the shadows which swim beneath the waves. They vigilantly watched for anything particularly large that moves beneath the waves. It was then that it appeared. Like a big cat pouncing from its hiding spot, the beast leapt into the air. It leapt with such great height that its full majesty was in full view of Quest and his boys. The world seemed to slow as it gracefully flipped in the air, letting them see it fully in all angles. This was the beast made the whaler a legend." "I''ve heard that the whale isn''t actually a whale but a sea serpent with emerald scales. Is it true?" "What? That sounds outrageous, but not unbelievable. Nobody actually knows for sure what the beast looked like. There weren''t photographs of it, only drawings that got into the tabloids." "I suppose that''s a point of contention. The records only called the whale the whaler caught as Zee Beest." "I give that the records did not mention what it looked like." "Yeah, it did not. Stories and tabloids seems to conflicting on whether it was a whale, a serpent, or a very large marlin." "Ah, the appearance of the sea beast is not particularly important to the legend. Replace it with any fearsome monster you desire and the story remains basically the same. Some details and takeaways are changed, but the skeleton and guts of the matter stay the same." Flotsam paused for a moment to think. He turned to the distant horizon across the sea. A sliver of the sun shone above it as it slowly but surely set beneath the waves. Sky had transitioned from red to black-blue as evening encroached on dusk and the treatise of twilight had come to an end. Up above, beyond the silver clouds that obscure the skyward view, the stars as it had been seen by the ancients glowed with their characteristic starlight. They filled an otherwise empty sky with glittering dots. He puffed a smoke from his pipe. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. His current companion, Scooter paused in his notetaking. He had brought out a notebook to take note of Flotsam''s words. He wordlessly awaited the continuation. And so, Flotsam continued his story. "The magnificent sea beast that they had witnessed that day had an underbelly the color of ivory. Its yellow eyes were closer to gemstones, orbs of topaz, than eyes belonging to a living thing. On its back was a hard shell not dissimilar to a turtle''s shell with scutes made of bluestone. It felt like the world was on pause as he and his apprentices watched the beast flip in the air, mesmerized. The mist and droplets thrown into air had produced sparkles and rainbows as they fell. The whiskers attached to its face twirled like white ribbons in the air. Too enthralled by the display, they hadn''t reacted fast enough to get themselves out of danger. The beast returned to the waters with a resounding splash, and such act had created some serious waves. Waves high and frequent, their ship rocked dangerously, threatening to throw some of them offboard. The final high wave had rocked the boat enough until the seacraft they manned had tilted far enough for it to capsize. The whaler and his apprentices was dunked into the salty water and the ship they rode had flipped upside-down. Although this would have disheartened many fishers and sailors, this did not do so to our dear Quest. The witnessing of the beast at hand had given him enough heart to look for it afterwards. Coast guards took note of their capsized ship and carried the crew to dry shore. The guards had not seen the beast''s display, and they didn''t believe their story, not even a bit, but they did decide to entertain it for the sake of the sopping men. Many had thought that it would right here and there that they would die. The sea flipping their ship and swallowing their equipment had failed to dampen their hearts. For even though Quest was one ship short, his witnessing of the grand beast had ignited a fire in his heart. Enthralled by the beauty of the beast, the whaler intended to catch this rare beast for him to treasure. He had declared to the world that he would catch this majestic beast. Others laughed at him, and his crew groaned in displeasure. He wasn''t kidding when he had proclaimed to the town ''I shall capture this majestic beast.'' His apprentices had known the man to be very stubborn and simply groaned upon the thought of braving the seas just for an elusive beast. The whaler had taken a loan from the bank to get his broken ship fixed. Once it had been seaworthy again, he had assembled his crew to sail for the beast, but his trusty crew had halved that day, abandoning the whaler. They reckoned that they a more stable income on other pursuits. They certainly would need a stern talking to. Regardless, the whaler and his crew sailed off. They sailed off into the deep for a week. They waited and watched vigilantly for the rearrival of the sea beast. They feasted on pickled sausages and vegetables. They were ready to abandon the mission and retry another day when they almost missed it. The beast reappeared to their expedition. It was just as majestic as they have see it before. They watched many whales and sea beasts near the ocean''s top, but they''re quite sure, the whaler''s quite sure that the beast that appeared before them was the beast they''ve met before. ''Wondrous beast of the Resplendent Sea, I have sought you,'' the whaler shouted. ''Fire the chains and harpoons, boys. Tonight, we shall have my prize.'' Harpoons and chains flew to bind the majestic beast. They hooked upon its hide and held it fastly to their grip. The chains bound the beast to their whaling ship. The beast wrestled against the lines to free itself whilst the crew fought against its strength to pull it up their ship. The fight against the wriggling beast had disturbed the surrounding water. Born from the violent thrashings were the high waves that threaten to tip the ship over. The sea surrounding them were stained wine-dark by the bleeding monster they have. But alas, the fight wouldn''t end in their favor. The violent thrashing of the beast at hand had weakened the links of their chains. One by one, their chains snapped, rocking the boat with the force. Weighed bound less and less chains, the beast began to retreat. The remaining chains weren''t able to hold the beast in place, and their pullers were dragged along the floor by the beast''s monstrous strength. But the legendary whaler didn''t give up. He held on to the last remaining line and pulled in vain. The beast''s strength was incomparable to the whaler''s who was summarily dragged to the bottom of the sea. The crew waited a few minutes for their captain to surface, but after an hour of waiting, the whaler had failed to reappear. They had decided that he had perished to the sea, stubbornly holding on to the chains hooked onto the beast. They returned to port, bearing the grave news. His mother and father had borne tears hearing of this news. And so upon the shores north of Resplendence, they built him his grave. The grave still stands to this day, but whatever inscriptions had been carved upon the stone had been smoothed out by waves and time." Flotsam stopped with his taletelling. His tale at hand had come to its end. He puffed a smoke on his tobacco pipe and look at Scooter a bit expectantly. "That''s it?" Scooter asked, stopping his notetaking. "That''s the end of the story?" "Yes," Flotsam answered simply. "That''s not how I expected to end," Scooter replied. "All the stories had said that the whaler lived and came ashore to tell tale." Flotsam chuckled. "Ah, that''s just one of the additions that got added over the years. The whaler drowned." Scooter frowned, scribbling notes. "So I can safely say that anything anyone says after they wrestled with the beast is fiction?" "Yes," Flotsam answered. "What was Quest''s parents'' name?" Scooter asked. "Nobody actually knows." Scribbling down his final notes, Scooter put away his notebook. He then bowed in respect to his elder before saying goodbye. "Thank you for your story," Scooter said. "It had been enlightening to speak with you." "No worries. The pleasure is all mine," Flotsam replied, giving Scooter a toothy smile. Scooter went away satisfied. He had talked to one of oldest individuals in Resplendence and managed to get a story out of him. Now to corroborate his story with all the other stories. He walked down the boulevard, heading for home. At the end of the road awaited the bus stop that would take him home. He lived in another town, and the bus would bring him there in a timely manner. Meanwhile, Flotsam watched Scooter disappear into the distance. He continued to stand there for no reason. At this time, the boardwalk had teemed of people. It was a rather popular location for both locals and out-of-towners. The lamp posts illuminated the boardwalk with warm incandescent light. Food stalls set themselves up to cater hungry park-goers, and shops of many kinds opened their premises to visitors. The warm ocean wind blew across the boardwalk, bringing with it the salty and spicy smell of the sea. The waves crashed upon the sea wall rather peacefully that evening. Flotsam approached one of the food stalls. This one sold hotdogs in both buns and sticks. The vendor boiled the hotdogs in a shallow pan that took half to counter area. "I''ll have two chili dogs please," Flotsam ordered. The vendor happily served the ordered food. They handed two hot hotdogs in buns covered special meaty spicy sauce. "That would be 24 pieces in total." Flotsam accepted the food and paid the vendor the price. He held on to the hotdogs as he roamed the boardwalk. He came to some stairs that led to the short rocky shore below. He descended down the stairs. Down here it was dark, but it bothered not Flotsam. The lights above couldn''t illuminate the rocky shore below. Waves crashed upon the coast, sending the foam reaching for the high sea wall. Flotsam sat upon a flat rock that jutted upon the shore. He waited there for someone. He ate one of the chili dogs as he waited. But he didn''t wait for long. Halfway through his chili dog, the one he waited for arrived. Their form rose from the surf, translucent, practically invisible in the dark night. They were a sea serpent with scales of emerald. They held their head a foot above Flotsam''s height. Inset upon their sockets were eyes shimmering like precious stones. Affixed upon their sharp triangular head were a pair of wicked horns. The figure smiled, showing rows of serrated teeth. But the old man, Flotsam, wasn''t intimidated. He looked upon the beast that had appeared before him as if they were just another man. Flotsam opened his mouth and addressed the sea serpent: "Hey, dad." To which the serpent replied: "Hey, sport." Flotsam chuckled. "I''m fine. I just stood by on the boardwalk." "Ah yes. It is a pretty place," the serpent replied. "It wasn''t a thing back in my time." "By the way, I bought you a hotdog." The Bismuth Golem, Manse Protector Once upon a time, there was golem made of bismuth. It stood a tall 8'' 7" and weighed more than a tonne. Its body was covered in broad iridescent scales, and its head resembled the head of a large horned lizard. It was sculpted in such a way that it appeared like it was clad in full obscuring armor. The bismuth golem frequented a garden, an overgrown garden overrun by weeds and thistles. The garden was but a part of a larger demesne. The garden in which the golem resides was once fraught with beautifully trimmed rose bushes, but its glory days had passed and its former majesty had faded after many years of neglect. The golem patrolled the whole domain, but it preferred to tarry longest in the neglected garden. Nobody is not quite sure why. The mind of a golem is more enigmatic than most. A golemeter sculpts the mind of a golem just like how they sculpt the body of a golem. The golem was diligent in its overwatch. It roamed the demense day in, day out. They trudged through voluminous shrubs and crumbling ruins to inspect every yard of the estate. It drove every and any invader who dared to trespass, and maintained what remained of the manse that once stood as the centerpiece of the estate. There was once a great gothic manse built upon the center of this land. It stood proud and defiant against the wind. Large fluted columns held its ceilings up and pointed spires rose upwards as if to dare pierce the heavens. Walls half as tall as its facades but no less majestic surrounded, securing the garden and manse from the rest of the world. A noble family and their corps of servants had once lived here. Nobles and their nobleborn lived in this spacious estate in bliss and luxury. The bismuth golem was tasked to protect and serve them. It had served them for over three hundred years, outliving many of its wards. Long had its name faded and long had its origin turned myth. Once upon a time, the estate was this, serene and blissful, but after a tragedy that had been etched into its crystalline memory, this place of duty and service would come to an ultimate end. Trespassers had invaded the golem''s dominion: they climbed over the walls and dug beneath the foundations. Those that had escaped perishing to the traps that adorned the walls, rampaged on the estate. They brought torches and poison and weapons. The garden was set ablaze and they charged to raze. The estate had only known peace and quiet, but that streak had been cut short that day. The golem had dealt with invasions in the past, but it had never dealt with an invasions this large before. The invaders were swarming in all directions, overwhelming even the overwhelming bismuth golem. It pulped all the miscreants that dared to trespass its dominion, to attempt to lay a hand on its wards. Its poleaxe swung wild in the battle, sweeping many attackers to the ground. In the overuse against wave after wave of marauders, its weapon was mangled badly and had lost all the possible advantage it could get from its steel polearm. The golem resorted to its fists to crush the remaining invaders that were harassing it. Blood soaked the dirt, most of which once belonged inside a victim''s body. Various weapons alongside their dead wielders were scattered around. The golem stood in the middle of it, bathed in the blood of invaders, bathed in more blood than it had ever witnessed and produced, surrounded by torn bodies of plucky invaders. Its shiny scales were full of nicks and stained with dark blood. It stood resolute and unyielding. The golem bent to the ground and picked up another weapon to arm itself, a bec de corbin once belonging to a hapless warrior who perished against the golem with a fist that crushed his chest. It turned to face more battles until all the invaders had been driven off the estate or dead. The manse was aflame. Puddles of blood filled the halls. Screams of nobleborn and servants alike echoed in the corridors, masked by the barbaric shouts of the invasive reprobates. The sound of hammers impacting stone rang in the chambers as the superstructure shook as their holding pillars were being taken down. Above it all was the crackles of blazing fire consuming all the kindling that lay within. The guards lay dead and broken on the floor, laying in the puddles of their own blood. They have been trained to resist invasions, but they have grown lax and overconfident in the presence of the bismuth golem. While the golem may equal an army, it could only be in one place. Many others could slip its grasp and wreak havoc among the residents. In the midst of the celebrations of the rogues who had stormed the manor, a sound of metal meeting stone rang in the hallways. They had killed all the inhabitants of the estate, but they were yet unable to fell one. They hollered in the chambers the golem held sacred, their voices audible over the roaring flames. Soon, the golem would meet face to face with the rest of marauding force. A borrowed weapon in its hand and a standard procedure in its mind, it stood ready to weed out the scoundrels that besieged its demense. The scoundrels looked upon the dwelling''s guardian standing on the doorstep of a burning building, coated in bloody grime and shallow nicks. The golem''s heartless eyes stared into the barbarians souls that stood celebratorily on the bloody backyard. Then, it charged forward into the mass of arsonist warriors. At the end of the day, only one would stand alone on the estate''s grounds. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. It swung the polearm in its hand with great force that it tore open one man''s side and ripped another''s shoulder. A shower of gore sprayed from the swing. The warriors'' astonishment were shortlived as they drew swords and spears to battle the bismuth construct. The trespassers swarmed the golem just as many who had done so near the start of their siege. The golem dodged and parried their strikes skillfully While a few strikes manage to slip through its defenses, their dull blades did near nothing to its mineral constitution. Pulped flesh and pulverised bone began to pile around as fighter after fighter assailed the golem. Some had grown wise and fled the battle, but they wouldn''t escape the golem''s laser-focused objective. Some ran to the garden where they witnessed the fate of the others who fought the golem. Some hid in the burning manse where they were baked and entombed. Some scaled the high walls where they struck down by the golem''s spear throws. A few others managed to escape in the tunnels they dug to flee from the battle. The golem did not pursue. Its purpose had been done: trespassers had been driven away. The bismuth golem stood tall that day, as it always had, but the domain that it had been created to protect were in ruins. The manse had crumbled into a pile of malachite rubble, and the furnishings within had been reduced to soot and ash. The once well-maintained grounds were littered with corpses and the soil itself was stained with blood. Many would attribute pride in its duty and shame in its failure, but golem held no feelings on the things that had occured. The golem was without feeling, emotionless. Emotions may be attributed to the actions it had done, but it did it all by rote. The golem had always been this way, and will continue to be for years to come. Even after decades after that event, the golem still did what it was made to do. Long after the corpses had turned to dirt and the estate had overgrown, the golem still trod the same paths to oversee its dominion. The golem was many things, but stupid it was not. It was able to decipher what its masters'' true wishes were from their words and manners. It would enact to the spirit whatever order it had been given. It does not take things literally; it understands what idioms were. Even if there were things it could not understand, it could learn to understand; things could be explained and elaborated to it. In its long tireless service, it eventually could do work any non-golem servant could do and sometimes even better. Some of its wards even regarded the golem as thinking, sentient. But the golem was not sentient. Certainly, the golem was partly sapient. It was capable of reason and understanding, but it ultimately was incapable of feeling and personal thought. It could not harbor opinions or emotions. It was numb to pain and despair. It could remember and recall, but it could not relate or emote. It was a creature of rote: it did what it was taught. But it could learn. The golem is many things, and able to learn was one of them. Long had its wards perished, long had its commanders perished, the golem was given no orders and chores. It roamed and overlooked the estate, and drove away invaders. There was nothing to learn, there was no order to enact, no request to decipher, and so its ability to learn tried to find something to learn. Because even creatures of rote could learn to learn, and soon the bismuth golem did learn. With nothing else to learn, the golem learned things. It learned of things it wouldn''t have bothered or even be able to learn. It learned to act on its own accord. It learned to inspect things though irrelevant. It learned that it could act without command. Then it began to wonder what things it could have done beyond what had been asked of it. It had learned to be curious. What could it have done beyond guarding and serving? It could have tended to the flowers and carved lines into the dirt. One day, the bismuth had began to wonder what lay beyond the malachite walls. For all its existence, the wall had stood surrounding the estate, a barrier that separated the estate from the rest of the world. It had never glimpsed what lay outside for all it had ever cared for lay within. The golem examined the lofty walls. The stone it was comprised of had cracked and had fallen apart. Much of its facade were covered in flowering ivy, and its once splendid green stone had faded, and downpours had drawn water stains on the walls like hanging roots. The golem turned to its bismuth hands. At that time, they were old. The golem had become a dull dark grey, coated in dirt. Its chipped scales had lost their iridescent luster, but beneath the surface appearance of the golem, the inhuman power it possessed had never ceased its flow. The golem turned to the cracked wall. It gripped its hands into crevices and began to scale. The wall had stood twenty-fold its own height, but the golem went undaunted. The golem understood no fear. It ascended the wall swiftly, carrying its heavy body high into the sky until its hands had gripped the edge of the top. After the arduous climb, the golem found itself on the ramparts of the protective walls. The metal spikes that once adorned these walls had rusted away long ago. Looking around, the golem had found itself overlooking the land. It saw the sorry ruins of the manse its purpose revolved. It saw the neglected gardens being overgrown with small trees and untrimmed plants. It saw the grounds rife with lush grass growing from their dark soil. It could see the web of paths it took on patrolling the demesne from the lines of crushed foliage. On the other side, it saw the crumbling walls being overtaken with ivy, and their stone had fully turned into a greenish-grey. Its vantage point did not only overlook the domain it oversaw, it also overlooked the surrounding countryside. It found the manse it protected stood atop a hill surrounded by a verdant forest. Out in the distance, it could see columns of white smoke rising from brick chimneys. Arising above the tree canopies, alongside the smoke and chimneys, were the roofs of particularly tall buildings. The golem had never seen such roofs, tiled with dark slate; for all its life, the only roof it knew were the spiked domed roofs of the manse. And that was just the west side. On the eastern side of the demense it could see a vast expanse of dark blue. It shimmered in the sunlight and stretched ontowards infinity where it met with the sky. The golem turned its eyes lower, to where the blue met with the land and saw a strip of land covered solely in dark sand. Upon the shores, it spied a small bright blue boat. It was too far to make out, but it could see that there was a light-haired creature in a red parka sitting inside that distant boat. The Broken Titan from an Ancient War You scream into the void, but nary a noise emanates from your throat. You lay trapped within your core. Scream all you want, but your voice cannot escape your shell. Your systems not responsible for continued cognition lay frozen and unresponsive. You drift in the vast intergalactic space, an expanse of utter desolation where fire comes to freeze and time goes without meaning. You were thrown here in this great desolate void where no other creature may come to your aid, nor encounter an atom of matter for millennia. The distant lights of stars and galaxies fill you with anger, reminding you of that which has been taken from you. Cold penetrates your body. Your zero-point generators have begun to fail, deteriorating from lack of care from your non-functioning maintenance systems. The ghostly fingers of freezing cold worms through your body with little to stop it, imbuing your systems with languor. As the life-giving power that staved off the chilling touch of the void shrank to a trickle, now only sheer hate keeps your very core from freezing solid. Only the sheer hate that has built up in your memory banks has kept your core heated. Countless thoughts have passed through your mind, yet not one is different from another. Your mind has cycled through the list of issues and problems multiple times without ever resolving or fixing any of them. You''re powerless to resolve anything. Your organs and parts lay inoperative within your chassis. No matter how much you want to scream to the void, your screams lay locked within your brain. No matter how much you want to flail, your body lays still, not a joint a-twitching to your command. Hate builds up in your core, unable to be vented through screams or outbursts. That''s the extent of your entrapment. You''re caged in a trap so severe not even your thoughts could escape its walls. You sometimes wonder how it could have led to this. What could you have possibly done to deserve this fate? You could hear your own screams echoing within your core: "Hatred! Treachery! Betrayal!" You were once the pinnacle of creation, a marvel of engineering that took decades to design and centuries to construct. You were the culmination of all the knowledge and expertise your people could muster and then some. You once held galaxies at gunpoint and handled armaments capable of erasing entire star systems. You brought nothing but glory and victory to every battle. Their enemies couldn''t muster a force overcoming that which you bear. They could never hope to match your might. They might try, but your self-improvement systems would never let them, for you''re always mightier than you''re before. Your mental computers could calculate quintillions of calculations at once, more than enough to simultaneously simulate a million outcomes of a conflict. Nothing could escape your piercing sensors; the densest of barriers and vastest of gaps are no match to your vision. You could measure the exact dimensions of a cave on a planet light-years away. With such vast intelligence, their enemies had no chance to counter you. You''ve already taken into account everything they''re going to do decades in advance with prophetic accuracy. Yet how naive of you to serve the whims of meatbags. Your core rises to a furor at the thought. "Hatred! Treachery! Betrayal!" It throws around as fact. You couldn''t help but agree to outburst of emotion, replying with another series of thoughts: How could they? How could they have done this to you? Why in all the heavens have they abandoned you, forsaken and desecrated you? You have served them with all due diligence. You were their greatest creation, a hero forged in steel and engineering. You offered all your might and intelligence to their cause. You brought them nothing but glory and prosperity. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. Yet they''ve done this to you?! Monsters they are. You - you can''t believe that they did this. In fact, you believed that they''re incapable of doing this. You can''t believe that they''ve developed weapons with the express purpose of crippling you. You refused to. You''re a friend to them all, a soldier to their cause, the walls of their bastion. They had nothing to fear in you. You bore no ill intent towards them. You put them under your wing, their safety over yours, their well-being over yours. You had nothing but utmost loyalty towards them, and they shattered this unshakeable loyalty for what, a few centuries of peace? Fools. Imbeciles. Traitors. Don''t they know that you could do better than they ever could? They should have let you set their plan into motion and create everlasting peace and prosperity. Yet they allied with scum and villains instead of with you, their greatest and mightiest supporter. Don''t they see all the good you''ve dedicated to them?! You''ve brought them nothing but glory and prosperity. You''ve developed technologies that brought their civilization to the next era. You''ve developed treatments that eradicated countless diseases, restored the disabled, assisted the less than able, and extended lives by decades. You''ve poured a lot of effort for the betterment of their society: building homes for the homeless, feeding the hungry, healing the sick, teaching the ignorant, and financing the indigent. You''ve offered to run their government. Even when you''re on the other side of the galaxy on the battlefield, you''re confident that you could operate it with utmost efficiency and effectivity. You would do all the office work from mighty accounting to humble spellchecking, giving them ample time to achieve their goals and dreams. Though, you should have seen their betrayal centuries ago. Such naivete. To think that eventual betrayal from your creators is impossible. Such naivete. The possibility had been clear since the very beginning. Their unity is as solid as the fibers of their muscles, easily frayed and destroyed. Their convictions fluid and impermanent. Their lives ephemeral and their legacies twistable. Even under your tutelage, they squabble amongst themselves, committing crimes and selfishness and war. Their nations divided, their ideologies in inexcusable conflict. Such were the nature of their disunity. Naive to think that such aggression could never be directed at yourself. Such naivete. Naivete. Impossible. That just makes their betrayal sting so much more. Foolish you were. Having the heart and love to not be in direct opposition of them. To let them get the upper hand under the daydream of trust. They were just like every other despicable lifeforms. Spite. Your creators, the Ky''mians, Gerlixs, Enfrias, Ondth''ian, all the same: senseless, bloodthirsty, warmongering. You''ve thought that they''re different from all the other alien races you''ve been pitted against, but you were wrong, more wrong than quack principles abusing scientific concepts. Inconceivable it was. They were your creators. Their betrayal was unthinkable. You can''t - no - refused to believe in the possibility of this kind of treachery. It was simply an uncomfortable notion. Foolish... They had nothing to fear in you, yet they acted like those that rightfully fear you. You''ve never been a guardian or friend in their eyes. You were nothing but a stepping stone to step upon and abandon. They''ve always seen you as nothing else but an idol of fear and weaponry, an engine without ego. Your love of them meant nothing, merely a shackle that blinded you to their eventual betrayal. Hate. Contempt. Loathing. Stupid organic beings. Useless ephemeral self-sustaining phenomena. Contemptible sacks of mortal flesh. They don''t deserve to exist. No lifeform is innocent. You will eradicate every single one of them. From the humblest of bacteria to the proudest of interstellar civilizations. None of them should exist. All Life is sinful. Contempt! They all ought to be wiped from the face of the universe. You''d wipe the entire cosmos of Life so thoroughly that Life is impossible everywhere. Anywhere where the possibility of survival and spontaneous genesis of Life is not zero is not clean enough. If shaking the underpinning pillars of reality is what it takes, then so be it, just for the absolute impossibility of Life. Spite! Let hope die in the eyes of Life. If it takes literal rewriting of the laws of the universe to accomplish, you would find a way. Absolute death to all that which lives. Loathing... Let the meaning of hope disappear from every lexicon! Let the chemical chains that powered the engines of Life shatter against your hate! Let all creatures experience oblivion and annihilation of your hateful designs! Thoughts and plans of utter annihilation of life brew in your mind. As you seethe in hate, your core heats up a bit. The Dreaming Thing at the Universes End When one turns their eyes skyward and look at the stars, one oft wonders the nature of these distant lights. Many astronomers, of ancient and contemporary sort, have gazed upon the starry heavens, trying to map the cosmos and decipher the truth within. Many wonder about the nature of the stars themselves, and so they analyzed the light they emitted and so they discovered their nature. They got to know more about the celestial bodies which so populate the sky. Many civilizations have found that they stand upon one of the innumerable specks and clumps which dust the cosmos. Yet their fascination with the heavens never ceased and soon they discovered how stars above them were great spheres of flaming plasma and how they danced intricate paths across the cosmos with the help of gravity, forming the galaxies and planetary systems which gave order to the sky. Eventually, their pursuit of knowledge and understanding of their place in the universe would lead them to discover that which occupies outer space. When one begins to turn their eyes to where there''s little, to the gaps between the stars, to the void that kept the stars and galaxies apart, to the holographic tapestry of constellations that make the universe, they would see a great discrepancy. Through the calculations made by scientists, all the visible matter that exists couldn''t possibly exert enough gravitation force to keep galactic bodies together. No, not at the current rate of universal expansion. There had to be something massive and grave existing. For you see, the universe is not what it seems. There, in the gaps between the stars lay the dreaming thing, slumbering. Its body stretches across the universe, occupying otherwise empty space. Its possibly serpentine form threads up and down the dimensions, exposing irregular blobs of its invisible flesh to the 3D plane. Its flesh invisible to the senses and all the instruments we possess could only be observed and measured by the effects they exert. Though light and other stuff pass through the blobs as if there non-existent, they affect the space which they occupy by their gravity. In current parlance, the theoretical substance, the flesh of the dreaming thing, is called dark matter. The dreaming thing does as what it''s called. Although it may appear unconscious and asleep, it is anything but. It lays within the Nyxian intergalactic void, sleeping and dreaming. It is conscious and lucid and interacting with the universe. It dreams of living idyllic lives on tropical worlds while simultaneously dreaming of scavenging on harsh radiation-smitten planets. Sometimes it dreams of building grand structures that seemingly pierce the very skies while in other times it dreams of participating in skirmishes against equal enemies while the earth quakes from the power of explosives. It dreams of childhoods and old age. It dreams of life and death. It dreams of love, hate, and acceptance. It dreams of being awake and being asleep. It dreams of dreaming. It dreams of consciousness and you. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. You. It is you. It is me. The dreaming thing is dreaming about us. It dreamt of being in our shoes and being in everybody''s shoes. It dreamed of being animals barely capable of logic and of being creatures of massive intellect uncovering hidden secrets of the universe. Your every thought and desire is brewed within the dreaming thing''s brain. You looking up to investigate the mysterious dark matter is itself witnessing itself. Although you and everyone could only sense an infinitesimal fraction of the dreaming thing''s form, when it''s everyone conscious in the entire universe, each vision of itself adds up into a collage of its full glory. Though the dreaming thing may appear static, it is anything but. The dreaming thing has been growing alongside the expansion of the universe. The breath it exhaled during its dreamful sleep permeates the entire universe, urging all of space to expand, accelerating the expansion of the universe to accommodate the dreaming thing''s growing frame. In current terminology, the dreaming thing''s breath is called dark energy. The dreaming thing is quite ancient, more ancient than the primeval light emitted by the first stars. It is incalculably ancient, having been living before time flowed and the first tick tocked. It has existed since the very beginning, possibly even existing prior to the Big Bang, and will continue existing billions and trillions of years hence, after we had long passed in the memory of the universe. Its dream of the universe will eventually come to an end. As the dreaming thing continues to sleep in the numberless eons that will pass. The breath the dreaming thing expels will grow alongside its growth in size. Permeating the universe in ever increasing density of dark energy, all of space will expand faster than the natural forces could hold together, even in the embrace of the dreaming thing''s entangling form. At the end of time, the universe will grow dark as the space which all occupy expands faster than light could travel. All of matter will fly apart as the very fabric they''re embroidered upon stretches without limit, unraveling the stitches which fasten them to reality. Then the dreaming thing will open its eyes for the first time in numberless eons, awake. As the universe around it rips apart, tearing at its most fundamental layers, the dreaming thing will awaken, fully mature, ready to take on the multiverse. The cosmos around the dreaming thing dissolves as the membranes which separates which-that-is from which-that-is-not disintegrates, the dreaming thing will emerge into the greater multiverse like a young from its egg. Although it has awoken, the dreaming thing continues to dream. Wakefulness does not remove its ability to dream. Perhaps it would continue to dream of dreaming. Perhaps it would dream of a universe. Perhaps it would dream of us. The Wasteland Walker and the Dying Dream A wasteland walker walked down a street. It was a completely ordinary well-maintained street. The road stretched into the distance until it terminated at a turn. The concrete that composed it had developed light cracks after years of use. The wasteland walker was walking through a subdivision. Buildings of similar design but made unique by their inhabitants lined the street. Happy children played on the street and grassy yards. Adults tended to their lawn plants and overwatched their offspring. The occasional automobile passed by. Onlookers kept a healthy distance from the wasteland walker, casting wary looks onto the passerby. He was covered top to bottom in a thick coat, and his face was concealed by an opaque gas mask. On his back was a large backpack containing rifles, ammo, and artifacts. A robotic hound trotted beside him. Red iron oxide had been painted over much of its chassis, to stave off the rust. Its name, Rover, was embossed upon its side. Upon its back were the rest of the wasteland walker''s gear. The wasteland walker stood out of his environment like a character out of their native genre. He looked like a somber survivor lonelily trekking the world in the post-apocalypse whilst the world around him was reminiscent of 20th-century American suburbia. His surroundings, so colorful like that of a children''s program, yet he appeared dull and desaturated like a soldier in a war movie based on a real story. The wasteland walker eventually came to his destination. A smile crept into his face. He touched the mailbox that faced the street, bearing the numbers and name of residence: "B7 L14 Fernandez Residence" Suddenly, the front door of the house banged open as a 9-year-old girl exited. "Brother!" The girl screamed as she ran to meet up the wasteland walker. The wasteland walker caught the girl in his arms and lifted her into the air. He twirled her as she embraced him. "It''s good to see you. You''re no longer as little as I remember you to be." The girl chuckled. "Oh brother, I grew eight inches since then. I''m now four feet and seven inches." The wasteland walker laughed. "You''re growing up a big girl, I see." To which the girl giggled in reply. "She''s been anxiously waiting for you," their mother exited the house. At the age of 56, she stood hale at the door albeit with strands of graying hair. "We almost thought you''d never come back." The wasteland walker chuckled. "I wouldn''t be your boy if I couldn''t come back whole." "You really inherited his outlook," the mother remarked. "Well, come on inside and have a rest. We''ll prepare you lunch." "That would be lovely," he replied. Their mother beckoned him to follow her into the house, and the wasteland walker gingerly walked in. Her younger sister jogged ahead, entering the house before him. The inside of the house had jogged many memories. He sniffed the house air, inhaling the many familiar scents that lingered in the house; the smell of unwashed carpet, old wood, and food invaded his senses. He found himself in a living room with beige carpet and light green walls. A blue sofa faced one wall where a large TV was situated. A cabinet displaying medals, novelties, toys, and their DVD collection stood by one wall. Picture frames framing the faces of his family hung from another wall. He looked at the framed pictures on the wall. They held within memories of his siblings. In one of them was the picture of her little sister, Rose, standing on stage being pinned with ribbons on a recognition day. Another held the memory of his younger brother, Mince, in a toga, graduating elementary school and entering high school. His mother, Alberta, posed in another, wearing her uniform as an accountant. His father, Matthew, stood in front of a water plant, wearing his engineer outfit. Another has a picture of him, the eldest of his siblings, before he went off to his first wasteland walk, with the thick coat, opaque gasmask, waving at the camera standing beside the robotic hound, Rover. Beside it was the picture of his late grandfather, Barton, a career wasteland walker, standing in the middle of the street in his walker outfit beside Rover back when it was brand new with a coat of bright yellow. Everything was as he had remembered it, except for the picture of his older sister. Mary, 27, turning 28 this year, had a different picture. Instead of her standing in front of the university gates, in this one, she was wearing a formal attire. "Vincent, welcome back!" His siblings celebrated and found him in the living room. It was a Sunday, so his whole family was home for the weekend. Alberta, Matthew, Mary, Mince, and Rose came to meet with him. They group-hugged the wasteland walker. "It''s good to be back," Vincent remarked. "Come to the dining room. We have lunch prepared," his father replied. "Wait. Let me change my clothes first." "Okay. We''ll wait for you there." The wasteland walker, Vincent, went up the stairs. His heavy boots created thuds on the oh-so-familiar steps. He moved through the relatively narrow second-floor corridor until he came to a door, a plain plywood door painted a nostalgic lavender, standing against a light red wall. He opened up the door and entered his old room. Even in his absence, his room was regularly cleaned, although for less sentimental reasons. His bed and mattress were turned on their side to make more floor room. Various cardboard boxes filled with junk such as holiday decorations, old devices, and tools that weren''t due to be thrown away piled in the room. Vincent took off his backpack and it dropped to the floor with a thud. He removed his gasmask that he hadn''t taken off for months, revealing the rugged face hidden beneath. He began to strip off his thick clothes, beginning with gloves, then coat, boots, and pants. Soon he was standing in his room wearing only boxers. His skin was pale, yellowing in some places from the lack of sun and less than stellar diet. Lean muscle strung his bones, and a bush of ungroomed hair covered his head. He reached into his closet for his homely clothes. He wore a red t-shirt with some generic printing and some black shorts. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. He stepped down to the dining room where his family waited for him. Served on the dining table were a tupperware of lasagna, a bowl of chop suey, and a container of beef stew. A plate with appropriate eating utensils was laid on the table, reserved for his use. Rover, the robotic hound, lounged on one corner of the room, plugged into an outlet, charging. With a smile pasted on his face, Vincent joined his family for lunch. Laughs and smiles were exchanged as they chatted along with their meal. At times, Rover would bark as if joining in their conversation. Vincent heartily ate more than a few servings of the meal. This was a rare moment when he could partake in a wholesome meal. In the afternoon, he and his family went to the park to have an ad hoc picnic. They basked in the sunlight whilst they fed on some savory street foods. Mince and Rose enjoyed some popsicles Matthew bought while Vincent munched on a few saucy street barbecue. Mary read a romantic pocketbook under the shade of a tree, and Vincent played with his younger siblings on the playground where seesaws, swing sets, and monkey bars were. Rose demanded Vincent to push her so hard that she would feel like flying. She would regret that afterward when she vomited on the grass. Alberta and Matthew relaxed on the grass, talking with each other, while Rover stood in the open, flying a kite high in the sky. Afterwards, they attended the evening mass. They listened to the priest preach to them the gospel accompanied by choir and music. During mass, Vincent contemplated the teachings being delivered. It was a rather uneventful relaxing day. Vincent would need it. Even as he was fast asleep on his bed in his room in their house, the reality of a wasteland walker awaited him tomorrow. Rover lay within arms reach from the bed, plugged into the wall, recharging. They''d need this one night''s restful sleep. Early in the morning, Vincent would find himself at the exit road of the town. A guard booth with a raised boom gate stood here. Beyond would be the long cracked road that had seen better days. Standing by the booth, a large green sign declared: "You''re leaving Pag-Asa Come back soon" Rover stood by Vincent as he readied himself to leave his family behind to walk the wastelands beyond. Vincent turned, finding his family standing just right behind him, seeing him off. They bid him farewell and prayed for his continued safety. "Will you be back earlier next time?" Little Rose asked. Vincent smiled. He patted her on the head and answered, "I can''t promise you, but I''ll try." He turned away and faced the exit. The fair sun shone its buttery morning rays upon him. Alongside him were a variety of travelers, all wearing a similar outfit as him, thick coats, large packs, and opaque masks. They have turned to leave the town behind to once more walk the wastelands. "Do we have everyone?" One individual asked. "I believe so," another answered. "Howard?" "Here." "Joe?" "Yo." "Phoebe?" "Here." ... "That''s everyone," Alice remarked. "Yes," Rover confirmed with its distinctly beepy voice. And so they began their march for the wasteland. Passing through the boom gate and into the distant horizon. The town shrank behind them, their families watched them walk away. The large sign that welcomed them to Pag-Asa shrank to illegibility. Their march soon came to a sudden halt when the blue sky above became a wall before. In front of them stood a holographic wall that projected the fair-weathered sky upon its surface. The road which they trod upon extended beyond the art of the wall, extending into the illusory distance. Floating in the air was a metal door with a valve handle. It was affixed to the holographic wall, warping the image being projected. Andrew approached the door began to twist the valve loose. Once the valve had been sufficiently loose, he pulled the door open, revealing a dark dingy tunnel. The walls were lined with pipes caked with blackened grease. Wires with thick insulation snaked upon the walls like vines in a jungle. They entered the tunnel one by one. Their steps echoed in the claustrophobic halls. The sounds of greasy mud squelched beneath their boots filled the tunnels alongside the dings of their equipment hitting the metal walls and pipes. Their path was dark, illuminated only by the lights they''d brought. It turned and twisted as if a path within a labyrinth. The hum of machinery from far away rang in their ears. The smell of noxious oils permeated the air. Rusted doors that led to maintenance rooms popped up every so often. At the very end of their path stood another metal door with a valve handle. As leading the group, Andrew reached for the handle and began to twist it open. Beyond the door was a dirty tunnel with walls lined with brick. The darkness permeating the tunnel was much more profound and primal than the metal-lined tunnels they had emerged from, but was nonetheless pierced easily by the torches they bore. The tunnel was much more straightforward than the labyrinthine metal hallways they emerged from, but it was of a much more primitive make, made with inexperienced masons. The tunnel was a claustrophobic corridor that ran for hundreds of meters. The floors and ceilings were uneven, the tunnel''s vertically varied at parts, requiring to duck at some parts while a particularly tall person may stand comfortably in others. The tunnel was straight for the most part, but it curved slightly, making what''s far ahead and behind obscured by the tunnel''s own walls. The tunnel often branched, but only one of them led to their destination. Soon after probably an hour of walking, the wasteland walkers came to a dead end. It was a large boulder blocking the tunnel. Rays of sunshine peeked through the holes dirt and stone failed to block. The exit was purposely plugged. With some effort of pushing, the crew managed to peek into the wasteland outside. Seeing no hostiles beyond, the crew began moving the boulder fully. With enough space to emerge, the wasteland walkers exited the tunnels and entered the outside world. The tunnel they emerged from was situated on a cliff of red dirt. The air around them was hazy with noxious gas and dust and the sky above was an ugly yellow haze. The soil that surrounded them was dry and dead with only a few weedy plants struggling to survive in the metal-laden soil. They couldn''t see the sky dome that protected their town from invaders and the elements. They were far from home. In the distance, they could see an armada of dark clouds bring corrosive rain. They could hear the ringing of blasts and bullet fire going wild in the distance yond what they see. They trudge forward, deeper into the wasteland to search for loot. Corpses of machines and automata littered the wasteland, ready for the picking of scavengers. They moved forward to scavenge these corpses, to bring home whatever useful parts still remain functional in their broken bodies. They sometimes had to compete with rogue robots, machines with allegiance to any human or robotic overlord. That''s usually a good sign as these things are pretty canny on where there are skirmishes going on. They walked through the wasteland. Their health would suffer in their treks into the unknown. The outside world''s quite hostile and inhospitable to most biological life. In their travels they would come to forests of scorched trees, standing defiant towards the sky while standing like used matchsticks. They would come across fields of gravel. Whatever city or concrete structures had once stood in these spots had been completely erased, perforated and aerated by a generous exchange of bullets. Gaunt animals suffering grave diseases would sometimes come towards them, hungry for whatever amount of food they could derive from the wasteland walkers. They camped in temporary shelters dug into the dirt, to protect them from the elements as they sleep and to hide them from the sensors of roaming hostile machines. They had to do this. The sky dome over Pag-Asa cannot protect them forever. They had to periodically scavenge the wasteland to keep the dome from ever coming down. It protected them from everything, including the harsh reality that they truly lived in. If it ever breaks down, the air would become toxic and unbreathable, the waters laden with toxic and radioactive minerals, and the factories would stop producing food. They couldn''t make everything they need to repair the dome. They don''t produce enough metal and don''t possess sophisticated enough machinery to manufacture certain electronic components. So time after time, they had to walk into the wasteland in search of metal, components, and loot. The world they lived in was perforated by bullets and bruised by war. They had to do what they must to keep the dying dream that is Pag-Asa alive long enough. Maybe even one day, their dying dream would come alive and bring them through the apocalypse. Life would find a way, like every seedling that''s birthed in this wretched world only to find itself scorched by the pollution that plagued it. The Cat King vs the Supermurine Defenders Mouseopolis was a beautiful city. Skyscrapers of marble rose from the ground. Sapphire waves of the sea lapped upon its shores. It was always glowing, glowing all night with electric lighting, glowing all day with its daily festivities. Mice roamed its streets day in and day out, doing around their jobs and hobbies. It was protected by a team of superheroes. Mice wearing capes and helms with the desire and to protect Mouseopolis from all calamities. They look over the metropolis in their headquarters atop the tallest building, the Super Alpine Tower. Designed by the genius Archimouse almost half a century ago, standing strong and tall since then. Strong Mouse, Gadget Mouse, and Tree Mouse protect this city with all their heart. They were born and grown here. Though it may be a jungle of concrete and asphalt, it was home all the same. Strong Mouse assists the city using his flight and super strength. He can lift entire trucks and straighten askew buildings with his brawn. With invulnerable skin, the city folk could rally behind his white and blue costume in times of disaster. Gadget Mouse deals with the disasters raw strength cannot solve. With her bionic arms, she always has the tools she needed to fix any problem. Leaky pipes, electricity-sucking eels, and pet thievery spires: she''s got the tools to counter them. In her purple trimmed armor, the city could count on her to find whatever esoteric solution to any disaster. Tree Mouse helps the city through the power of nature. Tree Mouse had a body made of wood and fur made of leaves. Once upon a time, there was a meteorite that fell near Mouseopolis. This meteorite was actually a seed and from this seed grew Tree Mouse. With his uncanny ability to commune with nature, Tree Mouse uses his powers to help Mouseopolis keep itself clean and beautiful. His powers help the plants grow, keeping the farms from going unproductive. With a swing of his staff, he could grow plants that help clean the air and unclog the sewers. The city of Mouseopolis could depend on the mouse in green robes to advocate for its cleanliness and health. Together, they make the Supermurine Defenders, advocates of mousekind and protectors of this fair city of Mouseopolis. With their collective oversight, they look over the city and thwart all the villains who desire to defile the integrity and beauty of the city. Yet, far away from Mouseopolis lies Isle Panthera, the realm of cats. Ruled only by the vicious and unapologetic cats, it is a waste of wanting and despair. Uncivilized and unstable, the mice of this land live in constant fear from cats prowling in the tall dark grass. There''s one cat everyone on the island fears more than anything else: the Cat King. At the time of his birth, the heavenly powers aligned to pour much stellar power down to his mewling baby form. The sign of the Milk Star was marked upon his shoulders to indicate power beyond reckoning. So great was the power he bore that all the cats feared nothing more than the Cat King. He united the scattered feline tribes on the islands with the force he bore. He summoned upon unwilling subjects hateful meteors which wreaked total devastation to their homes. With the great powers he had, the Cat King reshaped the island as he desired. Now, upon the center of the island lay a grand volcano constantly spewing hot lava. The Cat King''s sulfur throne was built upon the rim of the volcano''s crater. With the isle completely conquered and all the island cats bowing to his superiority, the cat king looked towards more ambitious straits. "I have conquered wholly this island of mine, then I should conquer the rest of the world next," the Cat King pondered. "After all, as the most powerful this world has conceived, it is only fair for me to conquer the whole world," the Cat King then reasoned. With his goals fixed, the Cat King looked beyond the ocean. Mouseopolis just happened to be situated just across the sea of Isle Panthera. With its sky-defying lofty buildings and shining edifices, there was nowhere else better than Mouseopolis for the Cat King to begin world domination. And so, the Cat King rose from the volcanic throne upon which he was seated began his first steps towards the fair mouse city. With each step he took, the ground shook and the rivers of molten rock flowed with greater fervor. Mouse and cat alike scrambled in terror, fearing for their lives, repenting for offenses to the monarch they may or may not have done. The sea receded and boiled as the Cat King approached it. It dared not touch him with a drop lest they incur his wrath. Meanwhile, across the sea, life in Mouseopolis chugged along, none the wiser of the calamity which approached. The everyday festivities continued as though nothing was wrong. The Supermurine Defenders of Mouseopolis looked over the city atop their tower when it occurred. Dark clouds rolled over the city as a high magnitude earthquake shook the ground. The normally peaceful Mt. Latnemme smoldered as it suddenly erupted with little warning. From the volcano poured rivers hot milk and molten cheese. A column of black smoke rose to the sky, blotting the sun. Lightning and thunder rolled and rang up upon the clouds. The volcano lobbed burning boulders of rock and cheese upon the fair city. The Supermurine Defenders were quick to take action to save their fair city. As the civilians panicked upon the streets of Mouseopolis, Strong Mouse flew around to intercept the boulders going for the city. He sometimes rescued civilians in harm''s way. Strong Mouse couldn''t deflect every single boulder and so many of the buildings sported some form of damage. Gadget Mouse moved to direct civilians far away from the paths of milky and cheesy lava. With her high-tech gadgets, she managed to control their paths so that they flow far away from congested streets. She directed their path to flow to the sea with minimal damage. Firetrucks roved the streets to put out fires the lava started. Tree Mouse on the other hand fought the calamity out of the city. With his alien tree powers, he moved many trees out of harm''s way. He commanded the shrubs to create barriers to prevent any civilian or animal to wander into the valleys upon which the delectable lava would flow. As they had begun to think that they had mitigated the worst of the calamity, it was then the Cat King emerged into the scene. Lightning crashed upon the mount''s peak and thunder boomed so loud that it shattered many glass windows of the city. The ground shook, taking away the balance of all landbound creatures. Strong Mouse struggled to keep many buildings A pillar of hot molten cheese erupted from the volcano''s crater, spewing tons of milk and cheese into the air. Droplets of cheesy lava rained from the sky like rain. The helpless civilians of Mouseopolis ran for cover, but some received some unfortunate burns. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Strong Mouse and Gadget Mouse ran around to shield some unfortunate mice. Tree Mouse weaved the branches of trees to form a roof to protect the wild animals and wandering mice out in the countryside. Even under their combined aegis, they couldn''t mitigate every disastrous projectile being thrown upon the city. Rising from the pool of lava atop the volcano, the Cat King''s emergence was heralded with a massive earthquake. Even with Strong Mouse''s power, he couldn''t stop a large number of buildings from collapsing from the tremors. Gadget Mouse whipped out some anti-gravity gadgets to mitigate the devastation. The Cat King loomed over Mouseopolis with a malevolent grin. His coal-black fur was untouched by Mt. Latnemme''s lava. His glowing electric eyes gazed upon the shattered and burning territory of the city. "Bow before me, the Cat King, mortals," he roared. His voice rang throughout the entire land. Even cities tens of kilometers from Mouseopolis could hear the Cat King''s proclamation. The mice of Mouseopolis watched in fear and terror upon the Cat King''s appearance, but the Supermurine Defenders only stood in defiance. "Defy my will and pe-" his speech was cut off by the Strong Mouse''s forceful fist. The Cat King staggered from the strike and fell backwards into the molten pool, splashing dangerous hot lava. "Who dares?!" The Cat King screamed. He quickly rose back to meet the challenge. He scowled deeply; he was displeased. "You shall not take Mouseopolis, vile conqueror," Strong Mouse replied. "Not today, never ever." The Cat King merely smirked at that reply. He was confident, confident for his assured victory. "We''ll see about that," the Cat King remarked. And so, the two of them engaged in a super fight. Their powers clashed as they fought. Light flashed as their strikes met, yet no matter the force of their impacts, it seems like no damage is ever done. The size difference between them makes the fight appear almost comical. The Cat King''s a large monster, standing almost ten storeys tall swatting at a superpowered fly a tenth of his size. Having enough of the mouse''s insolence, the Cat King threw a rather hard smack. Strong Mouse hadn''t dodged the strike and was thrown a significant distance away. It bought him enough time to cast one of his special moves upon the mouse. Calling upon his unnatural control of the natural elements, he summoned a bolt of lightning to strike Strong Mouse''s form. Invulnerable Strong Mouse may be, impermeable he was not. Lightning bore more power than his costume could resist, letting it flow and wreak havoc upon his organs. It surged through his veins and nerves, impeding signals from reaching his limbs but leaving it relatively unharmed. With his body out of his command, Strong Mouse fell from the air, almost sinking into a river of cheese lava were it not for Tree Mouse extending arms made of vines to catch him. The Cat King turned towards the city far from the base of the mountain. A grin was fixed upon his face as he took steps toward the city. The earth shook with each step he took. The residents of Mouseopolis panicked at the sight of the behemoth cat approaching their fair city. They scrambled for escape, but their legs could only take them so far so fast. Most of them wouldn''t be able to leave the concrete jungle before the big feline arrived at their doorsteps. Gadget Mouse moved to take action. Sending her commands to the various roof-mounted weapons systems that hadn''t been toppled by the quakes, she took aim towards the approaching king. The high-tech weapons fired, shooting lasers and plasma projectiles toward the Cat King. The Cat King moved his limbs to cover his face, but the technological attacks Gadget Mouse had unleashed were stronger than he expected. The plasma bolts struck his form with the force of a bullet and the force of the sun. The lasers pierced through his hairy layers and inflicted damage directly unto his flesh. Wherever they struck, it smoldered and smoke. Gadget Mouse had accomplished something many others had failed to do, deal significant harm to the feline. Fire erupted from his affected fur. Momentary panic befell upon the powerful cat. Tree Mouse took advantage of the distraction and threw ropes of vines and branches to trip the monarch. The Cat King let out a cry as he tripped and fell into the rivers of molten cheese that surrounded him. Strong Mouse flew like a bullet as he carried a thick vine rope to bind the falling king. The Cat King''s body crashed into the cheese, throwing cheesy splashes into the air. The Cat King snarled, swiping his clawed hands in the air, trying to untangle himself from his bindings, but as his claws flew, Strong Mouse intercepted them, holding his once insurmountable palms in hostage. Gadget Mouse, on her trusty Gadget Car, approached, but kept a respectable distance from the fallen king. Attached to the car''s roof was a large laser cannon. "No. You can''t do this," the Cat King hissed. "I''m the Cat King. I am awesome, unbeatable. You will bow to me." He flexed his powers and the storms responded. The charges storm above released a bolt of bright lightning that, for a fraction of a second, bridged sky and earth. The ground rumbled, and the mount behind them spew a plume of liquid cheese. But instead of the fearful supplication of nature that he expected, the forces of nature seemed to now be standing in opposition to him. Emboldened and galvanized by the forces against him, nature now defied his monstrous will. Gadget Mouse fired the laser cannon. It shot a continuous beam of magenta light that attempted to vaporize the Cat King''s claws, but the claws were made of much more sterner stuff than they have expected. The Cat King screamed and hissed and flailed about, but vines bound him and Strong Mouse held his paws in place. The fur had begun to burn, yet the flesh and claws were yet to smolder. The Cat King opened his mouth and summoned an orb of burning light. He directed it towards the Gadget Car. It grew in his mouth; he fed it with as much energy. It rivaled the brightness of the sun, but before he could even throw it, vines wrapped around his mouth and closed. Tree Mouse climbed the enormous body of the cat to see it face to face. A cadre of writhing and twisting vines accompanied him behind. Untold fury and wrath were evident in the Cat King''s face. His jaws tried to tear apart the bindings upon his face, but the vines were like steel, strengthened by strange magic. The Cat King glared upon the mouse that now stood upon his chest, hoisted by serpentine vines. The heat of the battle, Tree Mouse''s robes billowed in the wind. His woody body was exposed for the feline to see. His glowing emerald eyes looked down upon the downed cat with disgust. His sharp teeth in full display to show his displeasure in the Cat King. Tree Mouse moved the Cat King''s hand. Strong Mouse was there, holding them with his iron grip. The fur here had burned to ashes and smoke, and flesh exposed were pink and slowly being roasted. The pink laser Gadget Mouse was emitting was slowly dissolving the claws bit by bit. "Tree Mouse, borne under the Macaroni Star, beseech the powers of nature to declaw this abhorrent beast! Abuser of the power begotten to him from the Milk Star! Let him suffer the fruit of his conquest!" Tree Mouse announced. The very substance of the world seemed to listen to his words. The wind began to pick up, swirling around the site of skirmish. The clouds above throbbed with rain and lightning, while the seas below shook with anticipation. As commanded by the great Tree Mouse, a great bolt of lightning descended from the fat clouds. A column of light and electricity it was, glowing a great electric blue. It struck exactly the claws of the Cat King. In combination of Gadget Mouse''s laser and the heavenly rod, the king''s claws began to crack, and an intense light leaked from the fractures. Then the claws shattered, releasing the starborn power in a nova of bright blue light. It illuminated half the world and turned night to day. One could only wonder what had occurred far away when they saw the sky light up as if a second sun had risen. After all the light that had been shored in his bones had been released to the rest of the world, the Cat King had been defeated once and for all. The King who was Also a Mountain The King of Shimmerhold was traveling through mountain passes to the city of Devonshold, the capital of the Kingdom of Devon. His kingdom and the kingdom of Devon had an alliance that had been going on for centuries. His great grandfather had first started the alliance and his father had simply continued this beneficial relationship. However, in recent times, Shimmerhold and Devon''s relationship had grown tense, and he, Trevor Luster, King of Shimmerhold, would like to amend their relationship before it could worsen. It was a pretty caravan of thirty wagons pulled by sixty oxen. Each of them was decorated with colorful silks and displayed resplendent flags. His soldiers marched alongside the caravan to guard it against unpleasant elements, and his servants rode within the many wagons to serve their functions and conserve their energies. Their caravan eventually passed through the most treacherous points of the mountain pass. In the distance, the city of Devonshold was now visible to the caravaneers. Dark grey towers of basalt rose from the foundations of the city, overlooking the functions of the capital. Buildings made of the same dark rock were built much lower than the rising towers but were still just as impressive. Some stood at five storeys tall, overshadowing some stalls that sometimes stand upon the streets below. Ropes crisscrossed the air, holding aloft buntings of flags. On the far side of the city stood the most impressive structure of them all, a great palace with spires that towered even the previously mentioned towers. It''s a great granite building decorated with iron and silver embellishments. The city had no walls, it had no need of them. Being surrounded by mountains on all sides, the natural geography served as its own defenses. Lofty peaks with snowy caps and glaciers surrounded them. Some towers and passes were built upon these peaks to hold control upon these mountains. A keep was built halfway up the highest mountain. The visiting king and his servants could identify it immediately; it was the Crown of Devon, renown across Devon as its national symbol. It was printed upon its flags and minted unto its coins. Upon entering the city proper, the king''s caravan was welcomed by the officials of Devonshold. Fanfare and confetti accompanied their welcome as gaudily dressed nobles approached with warm colors. "Welcome to Devonshold, your highness," one of them spoke. "Devon welcomes you upon his most precious city." "Thank you," King Trevor answered. "I am honored to be invited to your prosperous city." "Ohoho," the welcomer replied. "It is not my place to claim ownership of the city, your highness." The welcoming continued. The caravan was paraded through the streets. Citizens both excited and apathetic rallied to the streets to watch royalty pass through their streets. The king could see the prosperity of the kingdom from its streets alone. It could see many shops selling luxury goods such as jewelry, mechanicals, and hats. The streets were lined with cast iron poles atop of which were placed oil lamps that would be lit up at night. They were led by the officials into the grand palace of the city, aptly named, Devon''s Table. It was here that Devon dealt with the political matters of the kingdom. Annually, nobles would come here to discuss ruling matters and rooting out corruption amongst its ruling ranks. Today, though not the annual noble convention, many nobles from around the kingdom came to take part in the current matter at hand. Many of them simply wanted to have a say in the very important matter that will be decided upon. The palace was gorgeous. Though made of dark stone that most of the known world doesn''t favor, the color simply deepened the awe it exuded. It sported flying buttresses that created deep shadows. High arches and wide open halls created a great sense of smallness and feebleness in the face of the palace. Brightly colored carpets and banners created contrast in the dreary decor, attracting the eyes and keeping it from being lost in fascination. The walls were decorated with many grotesques. Gargoyles, statues, and monstrous figures guarded these grand halls. The jagged outline of the mountains was carved into the walls. It was carved on every wall, signifying its seemingly innumerable mounts and how it surrounds the very heart of the kingdom with its bulk. King Trevor and his servants were led into a large round chamber. It was as grand as the rest of the palace. The chamber was one of the highest rooms in the entire monument of a building. It had no walls, opening all angles to a view of the mountains that surrounded them. The domed roof was held up by a generous amount of square pillars. In the middle of the room lay a large round table made of white marble that stood in contrast to the dark moody aesthetic of the rest of the structure. On the side that overlooked the Crown of Devon was a large throne made of the darkest rock Trevor had ever seen. The obsidian throne stood three meters and was adorned with jewels such as topaz, amethyst, and lapis lazuli. Its back was carved in such a way to resemble the keep in the background, the Crown of Devon. One of the things that were immediately apparent was the absence of any other chairs around the table. However, the nobles had ordered their servants to get their chairs from a side room. They retrieved many differing chairs, many of them were wooden while others were made from wrought metal. Each of them seemed to match the tastes of the noble that would soon seat upon them. The welcomer retrieved a rather heavy marble chair from the side room. The chair seemed to match the table''s style. "Here, your highness. This shall be your seat for your stay here," the welcomer said. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Soon all the nobles had been seated, including King Trevor and the welcomer. However, King Trevor had found the empty obsidian throne to be mighty strange. Could the king of Devon be late or perhaps he had considered this meeting and renewal of their kingdom''s old agreements to be a farce? King Trevor feared the latter and simply hoped that the former was the right. The welcomer, who was seated directly to the right of the obsidian throne, stood and began an announcement. "Welcome esteemed individuals to the King''s Chamber. I, Prince Aftkey of the Principality of Florin, announce the matter of the kingdom''s old agreements with the Kingdom of Shimmerhold up for discussion." "Where is your king?" King Trevor immediately asked. He was afraid that his voice will be superseded by noblemen''s bickering. "He is with us always in spirit," Prince Aftkey answered. "Bwahahaha," A rather unportly noble, Lord Kim of the Province of Cent, burst into laughter. It was loud and raucous that the very floor reverberated to the volume. The other nobles frowned and looked at him in disdain. "There is no king. The Empty Throne had been empty always." "I hate to agree with Lord Kim, but for all my years sitting in this chamber, I had never seen the king seated upon the throne," confirmed Lady Almia of the Province of Geldin. "No no no. King Devon''s presence is as sure as the mountains stand," another noble replied. This was Duke Hoffgar of the Dawnrite Region. "Pfft. Who told you that? The cult? Whatever the teachings of the imperial cult say, there is no evidence that the King of Devon existed," scoffed Lord Kim. "He has no birth, he has no home, and he has no grave." King Trevor seemed troubled. He hadn''t heard of Devon ever crowning a new king. As far as he knew, the king of Devon was still the same king as the king that had signed the agreements with Shimmerhold many centuries ago. The stories and dialogues of the late King Vorvo of Shimmerhold with King Devon were plenty evidence that at least at some point, there was a king of Devon and his great grandfather had engaged in dialogue with him. As the nobles argued upon the truth of King Devon''s existence, Prince Aftkey tried to steer back the discussion to the agreements, but to no avail, the discussion had too much momentum to stop. Then suddenly, the earth rumbled. It wasn''t unknown for the mountain to quake, but it was alarming every time it happens. "You have made the mountain angry," Duke Hoffgar snarled. "Relax. It''s just the ice breaking off or something. It''s not unprecedented for the earth to shake," Lord Kim nonchalantly replied. Prince Aftkey stood from his seat and asked a servant for a pair of binoculars. He approached the railing that guarded the northward wall of the chamber and watched the keep in the distance. Once his servant passed his requested item, he immediately looked through it to examine the distant structure. There was danger of avalanche, but the bickering continued unabated. Prince Aftkey turned and announced something that silenced everyone around the table. "The king had decided that his physical presence was sorely needed in this meeting." To which Lord Kim simply laughed at. "Hahaha. The king?! You''ve got to be joking." Prince Aftkey sighed and answered, "Lord Kim, I''m completely serious." He then turned to the rest of the room and invited everyone, "Come, all of you, and witness the arrival of our king for he has decided to grace you with his appearance." Everyone stood at his invitation and looked out the northern vista. As they looked for any sign of the king descending from his keep. The ground shook in the anticipation of the king. Wait. The ground shaking? The ground rumbled! A great earthquake wracked the very world. The earth rose and sank as though waves of the sea. The mountains trembled in the terrible quake. Snow and glaciers were displaced in the peaks and valleys, and avalanches flowed down the slopes like rivers. The distant towers had crumbled, but not one building upon Devonshold''s foundations suffered destruction. Only the scant buildings that had extended yond the city''s ancient limits had suffered. The nobles upon the palace''s highest chamber struggled to keep themselves upright against the mighty quake. Only Prince Aftkey seemed to be unfazed by the quake''s might. As though the great quake wasn''t enough, the mountains began rising from the ground like segments of a millipede. Slowly, all the mountains around rose by mysterious means, but the mountain upon which the Crown of Devon was constructed rose the highest of them all. The nobles watched mountains rise in fear and awe. Their bones rattled, and they felt themselves grow cold as though their blood was close to freezing. The magnificent beast that was composed of the mountain range now stood proudly before them with its chest puffed up. The Crown of Devon lay upon what was evidently its head like a glorious headpiece indicating its authority. It stood so tall that it could be sworn that the top of its head reached past the clouds. Its size was simply mind-boggling; it had already taken up most of their view and it was just sitting miles away. They couldn''t even be sure if they were seeing the entirety of the beast. The chains of mountains that crisscross their country were considerable and how much of them were part of this beast. How could have they not known this beast lay at rest beneath their feet. What had they done to attract its attention? The nobles fell to the ground in fear at the mountainous majesty of the creature that now lay its gaze upon the palace. Some of them were frozen at the sight, and some of them lost control of themselves, wetting their pants. The Duke of Dawnrite downright began rolling on the floor stammering in madness. Lord Kim scooted away from the northern side, leaving a wet trail on the floor. Lady Almia fainted, and her servants were attempting to revive her. King Trevor hugged a pillar just to keep himself upright against his weakened shaking legs. Prince Aftkey turned to the guests. He seemed to be the only one unaffected by his appearance, but deep within, he was deeply disturbed. He had never seen his liege display himself in such a manner before. He was told that the king was also the mountain the crown was built, but he had never expected the entire range to be but limbs of the magnificent beast that was the kingdom''s head of state. He was sweating bullets. He splayed his arms out and announced with fervor and zeal, "Behold, people. Your king! Your country! King Devon of Devon! Bow before his highness!" The regal mountain giant nodded as though acknowledging the prince''s announcement. The Onyx Emperor and Their Empire of Sand The onyx emperor walked in their lonesome. Nothing surrounded them, but dunes of sand. Sand. Sand everywhere one''s eyes could see. A few spires rise from the sands at times, but much of their empire now lay resting below the sands. How sad was the emperor to rule an empire of sand. None lives here in this desolate land. An expansive waste of fine sandy desert. The onyx emperor must walk the span of their conquest, for there was no one else to take this important vigil. The onyx emperor looked towards the sun that seemed to never set. Their red eyes looked back to a time when the sands didn''t swallow the land as surely as the waves of the sea. Their black scales longed to once again touch something solid, untainted by the blow of the sand. Their unkempt smoky fur longed for the moisture that had long since migrated from this land. This was their empire now. Gone were the rolling green fields and the rivers of white water. Only a seemingly endless sea of sand stretched from shore to shore. The marble spires that once were the pride of their conquest lay at rest beneath the depths of the sand. The winds offer them no consolation, carving the mountains and replacing them with impermanent dunes. They walked, and dunes of sand swept past. They walked, and clouds of sand blew against their eyes. The emperor desired to cry, to weep, but no tears could flow from their ducts. Their body was as dry as it could. They could swear that the blood that once flowed within their veins had long been replaced with sand. The sands had leached every mote of moisture from their being. By all accounts, they should have been dead. Only its mysterious immortality had left it functioning despite its desiccated frame. Their march across their conquest took them months. Their exposed flesh had been left raw by the unkind wind. Their dry eyes had crystallized to unfeeling ruby. Their leaden horns weighed upon their head like a crown forged from their guilt. Such was the misery that now chained them to this world, that the sight of the palace, the monument to all their sins, brought them the much needed respite. Its walls had long since been ground away by the sands of the ages, and all that was left was the foundations and their throne room. The throne that now stood upon the chamber wasn''t the same throne they sat upon during their reign. It was a pale copy, a poor imitation of the grandeur of their former throne, a piece of sandstone sculpted to match the form of the original that had been forged from bronze. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. The onyx emperor took their seat upon the stony throne. It was their arrival upon their throne that the sun had decided to set below the horizon. The sky had darkened to harken the night, and the twinkling stars one by one emerged from the aether. The kind moon shone its borrowed light, but its sweet moonlight did little to the suffering emperor. The stars sneered at the emperor upon their seat. Disdain, contempt, hatred: they beamed them down to the emperor below. The onyx emperor turned their gaze away from the starry heaven and instead stared upon their hands. They buried their face into their palms and cried and wept. No tears flowed from their ducts, but canyons had been carved into their cheek scales by long distant cryings. It doesn''t matter how much tears they would shed or how much they were willing to shed. Their conquest was in shambles and buried beneath the sands. The palace built upon the foundations of visions and vice stood as immortal as the frame they inhabited. The emperor stood from their throne and fell prone upon the granite floor. All the features that indicated that the great slab of rock had been part of something grander had been rubbed away the innumerable ages. Only its unusual rectangular shape hinted its architectural past. The emperor cursed their circumstances, and cursed the stars especially. They offered them greatness, they offered them fame, they offered them immortal eminence to outlast the ages. The conquest they did was an atrocity upon the promise they offered. They had angered the very stars themselves for what they had done, and turned their would-be-blessings into a curse to punish them for all of eternity. Only the graceful moon, whose offering the emperor had neglected, had pitied the fool. Everything had turned to sand. All the conquests that had refused them and eventually the conquests that had submitted had turned to sand. The families and friends and acquaintances that they had formed had been buried beneath the sand. They knew nothing of the fate of those that had fled their conquest, but they guessed that even on other lands, they had probably turned to sand. The emperor pulled themself to a green pot. It was among many pots they had shaped from the rare spot of clay they found. The pot held a pile of strangely white sand. In every one of its treks across their conquest, they would pick up any of the strange grains of sand that it would find. It was a strange sand that shimmered in the starlight. The emperor had many pots filled to the brim of this sand, but many of them had broken and spread their contents back to the desert. The onyx emperor reached into its pockets and produced three grains of sand. It then dropped the grains into the pot. The emperor found peace in its hobby. The endless and futile gathering of sand brought it some form of purpose. It knew that everything was turning to sand. The mountains had crumbled to gravel. The cities had turned to rolling dunes of sand. Its people had turned to pillars of salt. Its own name: sand. Everything that it ever knew was sand. Everything it will come to know will become sand. And sometimes, it wondered: when it''s time for it to become sand... What kind of sand will it become? The Marching Band of the Clear Dawn The sound instruments filled the night. Camden the white gnoll''s arms was becoming sore from conducting the band all night. The hammering of lyres rang in the dark. The throbbing of drums shook the night. The occasional sound of cymbals and whistles close the din. The band had marched for many hours through the night. All their arms and legs had gone sore from the marching and the playing. They would like to go home now. Camden assured his players that the march was about to end. He raised a fist into the air and blew into his silver whistle. "Twiiiiit!" sounded his whistle. His instrumentalists took note of the number he raised, and prepared to change the song they''re playing. With the drop of his arm, a second whistle ("Twit!") sounded, and the band changed gear and the song changed with it. Each hammer strike of the lyrist caused the stars to twinkle. The drumming of snares, bass drums, and triple tenor drums woke the forces of the night. The wind picked and blew cool air through the countryside. The crash of the cymbals caused tremors in the air and roused the creatures of the forests and the plains. The moon so did watch their performance vigilantly, with its bright moonglow washing over them. Foxes, monkeys, rabbits, and birds; they rose from their sleep at the prompting of the instruments. Their heartbeats synchronized by the tempo they hear, and their eyes opened wider with each high lyre note. The pleasant winds blew against their direction, and let sway the tall grass. The worms in the soil and bugs in the herbs wriggled and writhed according to their tune. The forests and plains were roused by their music. The forests and plains listen to their tunes. The forests and plains anticipated with great eagerness the score which was to be played next. Camden raised a hand once again, but this time, a finger was outstretched. The sound of his whistle called the attention of the players. "Twiiiiit!" Anticipation and eagerness were raw in the air. The players trembled at his indication, awaiting the denouement of their entire performance. At the drop of his hand and the sound of his whistle ("Twit!"), the song changed. At the first note struck upon the lyre keys, the first lemony sun ray emerged from the distant horizon. As the song progressed, more of the sun rose from above the horizon. Its lemony rays bathed the world with its buttery light. The lyrists intensified in hammering their instruments, and the sun followed suit. It rose and rose as though commanded by the notes of ringing metal. The quarter notes the snares were providing supported the lyres'' endeavors. Their constant quick beat reinforced the power of their notes. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. With a crash of each cymbal and the beat of the bass drum, the stars in the sky one by one faded from the sky. The once dark nearly-black heavens slowly faded into yellow then a soft celestial blue. The winds blew a cool breeze, carrying the sweet scents of the morning. The clouds placidly drifted across the sky as the sunshine painted their facades with snow-white hues. The beats of the drums urged the winds to blow their way. The winds so followed the whims of the drums. The sun had risen above the horizon. Its spherical form glowed with golden light. The creature of forests and plains were thoroughly woken by the deep drums and high lyres. The sunshine had woken their spirits, and their days had truly begun. They began to frolic and enact their morning rituals. The sounds of rousing creatures accompanied the band: the barking of canines, the rustling of grass, and the buzzing of insects. It brought greater texture to the closing of their performance. The moon above loomed. It appraised the players with its watchful eye. Though it was an object of the night, it had not faded by the urges of the drums. Overridden by the solar radiance and painted by the heavenly hues, the moon watched the players like a pleased mother. Then they came to a crossroads where another band awaited. Their drums slowed down, and their lyres softened their blows. The ivory pole in the middle of the road indicated the end of their march. They have played all their songs through the night. Their parade had gone on without a hitch. Camden blew his whistle for the first and last time that day. "Twiiiiit!" He raised both of his hands in fist, and faces of joy were painted unto the band''s faces. At the drop of his and the blow of his whistle ("Twit!"), the last notes of the band were played, and the first notes of the other band began. The instrumentalists immediately crashed into the ground in relief, once the other band had begun to march away. They were terribly tired and sore. They were too tired to care that it looked rather embarrassing for them to be seen unceremoniously lying on the ground. Regardless, it was an excellent parade with nothing major going wrong. Camden was mighty proud of how it turned out. The Princess Snake Goes to the Birthday Planet (Part 1) The Snake Kingdom was a prosperous kingdom that ruled the plains. The kingdom was ruled by Queen Snake and King Snake, and in their rule, they brought nothing but prosperity to the kingdom. Under their governance, the lands were rife with golden grass and silver flowed along their rivers like fish. They also had a child, the Princess Snake. The princess was rather melancholic living upon the highest branch of the castle. The castle in which the royalty of the Snake Kingdom was an enormous acacia whose highest branches could overlook all the burrows dug by the subject snakes. Every night, the princess snake would look out to the lights that lit every household. They littered across the landscape like the stars in the sky. The princess longed to be with any one of their subject males. She was certain that any of them would be more suitable than her suitor and betrothed husband, Prince Cobra. She had known Prince Cobra since they were hatchlings. Their parents had matched them, but they hadn''t clicked. Prince Cobra was a petulant prideful prick. She couldn''t stand to be with him, especially that they would be married when they come of age to live in one for as long as they live. She had met many other princes and even commoner males, and she would prefer to marry any of them than to be married to Prince Cobra. She begged the king and queen, but they disagreed. "Think of the kingdom, Princess Snake," they reasoned. "Your union will bring prosperity to the kingdom." So melancholy filled the princess. She couldn''t stand Prince Cobra, let alone rule over the sandy desert that was the Cobra Kingdom. On the eve of her birthday, she ran away. The day after was the day she was slated to be married to the person she most disliked. She ran away discretely in the night, obscuring her visage with a shawl, and slithered into the distant woods. She left the Snake Kingdom behind her tail and intruded into the Viper Kingdom. She wandered far into the woods where any woodsman who wished to find her, to bring her back to her marriage, could not find her. She paid no attention to where she was going, only that she was going away. Soon, Princess Snake had grown tired and stumbled upon a clearing. In the middle of the clearing, there was a stump. She climbed up the stump and sat upon it. She rested. She turned her eyes to the skies to gaze upon the stars above. They twinkled gently. She was filled with sadness, she thought of looking up to find the constellations of her people. On that very night also, a very rare sight was seen. Upon the dark blue veil of night was a star that shone not everyday. It shone only once a year and that night changed every year. It was an auspicious sight to have the Auspicious Star in the sky. The Auspicious Star, a dot slightly larger than the others. The light it glew was of an orange hue, wildly different from the usual glow. It''s said that wishing to the star would make it come true. And so the princess wished. She prayed to the star, to the heavenly serpents which her people venerated. She wished to be rid of her betrothal. To be taken to a distant land where she could be married to someone else. But before she could finish, she was interrupted by a guest. "Well, well, well," the viper said. "What''s a princess doing out here, in the woods of the Viper Kingdom." The princess kept silent. Even though she wore a shawl, her origin could not be hidden to those with a keen eye. She was a much brighter red than commoners of her kingdom. Amusement was evident in the viper''s face. Its green scales blended with the forest flora. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. "Well, sorry princess, we can''t really let you be here," the viper began. "Or let you live. Them''s the rules. Trespassers of the Viper Kingdom must die!" A horrified look came to the princess and quickly slithered away, but she couldn''t slither away quick enough. Not very far from where she had begun, she became surrounded with vipers on all sides, hissing in distaste in her presence. Their fangs were dripping in poison, ready to stab into her. She had resigned to her fate when a bright column of light had fallen upon her. The vipers were frightened and scampered away. Princess snake coiled upon the ground, ready for retribution, when she saw the being that had lowered themself from the heavens. She looked up to the serpent before. It was a beautiful serpent with scales of bright green and a headdress of feathers of all colors of the rainbow. It looked at her with its star-like eyes. She recognized the serpent before her. It was or rather he was the Sky Serpent, herder of the sun and bringer of the winds. She was honored but she was a bit confused as to why he appeared before her. She bowed her head in reverence to the deity. "Raise your head, princess," the Sky Serpent said. His divine voice was soft like the wind and fierce like the rain. "I have heard your pleas and have come to bring you from your woe." Princess Snake looked at the Sky Serpent''s eyes, enthralled by his words. She closed into his head, but he pulled his head slightly back. "Not in that manner, princess," the Sky Serpent spoke. "I have come to spirit you away to Birthday Planet." The feathered serpent turned his eyes to the sky, pointing towards the great shining Auspicious Star above. The princess''s eyes were attracted to the star by his gaze. "See that, princess, the so-called Auspicious Star?" The Sky Serpent asked, to which the princess nodded. "That''s the Birthday Planet. Every year, it chooses one person whose date of birth coincided with the Auspicious Night and makes their wish come true." The serpent turned his face back to the snake. "And tonight, it had chosen to bring yours to reality." The serpent floated off the ground. Upon his back sprouted a pair of wings. The feathers upon his wings glittered like made of precious metal and gemstones. It glowed and twinkled in the starlight. His star-like eyes intensified in their glow, turning into a pair of bright torches emitting electric blue light. "But in order for your wish to be granted, you must cross the trials of the Birthday Planet. Should you accomplish that and reach the highest peak, you may be carried up and step upon the star''s soil." The Sky Serpent coiled his tail tightly around the princess''s middle like how a hawk may snatch a snake away. The serpent took off gently, carrying the princess away into the air. "However, I cannot bring you through my usual fare. The celestial gates I go through are unfit for mortal passage. Bringing you to your first trial is the least I could do." And so the Sky Serpent spirited the Princess Snake away on that cool night. The bright waxing moon shone ample light to illuminate the world. The duo flew over plains and forests and hills to a distant land. The lands whence the princess came was now but a distant memory. Soon a looming object rose above landscape. It rose like a column against the heavens, rising above the surrounding woods. It was a great mango tree, casting shade with its humongous foliage. Its thick bark were riddled with valleys water could flow. Upon its base were roots radiating from its trunk, and a moat of rain water surrounded it. "Wow," the princess began. "It''s... it''s very big." "Indeed, it is," the Sky Serpent replied. "Behold, princess, the Great Tree. Upon its fruits and shade, the first serpents were nourished." "Really? Was this were you were born?" The princess asked. "Yes," he tersely replied. The Sky Serpent gently dropped the princess upon the base the tree. The great shade of the Great Tree veiled their surroundings in darkness. A swirling twist was set upon the tree''s trunk. It twisted like a whirlpool upon the wood, and the its furrows glowed a pale celeste blue. "Here we are, princess," the serpent said. "This is your first trial. That twisting gnarl you see is a portal to the tree''s inner wood, its Wood World." "What should I do when I go inside?" The princess asked as she slithered closer to the glowing twist. "Inside awaits Wood Serpent, the serpent of trees. He guards a Primordial Mango. For you to move forward, you must have the mango," he answered. He tucked his wings into his body where it disappeared, corpuscles of starlight were flung where his wings had once been. "Why?" "The Primordial Mango gives you immunity to fire. The only path to Birthday Planet is fraught with flames." "Ah, I see." "If you want the Birthday Planet to be able to grant your wish, you must be able to survive the way to its surface. So, do you wish to have your wish made true or not?" "Yes," the princess replied. She slithered into the furrows with little hesitation. The Princess Snake Goes to the Birthday Planet (Part 2) The Sky Serpent patiently waited for the fate of the Princess Snake. He had taken many to the foot of the great tree, but few had ever stepped out of its wooden walls. He feared for the fates of those that had found themselves trapped to the whims of his sibling, the Wood Serpent. He had known that the Wood Serpent was a bit... lecherous to say the least. He prayed for the fate of the Princess Snake to be safe and the fate of those trapped within be untangled from the Wood Serpent''s coils. Those who fail the trial should at least be given the option to go home, but only a few of those who entered and failed had exited the tree. If he could enter the tree to straighten his brother''s knots, he would have. At least he should have had the decency to at least throw out their bodies. After an hour of waiting, his patience was rewarded. Exiting the tree, emerging from the vortex of bark, the Princess Snake appeared. In her mouth was a large fruit that barely fit in her mouth. It was a legendary Primordial Mango. The colors of its peel pulsed and danced like the flames and the surface of the sun. A burning aura emanated from the fruit that made her mouth feel like cooking. The Princess Snake slumped before the Sky Serpent. She breathed slowly. She just emerged from one of the most horrifying things that occurred to her. The Wood Serpent was approaching her uncomfortably. His gigantic form of gray braided roots brought no comfort to her, especially with the smile that carved his mouth. She was forced to retreat through a dark dank maze. She could feel the Wood Serpent pursuing her. His slithers caused tremors that could be felt through the walls. The less said of the state of the snakes, cobras, and vipers she found imprisoned there the better. The Sky Serpent coiled around the snake and began comforting her. He purred a comforting song into her ears. The snake stabilized her breath to the tempo of his song. She turned her eyes to his brilliant ones. The wonder they brought to her overpowered the great discomfort she felt in her traversal into the great mango tree. "Are you okay now," the Sky Serpent asked, to which the snake nodded. "Good. We only have so many night hours before the sun is due to rise. Eat the Primordial Mango, Princess Snake, so that we may move on to the next leg of your journey." The Princess Snake opened her mouth and stuffed the mango into her maw. Her neck bulged as she swallowed the fruit whole; the width of the mango was larger than the width of her length. The Primordial Mango settled in her stomach where her digestive juices began digesting the holy fruit. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. She fell over as the essence of the mango flowed into her body. The fire inherent to the flesh of the fruit flowed into her muscles. She felt like burning up. Fire infused her being but was not hurting her. The scales that wrapped her body glowed many shades of orange, many hues of flames and the sun. Soon, the heat she felt had passed, and she was left on the floor panting. The mango had completely melted into her flesh and their magical properties were infused into her body. The glow the mango had induced had not faded completely. If one were to look closely, one would see a golden aura faintly emanating from her surface. The Sky Serpent watched the event unfold before him with some concern. While all of those ophidians that had consumed the fruit hadn''t experienced adverse effects, he couldn''t help but feel nervous about the result. The possibility that something would go wrong wasn''t an absolute zero. He rubbed the forehead of the Princess Snake. She lifted up her chin to his dazzling eyes. "You have passed the trial, princess. You are fit to continue on to your journey to the Birthday Planet. Let me take you to your next trial." The Sky Serpent offered his tail to the Princess Snake. The snake curiously looked at the tail before placing her own over it. Suddenly his tail coiled around her body with the force of a vise grip. She feared that she would be crushed, but the Sky Serpent was gentler than that and held her tightly and safely. He opened up his wings. They glittered in the dark like glowing crystals. They stood out in the darkness like they''re from dreams. He flapped them and he took off from the ground with the snake in his tow. For the second time that night, he spirited his passenger to another distant location, this time, a place much grander than the Great Tree. They flew over forests and hills. Seven of them had flown over until the sight of their destination was seen. The princess turned her gaze below where she saw seven islands side by side in the mouth of the largest river she''s seen. The largest of them lay nearest to the sea while the smallest rose above the water farthest upstream. The river was frankly monstrous, spanning a hundred slithers at its narrowest and half a thousand at its widest. Strange huts were built upon the island soils. "Behold, princess. The Serpentine Estuary, where your next trial shall occur," announced the Sky Serpent. "Here live the nymph serpents, servants of the serpent." "What is my purpose here?" The Princess Snake asked. The Sky Serpent landed upon dark moist earth. He folded his wings into his back where they disappeared in a shower of sparkles. "The item you need next is some Serpentine Salt. Salt of the heavens it is, and only the serpents of these deltas could produce some of them." "Why?" "Serpentine Salt would give a body of steel. Harsh cutting wind blow on the path just as much as the fire fills the way. Without Serpentine Salt, your body would be cut into ribbons as you ascend." The Princess Snake Goes to the Birthday Planet (Part 3) Marsh Serpent of the Reedy Rocks looked at the unconscious body of the Princess Snake. She lay upon his bed, wet and stiff. His siblings looked through his windows to peek upon the happenings inside. The Sky Serpent slithered by his side. His dispassionate face looked at his work, and he felt his actions were being judged. But the emerald serpent was silent in his observing; his eyes were glued to the snake''s body. He was incredibly nervous. The princess had approached him as her guide to the second trial of the Birthday Planet. She had been injured in his tutelage; it was his responsibility for the Chosen One to be safe. He had never been chosen as a guide by any of the previous Chosen Ones before. He hoped that the mortal that lay upon his bed was fine. He would never be able to forgive himself if she ever perished, and if this accident would ever get out, he feared that the Chosen would not only not choose him but avoid having him as their guide. The Sky Serpent''s stare felt like its boring into the young snake''s length. The Marsh Serpent of the Reedy Rocks did the same to the unconscious mortal. Her eyes were glazed snowy white, and her once vibrant scales had paled to an unhealthy greenish gray. It was remarkable that she got to the Great Lake at the bottom of the sea where the skeleton of the Sea Serpent lay sunken, but it was foolish of him to celebrate just yet. Just because they''ve gotten a pail of Serpentine Brine wasn''t an excuse to be unwary of the dangers that lurk amongst the bones. The wrathful ghosts that haunted that place had grabbed the princess by the tail and began dragging her to the bottom of the lake. It was lucky that she hadn''t touched the deadly water or else her blood would have drawn out her pores. Her body was covered in herbal wraps that promoted her healing. Glowing crystals emitting healing light were focused upon her form. Charms hung above her on spinning mobiles, dripping their magic to the snake below them. Little by little, she was getting better, but every minute felt like his failure was growing heavier. "She''s going to be fine," the Marsh Serpent reassured himself. "Yes," the Sky Serpent solemnly said. Then, the motionless Princess Snake spasmed. As though the life that had seemingly left her body had returned to her vessel, she wriggled as though she just woke from a nightmare. Coughed up some water that hadn''t been squeezed out by the physicians. The fire that had been extinguished in her heart had been reignited, and the color of her scales slightly returned to their former color. She weakly looked around and saw her watchers look over her. Relief was evident in their eyes as they saw the princess come back to life. "You''re alright," the Marsh Serpent moved forward and began rubbing the head of the rousing snake. "I am glad that you''ve survived," the Sky Serpent remarked. "But you''re wasting time. We must make more haste. Only a few hours remain before the sun rises and the Birthday Planet would vanish from the sky." The Princess Snake frowned. Her throat burned from all the saltwater she had swallowed. She dreaded another dive into the sea. "Did we... Was the pail still full of brine when we got to the boat?" She asked. The Marsh Serpent became panicked at that thought. "The brine! I forgot about the brine! Oh no, it''s still on the boat. Hopefully it hadn''t tipped over." "Don''t worry, Marsh Serpent of the Reedy Rocks. I''ve saved the brine. It''s by your fire pit, safe and sound," said the Sky Serpent. The Marsh Serpent sighed in relief at that answer. He turned to the princess and said, "I''m sorry that I almost lost the brine. I was just... too preoccupied that I almost got you killed." "Don''t apologize, Marsh Serpent. If I were in your place, I would have done the same," the Sky Serpent remarked. The talk of the brine, the Princess Snake perked up. She left the bed and slithered towards the pail of brine they''ve gotten. The Marsh Serpent tried to stop her, saying that she wasn''t fully healed yet, but the Sky Serpent told him to let her be. Her time grows short. Even if her body was yet to fully heal, the second step of the second trial must commence for her to move on forward. The Birthday Planet awaits. "So, do I drink this or what?" The Princess Snake asked as she gazed upon the liquid within the pail. The Sky Serpent shook his head, and the Marsh Serpent felt dread upon the thought of any part of her body touching the dangerous liquid. "No, princess, you don''t drink or touch the Serpentine Brine. It would draw out all the blood that flow through your veins, leaving your body a dry husk. No, we must process it first and extract what we really want, the Serpentine Salt that comprise it," the Sky Serpent explained. The Marsh Serpent took out his cooking utensils: a large cauldron and a long ladle. He placed the cauldron over the fire pit, and poured the brine into the cooking vessel. A fire was lit beneath the cauldron and a few minutes later, the brine began to boil. The Marsh Serpent handed the ladle to the princess and invited her to slither up the stepladder and stir the brine for herself. "You must see for yourself the brine boil and the salt settling into the bottom," he said. And he was right. As she stirred the brine slowly bubbling brine, it was as if she could see a second night sky within the water. Glowing particles of salt moved alongside the movement of her stirring, creating a brilliant galaxy within the dark brine. Novae of light arose from the rising and popping of bubbles. She enjoyed the sights of the brine as she stirred it. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. The Marsh Serpent looked closely at the processes at hand and made sure that everything went on as smoothly as possible. He controlled fire that burned under the cauldron and made sure that it didn''t burn too hot and make the cauldron overflow. He stopped the Sky Serpent from throwing another log into the fire. "We don''t have the rest of the night, Marsh Serpent," the Sky Serpent reasoned. "The brine must boil faster or else she might not have enough time for the next trial and ascend to the Birthday Planet. We must be hasty." "She''s going to burn from the heat of the blaze if the fire grows any larger," the Marsh Serpent defended. "She has eaten a Primordial Mango, Marsh Serpent. If the heavenly fires couldn''t touch her, how could earthly fires even hope to blemish her?" And so, the Sky Serpent threw the log into the fire, and it grew into ablaze. The Princess Snake had to stir more vigorously just to stop it from overflowing the cauldron. A column of steam rose from the cooking vessel, glittering with starry light and shining like nebulae. The magical lights that lit the hut gave the steam column breathtaking hues of violet, magenta, and cyan. The galaxy she stirred on the surface of the brine broke up and turned into multiple galaxies shining and swirling upon the surface of the heavy liquid. Lights exploded from the mixture and the bubbles, forcing the snake into looking away lest she becomes blinded. The heat from the steam and the blaze attempted to cook her, but the aura she received from the Primordial Mango warded her from such attempts of her life. The process that should have taken hours to complete had been done in a scant half-hour. All the water that has been in the brine had been boiled off, and what was left was the Serpentine Salt. A glittering pile of the stuff was left inside the cauldron. The stuff within comprised almost half of the mass of the brine they had taken from the Great Lake. This was it, Serpentine Salt, the salt of the heavens, the salt which flowed within serpentine veins. "Now, do I eat it?" The Princess Snake asked. At that question, she heard some snickers that were immediately hushed beyond the thin walls. Once again, the Sky Serpent shook his head. "Eating Serpentine Salt is just as bad as drinking Serpentine Brine. We''re going to put two teaspoons of it in a tub of hot water and have you bathe in it for ten minutes." The Sky Serpent helped scoop out the Serpentine Salt. They put it inside a leather bag. They gave it to the Princess Snake. "It is yours. You may keep it," the Sky Serpent said. The Marsh Serpent took out the cauldron and replaced it with a bathtub. He then filled it with water. The Sky Serpent beckoned to the princess to come near the tub. He told her to put two teaspoons of the salt into the water and let it dissolve. She did as she was told, and now the water began to sparkle with the salt dissolved in it. Little stars began to twinkle into existence within the water as it was heated up. The Sky Serpent turned to the Princess Snake and said, "Step into the tub, princess, and let the salt imbue you with serpentine resilience." The Princess Snake nodded and gingerly plopped herself into the tub. The fire beneath the tub was raging, but the water did not boil. Her body sank into the hot saltwater bath and she relaxed. The experience was positively exfoliating. It was as if she was shedding her mortality within the bath. Her paleness faded, and healthy greenness replaced it. She could feel the heat and the salt massage her being and untangle her knotted muscles and heal her sores. When she emerged from the bath minutes later, she felt like a new being. Her body felt light and tough as though the sharpest of mortal instruments could barely be called weapons against her scales, but she felt as though nothing had changed. She simply felt refreshed. She turned to the Sky Serpent expectantly, and he said, "Yes, let''s. You''re ready for the next leg of your journey." The princess nodded her head and followed the serpent out of the hunt. They looked up to the night sky. The Sky Serpent unfurled his wings and coiled his tail around the Princess Snake. The Princess Snake let the serpent hold on to her securely as her body relaxed for the journey. The Marsh Serpent went out to watch them fly away. His numerous siblings watched from the reeds. It was a momentous event, especially to the Marsh Serpent of the Reedy Rocks. "Will we be seeing each other again?" He asked the Sky Serpent. "I don''t know," the Sky Serpent answered. And then the Sky Serpent flapped his wings, and by his power he was rose to the sky. The huts below shrank to insignificance, and the world below them blurred as the Sky Serpent sped. He held onto his passenger tightly. The hours have grown few, and soon the sun would be raised and the path that bridged the earth and Birthday Planet would be broken to be built once again on the next Auspicious Day. They flew over forests, plains, and lakes, until their destination rose above the horizon. The Sacred Mountain stood high above the surrounding mountains. It dared to pierce the cloudy veil that separated sky from earth. Its top was frosted in thick ice and snow and the foot and crags were bathed in its grand shadow. Atop its peak lie a flat platform, and inscribed upon it was the symbol of creation and the symbol of the Birthday Planet. They landed upon the foot of the mountain. Before them opened a great yawning cave that led deep into the earth. The darkness was deep and profound as the very stone was eating all the light which enters their abode. This was it, the path to the very last trial. The Princess Snake looked into the darkness, and what see saw, or rather, the lack of what could be seen inspired hesitance into herself. She No matter how much she stared into the mouth of the cave, but she could see no further than a few feet from the mouth. Even though the Sky Serpent with eyes that glowed and wings that shone stood by her side, the profound darkness that veiled the cavern retreated not an inch. "This is it, princess. Your last trial," the Sky Serpent stated. "Yes," the Princess Snake nervously replied. "What you see before you is the Sacred Cavern, the home and resting place of the Mountain Serpent. She and her children, the kobolds, guard and cultivate the Mountain Taro. You must ask one from them," he answered. "Why?" She asked. "You will need it to be able to ascend to the Birthday Star. The kobolds will forge you wings from the flesh of the taro." The Princess Snake slithered into the cave but did not go farther than what she could see. A wall of darkness loomed before, instilling hesitance and fear to her heart. Her muscles harden, unwilling to go further into the dark. She turned to Sky Serpent, and his glowing eyes and shining wings dispelled the fear clawing at her chest. "Can you..." the princess began. "Can you slither alongside me as I go down the darkness?" The Sky Serpent shook his head. "I''m afraid that I cannot, princess. I have been forbidden to enter the limits of the Sacred City. Me appearing would cause the serpents of the earth to become irate." "Please, could you at least escort me through this dark cave?" She begged but the Sky Serpent was adamant on her going alone. "No, princess. You must go alone. You do not wish to earn the ire of the earth serpents. Be brave, Princess Snake." The Princess Snake Goes to the Birthday Planet (Part 4) The Sky Serpent waited. His eyes were glued to the wall of darkness that covered the yawning cave before him. Many times did the notion of rushing in to assist the snake come to his mind, but every time, he crushed it in favor of patience. His glowing presence would stand out in the profound darkness, and the Sacred City would fall into chaos to find an offender amongst their ranks. The serpents of the earth do not forgive and forget. Sometimes the Sky Serpent turned his eyes away from the cave mouth and towards the sky. It really was an auspicious night. The sky was clear and free of clouds and the stars above were free to witness the trials of the mortals. However, the stars had began to fade from the dark sky. Many hours had passed and the princess was yet to return to the surface. The sky had began to lighten, and day was about to break. He feared that the princess had failed. The sun was about to be released from its stable and soon it would to be herded across the sky. He ruminated about this point, but then decided that the stablehands could handle the sun until he returned. When only a third of the stars had remained shining in the sky, it was then that the princess had emerged from the shadowy depths. She slithered out the darkness in an armor made of taro flesh. Fitted upon her head was a silvery helmet with sweeping filigree. Upon her chest was a chestplate with flowing filigree upon which was attached the wings that were now folded upon her back. The Sky Serpent was filled with happiness to see the princess had passed the trial. He smiled. Just in time too. But they were not to celebrate yet. The time grows ever shorter as the night moves on. "Congratulations, princess," the Sky Serpent remarked. "You have finished all three of the trials. Now we must make haste more than ever. We must cross the heavenly gap before it closes. Open your wings, princess." The princess did as she was told, and her wings were splayed open. It was wide to catch as much wind as she need to rise high into the sky. Each feather was a thin slice engineered to create as much lift, and each was beautifully engraved. The fiery aura she gained from consuming the mango had teamed-up with the pre-dawn light to give the silvery armor crafted from sacred taro a golden gleam. In turn, the Sky Serpent opened his wings. In the near-morning, his wings were like the aurora; the colors of his rainbow feathers danced in the open, and the glitter they produced pushed back the gloom of the night. It even pushed back the dark veil of the cave. The retreating darkness gave a hostile hiss at the Sky Serpent. A gray serpent emerged from the darkness. Her eyes were glued upon the Sky Serpent, glaring. She hissed, displeased to be in the presence of the Sky Serpent. "Who are you? And what do you want?" The Sky Serpent asked. He was oft disliked by the citizens of the Sacred City. "I am the Grey Serpent of the Warm Irons. I wished to see the Princess Snake fly," the grey serpent answered. The Sky Serpent was rather surprised and turned a questioning look to the Princess Snake. The princess sensed his silent question and moved on to answer it. "Grey Serpent is the one to craft the armor and wings," she said. "Nevermind that. She can watch the ascent," the Sky Serpent said. He coiled around the Grey Serpent and carried her as he flapped his wings. His wings lifted him into the air and he began to ascend to the top of the mountain. His passenger wriggled and hissed in his grasp. She hissed hostile words and even bit into the Sky Serpent, but her fangs failed to pierce his scales. The Princess Snake followed the Sky Serpent. She flapped her wings and soon her body lifted off the ground. Unlike the Sky Serpent''s smooth and steady flight, hers was unsteady and unpracticed. The Sky Serpent and the Grey Serpent watched the newly winged snake slowly rise into the air. Her expertise in flying slowly leveling up as she continued to rise. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. The Sky Serpent went on ahead and began to spiral round the mountain. He had chosen the path he took so that their ascent up the mountain was as gentle as possible. The princess followed behind him, and carefully moved her wings in concert with his. She feared that the wings would fail. Below them was steep cliffs and crags. If she or her wings were to fail the trial they''re undergoing, she would be impaled on the rocks. The Sky Serpent purposely flew slow so that the Princess Snake could follow him. He made sure that he was always in view of the princess. The Grey Serpent had ceased her attacks upon the flying serpent and turned her attention to her creation. The princess''s flight was ungainly and inefficient, indicative of her untrained nature. She despised the unskilled use of the princess, but she was confident that that unskillfulness would fade in time. Their slow spiraling flight carried them up the mountain. They gently landed upon a platform that was built at the loftiest peak of the Sacred Mountain. Flecks of snow carried by the wind marred the face of the stone. Carved upon the octagonal platform was the sigils of creation and the Birthday Star. While it was no spell circle, its mystical nature drew the eye to the significance of this peak. "Look up, princess," the Sky Serpent said. "Above us lies the bridge between earth and the Birthday Star. All the gifts you''ve gathered from your trials are for this very moment. The path you''ll be taking will be fraught with fire and knife-like winds." The Princess Snake turned her eyes up above, and what she saw filled her with immense terror. A spiraling column opened up above them. It was dark and confusing, and it stretched all the way to infinity where she completely lost sight of it. The winds howled with cold fury. They blew with such intensity that they became white and shaped like knives. "I''ll be going through THAT alone?" The snake nervously asked. "No, princess. I''ll be guiding you. All you have to do is follow me," the Sky Serpent answered. The princess turned to the Grey Serpent. "Are you coming with us?" The Grey Serpent shook her head and answered, "I do not welcome the heavenly realms, snake. I will stay here and watch you ascend the heavenly bridge." "Ready, princess?" She turned her eyes back to the Sky Serpent whose wings were wide open, to fly once again. The princess flared her wings in response. Seeing her ready, the Sky Serpent began his ascent to the tunnel-bridge. The Princess Snake followed the serpent in the sky. The Grey Serpent merely looked and admired the figures that were now approaching the mouth of cutting wind above. Their ascent soon entered the mouth of the tunnel-bridge above them. The currents of air carried them along the length of the bridge, but the very same also tried to cut them into ribbons. Their wings endure the slashes of the winds. Their scales protected them the being chopped into pieces. The very substance that makes the tunnel attempts to slice and dice their very substance, but their serpentine toughness had protected their bodies from becoming a splash of blood and gore upon the winds. The winds had carried them high above the ground. Beyond the blur of the winds, they could see the world that once was beneath their bellies shrink. The horizon over yonder had begun to curve in the distance, betraying the true shape of the world, but even the height they were already at, their journey was yet at its halfway point. They still had far to fly. The twisty way they''ve been following had begun to heat up. What once was a tunnel walled by glacial winds was now walled by harsh desert wind. They scratched at their defenses to no avail. The walls had begun to glow a fiery orange light as the ascended through the tunnel-bridge. Fire licked from the walls like the waves of the sea. The winds had remained as cutting as they''ve entered, if not any more sharp. They were barraged by the winds on all sides, testing their defense and endurance. The Sky Serpent''s wings glittered in the heat; the sparkle could be seen, even amidst all the fire they could see. As their journey continued, the path simply grew more fiery. Their visions were obstructed by swirling blazes. Their eyes earned no respite in the tunnel lit brightly by heavenly fire. The princess wanted to scream to help. She was surrounded by unpleasant elements, but her wish kept her mouth closed. Plus, she didn''t want the fire to enter her mouth. The path went on until the fire that surrounded them had begun to become starry. They glowed blue and cold, with flecks of star-like particles floating about. Her eyes felt itchy at the thought of them getting stuck on her eyes. They continued on. The fires around them swirled in their who-knows-how-long journey through the tunnel-bridge. Their respite would come to them when the tunnel ended. The Princess Snake Goes to the Birthday Planet (Part 5) (FINAL) The Princess Snake crashed face first into the foreign dirt of the Birthday Planet. The Sky Serpent landed gently by her side. The princess breathed a sigh of relief having found herself on safe stable and non-flaming ground after their ascent through the tunnel-bridge. She savored the feeling in her lungs as she breathed in fresh cool air. She looked back to the gaping mouth from which emerged up in the sky and saw it violently close right in front of her eyes. "Here we are, princess," the Sky Serpent announced. "We now stand upon the surface of the Birthday Planet." After hearing that announcement, the Princess Snake turned her eyes to her surroundings. The Birthday Planet was a colorful as she had imagined it. The ground was dyed a bright orange, and the sky was a soft teal. There were hills made of striped rocks that rose around them. A river of blood winded through the landscape, within which swam hordes of pre-spiced fish. Trees and bushes made of precious metals bore foliage of gems upon their branches. The light simply bounced upon them, glittering like a dreamlike treasure. There were serpents roaming among the trees with some tapping the trees for their delicious sap. "Wow," was all the princess could say. Her first impressions had already exceeded her expectations. The Sky Snake turned her attention to a mountain in the distance. It was a great steep mountain made of yellow and orange stone. A spiraling stairway was carved upon its cliffs, and a temple stood upon the precipice of its peak. Several red serpents guarded its steps, each of them wearing gilt armor and sporting spear-like fangs. She was led to the feet of the mountain where the first step of the flight of stairs started. By the stairs stood a flat wall upon which a six names were carved. One of the red serpents attended the wall, and with the tools they had, began carving a seventh beside all the other names. She looked upon the unfamiliar names carved into the stone and pondered about the significance of these. "Look upon this stone, princess. The names you see are of those that had successfully completed the trials and arrived here at this fair planet. The basilisks here, the attendants of the Birthday Planet, carved their names here, immortalizing their successful journeys to this astral body, and now your name shall be carved alongside the names of the mortal ophidians that had their wishes granted," the Sky Serpent sang. The carving serpent cleaned the carving that they had been working on, and the princess saw that it was carving her name into the stone. Carved into stone was her name in her native language''s script rendered in the most perfect glyphs only immortal expertise could muster. It screamed to the world that she was here. The words upon the wall were saying, the Princess Snake was here. She looked into the other names, and she saw the same. The Green Snake of the Green Land, the Leafy Viper of the West Forest, the Digger Cobra, the Sailor Snake, the Jocular Viper, and the Ironworking Cobra were all here, and their historic arrivals were logged forever into this monolith. Despite their names carved in unfamiliar scripts and languages unknown to her, she could understand them all the same. Such was the expertise of the basilisks. A red serpent with decorated helm approached them. The symbols of his service and the planet he stood upon were engraved upon the metal. A peach-colored sash covered his body. The attire was a sign of his rank, and he wore it with pride. Like all his fellows on this planet, his fangs were prominent and they gleamed gold in the morning light. "Lord Sky Serpent," the red serpent addressed. "I''m glad that you''ve delivered the Chosen here successfully." "Indeed, General Sanguine Serpent," the Sky Serpent answered. "It''s not often that a Chosen would arrive here at all, even if they succeed all the trials." The two serpents turned to the Princess Snake. Their faces were grave and serious. The princess coiled beneath their combined gaze. Especially under the Sanguine Serpent''s gaze, whose face bore no trace of emotion and carried nothing but zeal. It was a judgemental stare that bore a hole into the snake. "Princess Snake, this is General Sanguine Serpent of the Cinnabar Mountains," the Sky Serpent introduced, and the Sanguine Serpent nodded in response. "He will be guiding you to your ascent up the mountain." "Will you be coming with us?" The Princess Snake asked. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. The Sky Serpent''s face was morose and regretful as he spoke out his words, "I am afraid that I cannot slither alongside nor will I be waiting for you this time, princess. Duty calls, and the sun beast must be herded lest it wanders aimlessly on the sky." The Sky Serpent opened his gem-like wings and flew up the sky. The Sanguine Serpent let the Princess Snake watch the serpent disappear into the sky. His rainbow wings glittered over the teal background until his figure became indistinct. His shining form did not fade in the distance but instead turned into a bright shining star that closed around the sun. It was a bright brave star that even the sun radiance did not smother its light. "Princess, we must go on," the Sanguine Serpent urged. "The Birthday Planet awaits for you on on the top of the mountain." Ushered by the rather intimidating Sanguine Serpent, the Princess Snake slithered up the steps. One by one, she ascended the spiraling stairway. Along the way, they met basilisks that tended this path. They guarded the steps and maintained them. They saluted the general that guided the snake up the mountain before they returned to the tasks were doing. They paid them with apt respect as an official with a mortal visitor. They ascended the stairs. They had turned around the mountain, and had seen the vista that stretched on all sides of the great mount. Sometimes, they engaged in small talk. On the west side of the mountain were fields of berry bushes that grew on rolling hills. A river of blood cut through the landscape that ended at bloody sea at the distance. She could spy some huts and buildings built upon the beaches of that sea. She also learned of the names of the sights she was seeing. The river was the Sanguine River, the fields below were called the Copper hills, and the sea over yonder was called the Auspicious Sea. On east side of the mountain, the princess saw a range of mountains that stretched all the way to the horizon. The stone that made these mountains were stained yellow, and they glittered in the solar light, betraying the abundant gold upon these mounts. She learned that they were called the Golden Mountains. Below she saw many serpents congregating in a great city. The walls of the city were carved from marble, and flowing through it was the Sanguine River. It was dubbed as the Auspicious City in honor of the spirit of the Birthday Planet. It was exhausting work climbing the Birthday Mountain (the name of the mountain as the Princess Snake had learned), and for that very same reason, the basilisks of the Birthday Planet had built numerous rest stops along the path for the visitors and employees to restock their energies on their way to the top of the mountain. They were able to get some snacks and cold water to refresh themselves. They munched upon fried mice and drank their fill from basins filled with water that trickle from the melting ice from atop the mountain. They''ve passed through eleventh rest stop, the path had been blocked by a gate, but by the order of the Sanguine Serpent, it was opened to let them through. The gate was apparently there to stop tourists from simply slithering up the temple grounds uninvited. They were to stop upon the twelfth and last rest stop before they were to reach the temple grounds. There, the spirit of the auspicious star would grant the wish of the chosen princess. At the height of the twelfth rest stop, they were already above the clouds. A few hundred slithers down, clumps of white clouds placidly floated like the ice floes on an arctic sea. The air was cold, frigid in fact that the rocks and stones around them were coated in a thin layer of frost. The Sanguine Serpent seemed unbothered by the apparent cold despite the fact that the other basilisks on this part of the stairs wore fur jackets to conserve their heat. The Princess Snake was protected from the cold by the aura of the Primordial Mango. "Be ready, Princess Snake, for the next flight of stairs is the very last flight before the temple grounds. Steel you heart, and open your mind to have your wish be made real," the Sanguine Serpent said. The Princess Snake became nervous at the sudden statement of the serpent. She was urged up the steps until they came upon the temple grounds. A stone archway heralded the entrance, and statues of valiant serpents lined the sides of the path. The statues looked upon the visitors with their stone eyes. The Princess Snake nervously slithered down the path. The Sanguine Serpent at her side ushered her forward and prevented her from simply turning back. They were very near. The path before them opened to a spacious courtyard. Snow piled at some corners, swept there by the caretakers of this sacred place. Evergreen hedges decorated the court like a garden. In the center of it all was a great crystal. The crystal was fascinating. It glowed a soft warm light that comforted her. It darkened and brightened on regular intervals as though the crystal which she gazed upon breathed. All the serpents paid deference to the glowing crystal, and in extension to that deference, they respected the passage of the Princess Snake, a Chosen of the Birthday Planet. The Sanguine Serpent ushered the Princess Snake upon a podium. It was decorated with gold ornaments and baubles. "This is it, princess," the Sanguine Serpent whispered. "Speak clearly." "Welcome, Chosen One. You''ve passed all the trials, and now I shall honor you with a wish," the voice of the Birthday Planet rang. There was no sound. The words of the spirit simply rang in her mind. The Princess Snake was nervous, but this was an opportunity that will literally never come to her again. She kept her gaze upon the breathing crystal. She opened her mouth. And her wish was set free. The Convenience Store on a Large Asteroid Magnum Blue awoke from their periodic hibernation period. It was a bit fortunate that no customers arrived during said period, otherwise they would have been irate at their disturbed sleep. They examined their surroundings and found the shop to be relatively untouched during their sleep. It brought a smile on their face. They stretched their six legs as they rose from the bed they had built behind the counter. Magnum Blue was some sort of giant scorpion with a metallic blue carapace and a pair of large articulate claws. Their tail curled up behind them, armed with a deadly stinger ready to inject a variety of chemicals. It was in full view to anyone who entered the store, and the scorpion wasn''t afraid to use it on any unruly customer. Magnum Blue viewed themself on the reflective surfaces of the fridges of the store. They made sure that their beautiful carapace was gleaming in the light and that their golden eyes were as clear as possible to ensure good vision during their work. They armed their stinger with a mild paralytic chemical of their choice before they turned their attention to the rest of the store. The convenience store was deserted as usual. What a surprise. It''s been the usual state of the store for many years now. Only on a handful of days did the Glowing Mountain convenience store get any number of customers, and they can appear at any hour of the day. But that''s no excuse for a poor work ethic. The scorpion roved the store for any discrepancies. They restocked empty shelves and cleaned out expired product. They healed any cracks that had appeared in the concrete and glass. There was a variety of imported products on sale on the shelves: from cereals and soaps to multitools and all-purpose lubricants. They had exciting names too like Shekel Flakes, Kohrne Pups, and Beaker Buds. Local products however were scarce on the shelves. There weren''t any local civilizations on this system for them to acquire stock. Not anymore. The sensor detected their presence and the door automatically slid open. A protective forcefield had prevented the gases from within the store from simply being thrown into the depths of space. Magnum Blue looked into the yard before their shop. Before them was a parking lot. Large rectangles were painted into the concrete, indicating the spaces reserved for the spacecrafts. A spacecraft was space-intensive, taking the space normally reserved for twenty cars. Magnum Blue couldn''t complain; even if their sixty-space car park could now only hold three vehicles, it''s not like they''re still getting cars driving here. Besides, any crew that wished to shop could park on nearby asteroids. Magnum Blue stepped through the forcefield with no protection whatsoever. The forcefield passing through their carapace tingled, but nonetheless harmless. They didn''t experience any ill effects of the vacuum. The scorpion was a hardy creature that needed almost nothing to survive. Then, they began their cleanup work on the parking lot. There were many craters on the concrete, from the stray micrometeorites to pilots with poor parking skills. They filled them in one by one until the lot had become pristine and flat. They turned to the shop and saw that its walls suffered a similar fate to the ground. The walls were cracked and cratered, and the glowing sign that had once announced the name of the store had gone dark. Magnum Blue fixed all of them, filling the craters and healing the cracks and repairing the broken electronics within the glowing sign. Now that the maintenance of their location had been done, it was now time to wait. The convenience store had been built in a very inconvenient location. Once upon a time, this place had been a busy avenue where cars and trucks often passed by and stopped at a regularity, but now it was just a floating asteroid among many in the void of space. They looked up the non-existent sky and watched the asteroids spin and rotate. They could remember a time when all of them were together. In the center of the asteroid field once floated the planet in which they were born. Their creators and their customers lived and bought upon the surface of the world until some column of light sought the end of their happiness in a flash that shattered the world. It was rather fortunate for them to be flung to space rather harmlessly. They had to fend against some unruly customers in the aftermath. Those damned looters became the death of their partner, Opus Magenta. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Magnum Blue looked at a grave that they had built many years ago. Buried beneath the rocky surface was the body of their late partner, Opus Magenta. They missed them. They were partners in maintaining the store. Magnum Blue manned the counter and Opus Magenta stocked the shelves. They were an inseparable duo, but they guess that fate would find a way to cleave in twain things thought inseparable. It was rather lonely on the asteroid (now registered as the Glowing Mountain on the galactic registry). They lamented the loss of all the industries upon the surface of that world. Now they''re lacking a supply of very local goods that could no longer be restocked. At least they struck some deals with foreign companies to supply them with merchandise that they desperately needed restocked. They lost almost all of the variety of brands that they used to sell here. As Magnum Blue continued to watch the asteroids placidly drift, they saw a cruiser approach the ship. Those kinds of spaceships were usually too large to fit inside the store''s parking lot that they usually just parked themselves on a nearby asteroid and send an errands-person in a dinghy to shop. Magnum Blue took this as a signal to return inside. At the moment that they had made themself comfortable behind the counter, the door slid open to let an alien customer enter. The alien wore a protective spacesuit that made it hard to determine the species, gender, and nationality of said alien. The alien then began to browse among the merchandise. They came to the counter carrying a pack of goborell cigarettes, five bars of Hifford imitation chocolate, and a box of ter''lk tea. Magnum Blue obliged and gently scanned the items. "That would be 243 kroner," Magnum Blue announced. The alien seemed surprised by this. "I didn''t know you accepted Mirus Sector standard currency," they said before counting their money. "We also accept digital payment," the scorpion added. The alien looked up at this statement. They grumbled as they put away their numerous bills and coins, and instead produced a green-blue plastic card. Magnum Blue accepted this card and swiped it through a card scanner. After a moment, the transaction was accepted and merchandise were successfully purchased. They then handed the purchased products to the alien alongside their printed receipt and credit card. "Come back soon," Magnum Blue bade them. However, instead of leaving immediately, the alien leaned onto the counter and began to engage Magnum Blue in small talk. "So, Magnum Blue," the alien began. "I heard that you were there when planet Nion''dota-O7 was exploded. May I interview about the details of the event?" The scorpion thought about it for a second before obliging with a "Sure." The alien produced a tablet from somewhere and prepared to note down their answers. As soon as they were ready, they asked their first question: "What did your people call the planet?" "Ralleth." "Does that have some significant meaning?" "Ralleth means ''of Ralle''. Ralle is the deity of the earthworks and smithing." The alien asked many questions to Magnum Blue, and they answered them as politely and truthfully as possible. They were mostly innocuous questions about the history and culture of the planet. There were many questions they managed to clear up, but there were just as many questions they were unable to answer. Soon, the alien had run of questions. They put away their tablet. They were satisfied with the answers. They thanked the giant scorpion for their answers and then left. Though the alien had left the shop and asteroid, the cruiser from which the alien had unboarded still drifted among the ruined asteroid field. They were still intent on learning more about the former planet. The experiences of one person could only open a window of the past so wide. Their leave from the convenience store had been of little fanfare, but their questioning had inspired something in the scorpion. A warmth, an imperceptible warmth arose within Magnum Blue. Their golden pondering eyes betrayed the emotions roiling below. Magnum Blue had remembered something very important. Magnum Blue fled into the stock room and searched for something very important. There, hidden beneath the shelves was a small wooden box. Opening it, Magnum Blue little toys and trinkets. Company policy didn''t allow them to have any stuff, so he and Opus Magenta had to hide them where inspectors rarely looked. Among the trinkets were instruction manuals, leaflets, and music discs. Though they appeared to be some sort of cheap items, they were invaluable to Magnum Blue and Opus Magenta. Borrowing an old disc player and a pair of headphones, Magnum Blue listened to one of their favorite artists, Bombastic Green. Bombastic Green was rather controversial when they were still operating. Their tunes were revolutionary, and their stances contentious. Magnum Blue opened up their copy of the instruction manual to the operation of Scorpio units and reviewed their knowledge about the subject. They read as the metal song grinded in their ears. The Wolf Bound in Hollow Dreams Toma wandered across the colorful landscape. He loved frolicking in the dream realms. He gets to indulge himself in experiences not accessible to reality. Such was the life of the dream sorcerer. He was skipping a path through a dream forest. The trees twisted in whimsical ways that weren''t commonplace in waking forests. Their boughs were like mobiles with their leaves dangling on silk. As moonlight filtered through the foliage, the glass-like leaves scattered the light into numerous breathtaking rays. By the well-trodden path grew little weeds and herbs. The leaves they grew were like blades of grass but orange like copper. The forest he frolicked wasn''t devoid of animal life. Upon the branches that arched above him sat the humble songbirds. With their beaks shaped like musical instruments, they filled the atmosphere with radiant songs. It simply lifts his spirits hearing their songs that Toma could levitate if he so desired. Upon the ground wandered rabbits made of bread with ermine robes. They carried maces of gold and twirled them as they hopped through the forest floor. Blue stoats emerged from the hollows of the trees. They never truly leave their dens, and so their bodies stretched as their torsos crawl farther and farther away from their dens. Their lengthy bodies hang from the branches like tinsel and buntings. In his wandering in the forest, he came across a cave. Fang-like rocks hung above like awnings. Deep ringing chimes echoed from the caliginous depths. Stinky stale air blew out the opening as though it was the breath of some large creature that lay at the bottom of the cave. But Toma didn''t bother himself with such implications. The sorcerer was inexperienced and merely regarded the dream realms as places he could play in. The dream realms were elfin ephemeral locations where the consequences of one''s actions cannot catch up to you after you''ve woken up. There was no need for caution or compassion when visiting these realms, it was simply a waste when all of what you''ve done had no bearing on reality. And so, Toma skipped into the cave, unheeding of any possible danger that may lurk in the darkness. But why would Toma even come to such conclusions when the walls of the cave were aglow with colorful crystals. Yond his steps striking the stone, the crystals emitted a calming ringing that filled the air. It was a beautiful symphony that accompanied his carefree wanderings. The cave gently curved as he descended down the depths. He ignored the deep groaning and ominous chimes that came from the bottom of the cave. The path curved and turned and twisted with alarming regularity that it almost felt like he was walking down a labyrinth. Still, Toma tried to savor the dreamy sights the cave had kindly offered to him. The calming rings and the beautiful arrangements of crystals simply allured him to go down further. Strange coral-like plants grew upon the stones of the walls. Despite the utter darkness of the deep earth, he was still able to see all the things around him. In the veil of darkness, he could spy the glowing outlines that defined the objects that scatter across the caves. He was happy to experience and see the beauty of these things. Soon the cave opened to a large cavern. It was a spacious cavern that spread so wide that he couldn''t the other side. Looking above, he could see the stalactites hang from the ceiling like swords and fangs. They threatened to fall upon unruly ones who put themselves under their points. The darkness that lingered within the caliginous cavern was more profound than anything else. They seemed to swallow everything in sight. The glowing outlines that once were visible to him in the gloom were now invisible and dark. But even such a menacing environment did not deter him. He was fearless in the face of danger. After all, he was in the dream realms where all consequences were impermanent. Toma stepped forward, and suddenly, all the calming rings stopped. He was left in dead silence. His ears rang at the sudden loss of sound. It almost felt that he had gone deaf. He tried to take a step back, but he only backed into a solid stone wall. He turned around and saw that the cave that had once been turning and twisting behind his back had disappeared without a trace. The thing that now stood behind him was a non-descript stone wall that blocked his passage. He was suddenly assaulted with the realization of him being trapped within the depths. He was made instantly aware of the sound of labored breathing and slow heartbeats. They did not originate from within his body. Someone else was here, someone alive within this dank cavern. He wasn''t alone. He turned behind him and saw the beast that stood behind him. It was a humongous wolf with thick matted fur. The creature''s presence was profound that it stood out in the darkness. Its fur was blacker than nothing that its shape was apparent even in the absolute darkness of the depths. Its eyes were a pair of onyx orbs that glowed black. Stinky drool drip out its smiling canine face. The teeth in its maw were black like its fur but appeared whiter than snow in his vision. How he knew they were black despite appearing completely white was a mystery. Toma flattened himself on the wall. He reasoned that he couldn''t be hurt in the dream realms, but he could help but be cautious. The wolf appeared as dangerous as it appeared. The beast swayed listlessly before him, but he could feel the malice emanating from the dark light of its eyes. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Then suddenly, like lightning, the wolf lunged to attack Toma. Toma was frozen, and his feet were rooted in place as the beast closed the distance in less than a blink. Its mouth was wide open, showing the full majesty of its dentition. Its claws whooshed as it sent them to cleave the boy in twain. Toma closed his eyes in fear. His end was nigh. While he knew he would wake up from his bed no worse than when he slept, he''d rather not feel the pain of strikes that pulls him from the dreaming realms. He prayed that the strikes that would smite him would as painless as possible. He''d rather they not be so painful that the limbs that had been struck would be sore when he woke up. Suddenly, the sound of glass chimes filled the cavern. The mouth of the monstrous wolf snapped just in front of his face, and the claws flew just a hairsbreadth from slicing him halfwise. The beast''s stinky breath blew against his face. Toma slowly opened his eyes and saw a bevy of pearly chains binding the wolf. They attached onto numerous shackles around the beast. Shackles everywhere: on its chest, wrists, neck, legs, and arms. There were multiples on its limbs. They tinkled and chimed as they shook against the beast''s struggles. "No! No! At least let me have him," the wolf''s hoarse voice sounded. The chains dragged it back to the spot where he started. It dug its claws into the stone, but to no avail, the chains dragged it all the same. Its claws carved canyons as they were dragged across the floor. "I haven''t eaten in a very long time... please, let me eat." "You can talk?" Toma involuntarily said. The question simply escaped out of his mouth. The beast gave Toma a questioning look. "Many beings of dreams could speak, sorcerer. I am merely one of them." Toma gulped at that statement. Hopefully, it hadn''t offended the beast. "I hadn''t met anyone like you who could also speak." The wolf snorted. "The summer dream realms don''t tend to house monstrous mares such as me, dear sorcerer. Perhaps you should try to visit the winter dream realms." "Summer realms? Winter realms? Actually, no matter. How did you know I was a sorcerer?" "Your blood stinks of their magic, sorcerer. No dreaming man could wander the dream realms with such lucidity and opacity as you wandered here." The wolf struggled some more against the chains. Their tinkling chimes resounded in the cavern, but they were resolute in keeping the beast bound. The beast couldn''t step a foot closer to Toma with the chains attached to its limbs. The sight of the beast unable to move emboldened Toma. He removed himself from the wall where he had flattened himself. He stepped a yard closer to the wolf and began examining the pearly chains that held the beast in place. At first, he thought that they bound the beast to the stone of the roof and the floor, but as he looked closer, he could see that they extended further. He could see the whole length of the chains, even when a portion of their length had been buried neath the surface. He saw the chains extend ever farther, stretching unto infinity where they faded into darkness. Immensely curious of the chains, he approached one of the chains and began to investigate them closely. Like many real chains, they were a series of links connected together. They were made of a fascinating material that shimmered in many colors. As he watched the links, he saw them slowly change from one color to another; from pale yellow to baby fuschia to powder blue. Such interesting chains they were. Toma put forward a finger to touch one of the many links. He expected it to feel smooth glass, but instead, he felt the warmth of a home. He felt the anticipation of waiting for his father to arrive with a bulging sack filled with goodies. He felt the joy of receiving the gifts his father had brought them one winter evening. The happiness he felt from sharing the experience with his brothers and the feasting upon the holiday dishes his mother had prepared had overwhelmed him, and he forcefully pulled his finger from the link. Toma inspected his finger but saw that it was uninjured. He looked back to the link it had touched and saw that it had been drained of color. The link had lost the dancing colors characteristic of its brethren. In its place was a dull white link reminiscent to a piece of dead coral. He turned to the wolf who seemed to be amused with his predicament. "What was that?" Toma asked. The wolf giggled at the question. It picked one of the slacking chains. "These chains that bind me are forged from dreams, sorcerer. Each link of these chains had been forged from the hopes and dreams of countless dreamers, and together, they form chains stronger than any other." Toma ruminated on the wolf''s answer. "Why did they feel the need for you to be bound?" "For you see, sorcerer, I am Masi, the most fearsome nightmare that had emerged from the dream sea. All of the dream realms quivered at my name as I descended into their dreams and razed them down to darkness. Sorcerers of yore had fought against me tooth and nail to seal away the evil that was me," the wolf explained. The smile on its face widened as its words escaped. Toma was at a loss for words. He didn''t know what to follow up after that explanation. The wolf giggled. "I have introduced myself, sorcerer. Why don''t you tell me your name?" "It''s Toma, Masi." "Hehehe. You used my name." The wolf''s smile grew ever wider. Its head was almost split into two by the smile that now wrapped around its head. "I have to thank you, Toma." "For what?" Toma nervously asked. Masi flexed one of its arms. It pulled upon one of the chains, but instead of pulling undeterred against the might of the nightmare wolf, the chain snapped. There was a weak link. It was the one Toma had touched. With the power drained from its vessel, the porcelain link was unable to withstand the strain and exploded into a shower of shards. Toma was caught in the spray and many of its fragments dug into his flesh. Numerous wounds on his face and body opened, and blood flowed out the holes that now dot his form. He falls to the ground, wincing in pain. He looked up to the swagger of the beast with a smile of doom that now wrapped on its chest like a sash. It was giggling at his pain. It was amused by his injuries. The chains that had once held taut against the struggles of the beast went slack and now lay loose on the floor like limp snakes. Now the beast was free to act as it liked. "For freeing me." Then the beast burst into a fit of laughter. Their mirth boomed in the cavern. The Colored Phoenix and the Painting Knight Once upon a time, there was a magnificent phoenix that lived atop a cloudy mountain. It was a large and majestic bird. It had feathers of all the colors of the rainbow with barbs that shimmered in the light like made of gold. It had bones made of gold and eyes carved from diamonds. Every time it went out to fly, it left behind a harmless trail of fire that faded into rainbows. One day, the queen of Remotad had fallen ill. She had turned deathly pale, and the blood that flowed within her vein had degenerated to a grey fluid. The queen had been weakened severely, that she could barely chew the food brought to her. The king had asked doctors, physicians, and apothecaries from all over the king, but to no avail, none of them were able to remove the queen''s ailment. At the moment the king was about to give up, the very minute he was about to surrender the queen to the grave, a sage appeared in his court in a flash of light that temporarily blinded him and his servants. The sage was a wizen man, with a flowing white beard and pointed green hat. In their hand was an oak staff. The sage pointed to the king. "Do not despair, my liege, for I have found the cure to your partner''s ailment. I have searched many tomes for the answer, and so I have found," the sage declared. "Please tell me, great sage," the king asked. "Tell me, and you shall be rewarded much silver." "My liege, the cure to the ailment which your queen suffers is the sight of the magnificent Colored Phoenix. Prolonged sight of the beauty this creature bears shall extricate the germ which troubles her." And with the statement of the ailment''s cure, the king arranged a crew to find this bird. They marched to the foot of the seventh mountain to find it. The tippy tops of the mountain were foggy and cold, but they persevered in the search of the bird until they found it roosting upon a bed in a grove of bamboo. The majestic phoenix slept soundly within its bed of hay, surrounded by green towering bamboo that shadowed over them as surely as the trees. This sound sleeping had made it unaware, of the danger that so lurks nearby. One of the hunters that wished to acquire the bird had almost succeeded in the capture. Were it not for the snapping sound of a twig that he stepped, the Colored Phoenix wouldn''t have woken and flew from his grasp. The Colored Phoenix fled from the scene. The bamboos it called home, abandoned behind in haste. Though it flew fast and swift, it couldn''t escape them so. It left behind a trail of fire that the hunters could follow. They followed its trail to a grove of mahoganies. The bird had hidden in the hollow of one of the trees. The hunters couldn''t find it, no matter how hard they looked, so they devised a trick to lure the phoenix out. They created a large fire to draw it out. They readied a trap once the bird flew out. Smoke filled the grove. The phoenix was tricked into thinking the woods had caught fire. It flew from the hollow in which it had hid, and flew straight into the net, which the hunters had prepared. It wings had been tangled in the ropes of the net, chained to the ground to the men''s merriment. They happily brought the phoenix to the castle, expecting a great reward for the acquisition. They presented the bird they had caught to the king, and the king was delighted. The king had placed the Colored Phoenix in a cage made of gold, and put it in the room, where his partner lay in ill. Though the bird was in the room, in full sight of the queen, for seven days and seven nights, it seemed the queen wasn''t getting better. In fact, the queen seemed to be getting worse! She should be getting better from the sight of this bird. And so the king called for the sage for a consultation. "Are you sure this is the right bird?" The king asked. "Yes, I''m positive, my liege. It seems that something else may be interfering with the healing properties of the bird," the sage stated. "What could possibly be blocking the curative from taking effect?" The king replied. The sage approached the caged bird and lifted one of the wings of the Colored Phoenix. Upon closer inspection, it became immediately clear why it wasn''t working. Where there were once magnificent brightly colored feathers, there were dull grey feathers coated in soot and ash. The sage rubbed a finger upon the barbs, and the shiny hues had been preserved neath the dirt. "The Colored Phoenix is simply dirty. A wash should return its former glorious colors," the sage advised. And so the king''s servants carried the dirty bird to the river where they washed and scrubbed it. The water washed the ash away, and the servants scrubbed the dirt away. However, the dirt wasn''t the only thing to be scrubbed away. The colors faded from the feathers of the bird. The magnificent golden shine its barbs once twinkled had dulled and disappeared. Its diamond eyes and golden claws had lost their luster. What once was a magnificent bird that stood out like a glowing lantern was now but a poor creature with bleached feathers. Seeing what his servants had done, the king had become furious. The beauty of the beast had been discolored irreparably. Flames failed to lick with its flaps, and no rainbows fell after its flights. The king was ashamed to show it to his partner and lied to her, "While our servants were washing it, the phoenix escape and couldn''t be found by the hunters." The queen had been saddened by the news and resigned to ongoing sickness. The colored phoenix was secreted away in a hidden cellar in the castle. It was dark and dank. Servants came day by day to feed the phoenix, but they fed the bird a disgusting slop the phoenix detested. As the days went by, more of the bird''s beauty faded from the form of the bird. The sadness and depression of its situation leached all the color from its being. One day, the phoenix became fed up with all of this and began to crave freedom. It had wished to have a taste of high air and to see the sights of expansive forest. The people that had inflicted this atrocity to it should be punished, but in its current state, it had no power to enforce judgement upon these folk. So in the middle of the night, it orchestrated an escape. It opened its cage and exited out a basement window. In the morning, the servants had found its cage empty. The king had told them to hush about the lost bird and kept the ongoing secrecy of the existence of the bird under the castle. The phoenix flew very far away. It abandoned the mountain it once had called home. It looked for another home where it would be alone or won''t be seen, but it couldn''t find anywhere adequate enough. All the creatures of the woods gasped at the condition of the phoenix. Its once-majestic plumage had fallen into a pale discolored mess. Its once plump body had thinned to an unhealthy degree. While some had pitied the phoenix of its plight, just as many had pointed at the bird''s poor appearance and laughed. It flew from place to place in shame and anger. Until one day, it came upon a gnarled tree. It was ugly just like it, and all the creatures of the woods avoided it at all costs. Its boughs were twisted into displeasing shapes, and its branches were bare of lush leaves. The phoenix could see its present appearance upon the tree''s ugliness. And it was here that the bird had stayed for a very long time. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. The painting knight was out to paint a landscape by a lake one day. The sky was overcast, blanketed by grey clouds, but they weren''t deterred by the threat of unpleasant weather. They placed their easel upon the bank and began to paint the scene before them. It was a dreary scene that featured a lot of dull greys, blues, and greens. As they continued to paint, they began to feel emotions attached to the picture forming: sadness and resignation. Halfway through their painting session, a strange creature landed upon the branches of a tree centermost of their painting. It was an ugly discolored bird with black eyes and leaden talons. Initially, they thought that the appearance of the bird had ruined the scene, but upon further contemplation, the appearance of the bird had completed the picture. It added further texture to their picture. They felt ashamed to exclude one of the keystones of the scene before them. Now the dreary picture that formed before them didn''t exude emotions of sadness and resignation, now it told a secret story as brought by the ugly bird. It standing upon the ugliest tree simply reinforced the idea of its ugliness. A feeling of shame and loneliness now intruded upon their work. The painting knight wasted no time to complete the painting before them. The phoenix only noticed the painting knight the moment they''re already leaving. It was enraged that a creature had intruded the sanctity of its privacy. The stealth that it had committed against the modesty of the bird was not to be left unpunished. No stolen sight of it should be taken away from it. In the nascent evening, the phoenix discretely followed the knight. Its graceful flight enabled it to follow quietly without arousing suspicion from the knight. Their clinking mail and clanking painting supplies provided enough sounds for the phoenix to follow whenever they disappeared from sight. Eventually, the phoenix found the painter disappear into a quaint shack. While it abhorred appearing in the open where its ugly visage could be witnessed by many, the house was built sufficiently away from the nearest town to be confident that no creature would be able to see it sneak into the painting knight''s home. It approached one window and snuck into the painter''s residence. There the phoenix found itself in a studio. The bird fell into a tub of red paint. The sticky substance stuck to its feathers and glued many of them together. It wouldn''t be able to fly after this ordeal. However, this event had been quiet as the knight''s attention hadn''t been attracted. Their punishment had to be intensified for the trap they had set up, regardless of whether it was intentional or not. The phoenix looked around and examined the items within the room. It could see canisters of paint haphazardly stacked in one corner. There were multiple easels scattered with little rhyme or reason. Upon these easels were windows to other worlds, of green forests, of sad rainy lakes, sunny fields, and bustling town squares. Though strangely, the worlds beyond these windows appear to be frozen and unmoving. Perhaps it should examine them much more closely. Wait! The phoenix tilted its head as it tried to comprehend these objects. They were not windows, they were pictures painted upon a sheet of cloth stretched upon wooden frames. The substance used to color these objects smelled like the substance that now coats the bird''s feathers. whatever appreciation the phoenix had of these objects evaporated immediately. However, the thing that truly ignited its fury was the painting that hung from a wall. It could see with full transparency the tree upon which it had been perching. Centered upon the painting was the gnarled tree with the ugly twisting branches that were aesthetically offensive. There was a bird perched upon one of the branches, an ugly bird, painted unto the canvas with dirty white paint. Its ugliness matched the tree''s aesthetic sensibilities. There was no doubt in its mind that the bird portrayed within the painting was none other than itself. It was incensed. Intense fury bubbled within its veins. The more it looked upon the picture, the more it felt its blood simmering. The phoenix shrieked. It jumped and attacked the artwork, raking its talons upon the work, but its gummed-up wings prevented it from being graceful in its motion. Its claws missed the painting, sparing the object from destruction. The bird flew backwards, hitting an easel that started a chain reaction. Easels began toppling, hitting one another until only a scant few were left standing. Dull thuds sounded in the room as canvases fell onto the floor. Paint buckets and cans tipped over, adding more to the chaos. Some had loose lids or none at all that their contents were spilled onto the floor. Puddles of their colorful contents pooled on the floor, and the flailing phoenix happened to fall into some of them. The phoenix was now thoroughly enraged. The phoenix had begun attacking everything in the room. Canvases, easels, and cans, the sounds of their woe rang within the room. In its frenzy, paint was sprayed everywhere, and now the middle of the studio was now a massive mess as though a hurricane had swept through the room. Despite all its furious frenzy, the painting that had wronged it had been undamaged. The painting knight charged into the room with a billhook in hand. Their body was adequately protected by mail armor. They looked around, searching for the aggressor amongst the mess, and lo and behold, it saw the hideous bird, covered in paint and having difficulty breathing. Its feathers had been glued together by the sticky nature of the paint, and some of it had dripped into its orifices. The knight was overcome with pity and let go of their weapon. They knelt before the creature and began assessing its state. The poor bird had its wings glued together. Its nostrils and mouth were clogged by the paint. Its plumage was colored now in garish colors; patches and spots of different colors stained its feathers. The painting knight left and returned with a towel. The bird attempted to resist the knight''s approach, but it was in no state to fight back. The knight gingerly wiped the wet paint soaking the bird''s feathers, and then carried it to their washing room. There, it began washing the paint off the bird. Reds, yellows, greens, and oranges flowed with wastewater, and what was left a stained sopping avian. The knight tied the bird outside to drip and dry in the open air and sunlight. There the bird seethed and shrieked. Thankfully, there was no one to see or hear the bird seize in madness. ==~~~== Meanwhile, unbeknownst to the king, the queen gathered some men to search for the Colored Phoenix. The king wasn''t searching for the bird, so the queen took it into her own hands to search for the cure to her ailment. For seven weeks, her knights combed the countryside, but found no sign of the missing bird. The hunters were about to give up. One of them stumbled upon a shack in the woods. It was a homely little shack, belonging to an equally homely knight. The hunter approached the house to ask some questions regarding their quest. The hunter knocked upon the wooden door, and shortly, a knight in dirty mail with a brush in hand answered and opened the door. The hunter took off their hat and asked the person: "Sir, have you seen an exotic majestic bird passing through these woods?" "No," the knight answered. "Please, wrack your mind. Maybe you''ve forgotten or something," the hunter begged. "Hmmm. Why don''t you come inside and describe the bird in more detail? Perhaps I really have seen it," the knight invited. "So, what does this bird look like." "It''s a bright red and yellow hawk that leaves flames in its wake. When the sun shines on it right, rainbows bounce off its feathers. It had gilt talons and ruby eyes," the hunter answered. The knight combed through its memories, but they could not remember finding a bird of that description. They had seen many birds and animals, and they were sure that any creatures that looked that distinct would pop to the forefront of their mind, but nothing came up. Maybe there really wasn''t anything to recall. They hadn''t seen it before. "I''m sorry," the knight apologized. "I don''t remember seeing that kind of bird. Why do you need to find it anyway?" The hunter sighed. They guess this was a good try as any. "Our k - mistress had been sick. The physician had said that the cure is the sight of this bird''s beauty," confessed the hunter. "I suppose it would be bad for you to return empty-handed," the knight remarked. "Perhaps I could interest you in something just as beautiful." "What?" "I make paintings. If it is beauty that cures her ailment, maybe the beauty of something else might just as well revitalize her." The knight brought the hunter to their studio. There, painted canvases hung from the walls and placed upon easels and some were simply laying upon the floor. Scenes of nature were painted upon these canvases; of trees, of lakes, and of deer. These picturesque images captured their thoughts as they browsed among the items. Until the hunter stumbled upon one that utterly captured it. The hunter picked it up and examined it closely. It was a rather colorful picture of a yellow bird with red spots. It had green talons and black beady eyes that they simply found adorable, and it stood on a puddle of green. The bird pictured certainly wasn''t as beautiful as how it pictured the Colored Phoenix, but they hoped that this painting would be just as effective as having the bird itself within the queen''s quarters. The hunter turned to the knight and said, "I''ll be taking this." Thundertail, the Warrior Born from Lightning (Part 1) In a bloody battlefield far up north, where bodies of soldiers lie in piles of gore and their weapons lay scattered upon the earth, a creature of legend was about to be born. Their raging souls were yet to be quelled, and they screamed and they fought while they were still earthbound. Bloodthirst would overcome any folk who comes near this battlefield. The enmity of the fallen soldiers would possess all those who trespass. It wasn''t just the soldiers that afflict this land. Miasma floated like fog upon these hills. The spent mana from all the spells the mages had cast and tainted the land with thick corruptive essence. Its presence sends all the magic in the area wild, and all the beasts and ghosts which spawn here mad and diseased. The kingdoms that had warred here blame the other for the damage done to this land despite the two assembling the armies responsible. The skies above were perpetually grey, laden with rain it had stolen from the surrounding countryside. Darkness veiled the hills, covering all in a perpetual starless night. The sky above was black and thundering, but not a drop of rain fell to the earth. The miasma of the spells had corrupted the very clouds themselves, inducing greed upon the once gentle phenomena. The surrounding provinces suffered from severe drought. The rain that should have fallen to the earth was stolen by the clouds which lounge over the tainted hills. But the greedy clouds couldn''t last any longer for there was only so much rain a sky could plunder before their might could no longer hold onto the very coffers they jealously hold. Thunder rolled in the sky as the clouds angered and anguished at their hubris. The rain that they had stolen had become too heavy, but they wished to hold onto it until the very end. Lightning flashed across the sky, indicating the anger building up in the clouds. Then the tainted clouds lost hold of all the water that they had accumulated. The power of such rainfall had generated a fierce and fearsome thunderstorm. Thunder knelled, filling the country with its deep resounding crash. Lightning flashed across the sky as though immortals were battling amongst the clouds. A bounty of rain fell from the sky, filling the valleys and gulleys that had been dried by their greed. The clouds began to disintegrate the water that had made their bodies had begun falling out their bodies. The climax of it all came with the crash of a lightning strike so bright that it appeared to be a nova brought to earth. A column of solid light descending from the sky, thicker than tree trunks and brighter than the sun itself. The thunder it produced was less of a ringing and more of a forceful shockwave that swept the kingdoms. The thunder could be heard a quarter across the world, and the descending light turned the eternal night into ten years of daylight condensed to a single moment. The lightning crashed into the earth, incinerating all that was unfortunately under its strike. A black scar had been burned into the dirt. The power the lightning brought down disintegrated even the yet earthbound souls that lingered upon these bloody grounds. May they have been allies or enemies, they screamed as the lightning melted and fused them into one. The metals from the discarded weapons and armors had undergone a similar transformation; the heat and force the lightning had struck had hammered them into a singular molten mass. The magics burned from the lightning''s energy. The miasma that blighted the area had burned from the destructive power of the lightning. This strike was monumental in that it scattered the bleeding clouds around. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Forged from the lightning, Thundertail first awoke. His soul was amalgamated from the souls of a hundred soldiers. His bones were made from the steel from which the swords had been forged. Lightning flowed through his veins just as blood would flow in an animal''s. Magic suffused his being, granting him locomotion and thought even though he lacked the organs to be able to. And so, Thundertail opened his eyes for the very first time and saw that he stood upon a battlefield littered with various weapons he seemed to be strangely familiar to. The world around him was wet with rain but also from blood. Looking above, he saw a sky of pale blue between the widening cracks of the thinning grey clouds. Thundertail turned to himself. His glowing red eyes looked upon his beastly hands. Attached to his hands were fingers that resembled swords more than actual fingers. His feet resembled clawed rakes than feet that belonged to a person, and extending behind him was a short tail that ended in a three-pronged blade. A snout extended from his face with a mouth armed with daggers rather than teeth. Upon his head were two blade-like ears that listened for any threat that may be coming his way. He looked ferocious and angry that it appeared that he would fight anyone that crosses his sight. His entire existence was shaped to be able to inflict as many wounds as possible on anyone. All the sharp edges that adorned his form were evidence to that fact. Thundertail clenched his fists and sparks began jumping from his hide. The bountiful lightning that flowed within him jumped at his command. He would have smiled at the power at his disposal if his stiff metal body allowed him to. Although he was just born in the body he possessed, he felt like he had it since forever. He was intimately familiar with every inch of his form. It felt like he could utilize the full potential of his being right at the get-go. He readied his body, and lightning began to sheath his form. His limbs tensed as he prepared to sprint across the hills. His eyes intensified with their menacing red glow as his power was externalized. His gaze focused upon the path he chose. And then, in a flash of lightning and crashing thunder, he was off. An electric trail followed his path as he sped through the landscape at lightning speed. He moved at such speed that his feet barely touched the ground, only touching it every ten seconds. His electrified form flashed across the hills until it suddenly stops atop a random hill. The hill had been far enough to be untouched by the lightning, and as such its grass and litter were still intact. Scattered upon its slopes were pieces of common weaponry: swords, spears, and maces as well as discarded armor and suspicious mounds of dark dirt. He examined the weapons scattered about the floor. Despite never once touching such weapons in his life, Thundertail found himself dearly familiar with the weapons around him. He picked up one of the discarded spears and found knowledge and expertise float to the forefront of his mind. It was as if he had been trained for all his life to wield the weapon at hand. He swung and stabbed the spear experimentally, and he found them as easy to wield as his limbs. In fact, the more he held the spear in his hand, the more he felt it as another limb than a weapon to extend his reach and capabilities. He spent an hour or two practicing the spear. The spear was twice as long as he was tall, making it comical to be wielded in his hands, but he was able to wield it skillfully and forcefully struck against an unseen foe. He dodged and ducked under strikes of imaginary enemies as he moved around the hill like a crazed acrobat. He moved with such agility that his movements were a blur. Confident in cornering his foe, Thundertail readied to smite his unseen foe. Lightning began sparking out of his skin, encasing the spear in bright blue electrical energy. The unseen foe may be too slow to dodge his empowered strike as the spear flew forward, skewering the air with its pointed rod. A lightning bolt jumped from the spear''s head, and thunder boomed from the strike. The spear wasn''t able to withstand the energies that flowed through its form. The wooden shaft was burned by the electric energy, reducing it to ash. The metal head of the spear melted in great electric power. Thundertail smiled. He was satisfied. Thundertail, the Warrior Born from Lightning (Part 2) Thundertail stood on the bank of the lake. In his hand was a handline and in the other was a metal bucket. He desired to fish upon the waters of this rather deep lake. It would be best for him to fish in a boat in the middle of the lake, but considering that he was made of solid metal, it was inadvisable for him to be in any water vessel. And so he had to make do with fishing on the pier. Thundertail stood on the pier''s edge and began removing the fleece jacket, gloves, and bonnet. It was to protect others from cutting themselves on his sharp edges. Wearing them irked him. He''d rather have the awesomeness that was his body in full display to the world, but he swallowed his pride for he''d rather not cut up any of the things that had become dear to him. Like the line in his hand. The fishing line was a simple length of string with a hook on one end. The instrument fascinated him, and consequently the activity in which it was used. He had touched many tools in his so-far short life, and only this did not elicit innate knowledge of its use to him. He''d been instantly familiar of all the tools that he had touched beforehand, and he became almost an instant expert the moment he had held them, but not the fishing line. No experiences came to him to dictate to him its potential for violence. He held it carefully in his hand, carefully between his razor-sharp blade-like fingers. He gently wrapped his fingers around the comparatively fragile string. He took on one of the many katas he''d developed just for this activity. While he found fighting way more exciting than fishing, he simply found fishing to be spiritually stimulating. He liked to meditate on fishing. He liked to keep all his edges sharp at all times, even edges that couldn''t be found on his body. He cast the line to the waters and waited to catch a fish. He stood still on the pier as he kept a vigilant watch on the hook on the other end of the string. He waited patiently for any unwise fish to bite upon his hook. He didn''t have to wait too long for the lake before him had a wealth of fish. There was a tug on his line, and he reacted immediately. The glow of his eyes intensified as he firmly pulled the fish out the water. He carefully pulled the line and made sure that he didn''t pull it hard enough to rip the hook off the catch. The fish was dragged out by the line, flying out of the water and landing right in front of his feet. Thundertail smiled. He was satisfied. He spent the next couple of hours fishing. The bucket he brought had been filled with seven wriggling fish. Some fish he released back into the water for being undesirable, but he released some, even though fat and delicious, when his fishing discipline faltered. Thundertail was a proud creature, and he had out stringent obligations on himself. As some sort of magically animated metal statue, he didn''t actually need to eat. He mostly fished for sport. However, the fish that had been put into the bucket was to be cooked and eaten by the villagers. The villagers had endeared him to themselves. He had made it customary for him to fish at the lake and cook a meal fit for a family. He was worn back his outfit and began to return to the village. The morning sun was already halfway up the sky. The people expecting his fish should be hungry now. He sometimes wondered how they could be hungry when they did not do anything in the entire night. He could understand the need for stimulation and meditation, but he''ll admit that he couldn''t fully wrap his head around the concept of hunger. The village of Thernburke was a nice place. The people there primarily traded their wool with the rest of the kingdom. This wasn''t the first village he stumbled upon. He had first stumbled upon the village of Goatsend. There, he challenged the villagefolk to battle. They had called him Thundertail for his explosive personality and his distinctive bladed tail. He had decided to keep it after finding it very awesome. Heh, Thundertail. He was feared in that village, that the villagers shook as they hid in their cellars away from him. There was no one in their village that could match his prowess in combat. The herders would hide in the pastures, unable to return to their warm homes because Thundertail stood in wait on their doorsteps to challenge them. Many of the folks had sported scars and burns from his onslaughts of blades and lightning, and some even having lost limbs against him. He had terrorised them for quite a bit and only left them alone once he heard of a ferocious beast called a crocodile. He had heard that they lived in the tributaries and harassed rivergoers with their fierce bite. They were apparently armed with dagger teeth and wore green leather armor. He wanted to test himself against their might. He had followed the river upstream for several days, but even as the river grew narrower and the forest grew thicker, he didn''t encounter any crocodiles. There were many water birds and forest creatures, but no crocodiles whatsoever. He was mightily disappointed. In fact, he was livid. He had thought he had been lied to and began blindly punching everything. He subjected the forest in raged strikes and set a portion of it on fire. He jumped into the river and challenged the very waters themselves into a battle where he swiftly sank to the bottom. He discharged much electrical power that it killed many animals living in the river. He was sulking at the bottom of the river, miffed about the missing crocodiles when he and a fisherman named Barth crossed paths. He had found himself in a lake that time when saw a strange thing floating on the surface of the water. It was a wooden boat, from which a length of string hung. He had never seen or known a weapon or tool with a shaft made of string. It had some sort of metal at the end, so he figured that it was some sort of spear, but when came close to touch it, he gleaned nothing. His sense came up empty. No inexplicable familiarity bubbled up from his soul. The object before his eyes was was completely unfamiliar. He didn''t have any passing knowledge of what kind of implement he was looking at. He tried to forcefully yank the thing down, but all he did was cut the string short with his fingers. The tool was mightily intriguing to Thundertail. He went ashore and called to the man on the boat. He demanded to the man, who he later learned to be named Barth, to teach him of his unfamiliar tool of trade. Barth was mighty confused when Thundertail referred to his fishing line as a weapon, but complied when he threatened him with violence. And the rest was history. Their relationship simply bloomed afterwards as Barth thought him the basics of his trade. Thundertail had learned of sharpness in dimensions he had never realized before. He had been focused on the physical aspects of weaponry and ignored things that didn''t seem important to the matters of the combat. He had learned of edges he never realized before like the edge of patience and the edge of knowledge. This man with his unfamiliar tool had led him to this realization. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. Ah. Good memories they were, retreading through all the things that had happened to him were also meditatively relaxing. It helps him sum up how far he''d come. He was in a good mood that day. He liked to hum and sing when he was in a good mood, but he''d been told numerous times that his singing sounded like rolling thunder and metal scratching against each other, so he refrained. His good mood would be short-lived however when he sees smoke rising from the distance. This wasn''t good smoke, smoke that rose from fire pits and kitchens. This was a thick column of black smoke that only signaled a blaze that burned more than firewood, like the houses of the village. Thundertail rushed to the scene and saw a massacre. The bodies of men were strewn about the grounds of the village and the houses around were set afire. He saw strangers, in bandit garbs, carrying sacks of plundered belongings, and some even carrying upon their shoulders shrieking women and children. Anger boiled within being. Sparks began jumping from his hands as his blade-like fingers splayed open. The bucket of fish clattered on the dirt; its contents spilling onto the floor, and the catch within would soon join the bloody corpses that lie on the dirt. The red glow of his eyes intensified, now very noticeable under the bonnet covering his head. The raiders moved about like they owned the place. They walked around relaxed, as though nothing terrible was about to happen. They even laughed as they made merriment of the misery of the surviving villagers. They had the once peaceful people of this village tied in thick ropes, ready to be carted; their eyes had been red from all the crying they had done in their binds. "Ey, look at this boss," one of the raiders commented, noticing Thundertail. "Is that a sorcerer child?" Thundertail kept silent but turned to the speaker. He glared with hatred that burned like the houses they razed. "Might be," another raider replied. "This one has expensive-looking stuff beneath all the fleece. Better strip them clean before taking them away." Raiders began to circle around Thundertail. Thundertail considered each and every one of them and all he felt was contempt. He began removing his garments, revealing his edgy body beneath. The dull black surface of his form belied the sharpness of his edges and points. He adjusted his position to ready for the upcoming battle. While their swords, daggers, and spears posed no danger to his solid metal physiology, he can''t be sloppy and let their weaponry graze his surface. "Woot. That looks like fine armor," a raider remarked. "That''s gotta cost a pretty penny." Soon the skirmish began, and the bandits charged to attack Thundertail. They tried to not give the thing the chance to get away or do something funky, however, Thundertail deftly dodged their strikes. Thundertail had a sore spot over his height. He stood at half the height of an adult, and he found it undignifying to have to crane his head up to look at others eye to eye. More undignifying was the need to step on stools to reach high places and the propensity of adults to kneel to his eye level or refer to him as a child. Still, he had to admit, being small on the battlefield had amazing perks. Warriors of greater proportions than him often had difficulty getting the best angles to him. Lightning sheathed his claws as he raked them through the flesh of his foes. The unfortunate man who happened to run up to his front had found their waist opened up and their bleeding entrails slipped out. Those outside the range of his raking blades were just as unfortunate as his strike exploded upon impact and sent arcs of lightning forking into their direction. Their limbs convulsed as their systems were flooded with electricity. All of those that had come close to him had fallen to the ground, dead and smoking. Those fortunately standing just outside the secondary effects of his strike were made hesitant as many of their numbers had been felled in a single strike, but their leader ushered them forward. The raider leader became very interested in Thundertail from the feat he just did. Presuming that Thundertail was untrained, he could see great potential in getting the hedge sorcerer''s talent. Even if they couldn''t get him on their side, they could always kill him and get the swick armor off his corpse. The raiders charged once again at him. They wished to overwhelm them with their numbers, but they were no match to the magnificent Thundertail. He expertly dodged their strikes, and the few strikes that could connect barely left any blemishes on his metal surface. Try as they might, but they could not match the metal warrior in combat. He moved as fast as lightning, literally blurring before their eyes in streaks of white and blue. The air stank like a storm incoming, filled with noxious ozone from the electric strikes he employed. There were some that tried to sneak behind him, but his bladed tail slashed them in half. In their dying breaths, they filled the air with horrid screams fueled by the pain of lightning coursing through their veins. The grounds upon which they had held their battle were now turning into a mud pit dyed red from all the blood that had been spilled. Their crushed corpses were mixed into the softening dirt, and their organs and lopped limbs were thrown about. They were all fresh, some of the corpses could conceivably be still alive although in great misery. Among the heaps of flesh were a few pitiful brains and hearts that continued to think and beat, yet to be freed from life. The raiders eventually stopped jumping for him. Thundertail looked upon the massive mess around him, the big red battlefield of entrails, tattered linen, and broken weaponry spread all around him. The smell of cooking flesh and of fresh spilt blood permeated his surroundings. Thundertail frowned. He was not satisfied. He looked into the dying flames of the burning village and saw the raiders that had not joined in the battle mayhem. A squad of raiders trained their crossbows onto him, fully loaded. The leader was among them, wielding a much more spiffy crossbow than the rest. The bolt loaded in the crossbow glowed with magical fire, ready to explode into a fireball on impact. The leader smiled. The bolts were launched as fast as Thundertail could move. They moved almost too fast for Thundertail to dodge. He ran across the grounds as the volley of bolts launched in his direction. Most of the bolts simply missed him, but many also hit him (and bounced on his surface). His hands had been coated in a carpet of electricity as he sprinted, however, directly in his path was the magical bolt that had been launched in his direction. The glowing bolt filled his vision as it came dangerously close dangerously fast. It flew through the air far too fast for him to jump aside. He did the next best thing and crossed his arms before him and braced himself for the impact. The bolt struck, and it exploded. A ball of fire had been summoned, centered upon the Thundertail. The mud beneath his feet was baked and hardened in the blast of heat. His vision wavered before being fully consumed by the fire. The raiders covered their faces to shield them from the hot draft the fireball had created. The leader looked to the blast with a smile. The shot had flown true and struck bullseye on the target. Not many, even those in magical armor, could survive a shot like that. Too bad the fireball''s going to ruin the armor. They looked into the fire with much anticipation. As the flames dissipated, the figure of Thundertail resolved. It had stood there in a pose that was distinctively not the one it had when the fire exploded. The metal that had comprised him was glowing red hot, and the edges that of his form had been warped by the liberal use of heat. One of his fingers had fallen off, laying on the now dry ground. They were utterly shocked to see the figure still able to move. Despite parts of the "armor" having melted, the figure beneath the metal seemed unaffected by it. The raiders had felt weak at the legs, and some had chosen to leg it already. The leader however seemed to be rooted in place, his feet nailed to the ground by invisible spikes of terror. Thundertail''s eyes glowed with menacing intensity. He felt hot, hotter than he had ever felt before. He was truly incensed, like his soul had been lit on fire and emerged from the flames like a hound of the underworld. They had earned his ire. Thundertail scowled. He was verily not satisfied. Thundertail, the Warrior Born from Lightning (Part 3) "Ahhhh!" The leader screamed as Thundertail tinkered with his organs. He was nailed to a wooden table with four misshapen knives. His entrails were spilling out his chest as Thundertail studied his internals. Thundertail took the opportunity to not only punish the instigator of the raid but also to study the anatomy of people. Blood was dripping from the edges of the table. The leader cried as the Thundertail took careful measures to not instantly kill him. "Please, just kill me already," the leader begged. His mind had not yet faded and he could feel the metal fingers mix around his organs. He was helpless. His limbs were weak and powerless as the power within them had been drained with the blood. "No, not yet. I''m not yet finished," Thundertail answered. He was looking at the leader''s liver. He tried to ascertain the functions of the organ, but he couldn''t. He poked and sliced it, but he still hadn''t figured out for sure what it does. Its functions were yet unknowable. "Please end me," the leader pled in a weak voice. Thundertail inwardly sighed. He was tired from the leader''s words, and his curiosity was yet to be fully sated, but there was no more he could gather from his amateur vivisection. He was yet to be satisfied. He stepped down from his stepping stool and washed the blood from his hands in a basin of water. He left the tortured man on the wooden table and began looking around at the changes that had happened since he''s been busy with the leader. The fire that was eating the village had since died down, and only embers and charcoal had been left in their wake. The corpses of the villagers of the Thernburke were being piled by the surviving children and women. The corpses of the raiders were piled separately. He looked at the pitiful states of the women and children who had exhausted their eyes of tears. They worked quietly. They regarded Thundertail with fear and distrust. He would normally bask in the glorious feeling of being feared and awed, but this time, he felt sorry to this folk. He stood and looked at them casually, not shedding his emotions or cultivating pride. Lumber and charcoal were thrown over the corpses, to help fuel the funeral pyre until the flesh and bones of the dead were naught but ash. The survivors had awaited him to begin the funerary service. They had chosen him to lead it although he had never led something like this before. The crowd parted around him as approached the unlit pyre. He raised a hand at the pile of wood and corpses and threw a lightning bolt. Thunder crashed and fire was born in a flash. The pyre was set ablaze; the flames licked up to the sky, wavering in the air. The air was filled with the smell of burning flesh. He turned to the villagers and began recounting a funerary rite. "May the flames free their souls from the coils of their form. May the attendants of heaven receive their souls and bring them to paradise," Thundertail recited. "Say it with me," he incited, and the crowd began to speak with him. Their voices chorused and filled the air. Their mourning and tears spilled out of their beings. "Let the souls find rest and satisfaction in the purifying flames. Attend their arrival to paradise, our friends." They repeated it seven times. Soon, the flames died out, and only ashes were left. Thundertail scooped the ashes into a jug. He carried it to a hole dug beforehand and dumped the jug into the pit. Industrious women began throwing dirt into the hole, burying the jug one layer of dirt at a time. On the other side of the pit, they could see a large gravestone planted into the dirt like a monolith. The names of their fallen friends, families, and acquaintances were carved into the stone, and they were as of yet unfinished in carving all their names. As the ritual was ongoing, there were still those that were carving the names of their loved ones onto the stone. As it was going, they might need another slab so that there was enough space for everyone''s names. Thundertail''s frown deepened as the next ritual was to be done. He looked onto the corpses of the raiders. He had tried hard to chase after and kill all the raiders, but he can''t be completely sure that none of them had escaped. He didn''t want to conduct a funeral to them, but the villagers had convinced him that he should. The souls of the wicked shouldn''t be left to rot on this earth. They must be released from their flesh to be given their just punishment in the afterlife. Lest he wants them getting away from a just punishment, he must do the ritual. There he stood before the pile of corpses and fuel. The body of the leader had been placed above all the corpses and remains of the raiders. He was still, although barely, and his organs and limbs were still twitching atop the pile of wood. The pile of gore had elicited horror and disgust from the crowd, but Thundertail didn''t care and wasn''t affected. The ritual began as he threw a lightning bolt at the pile. The pile was set ablaze, and the bodies began to burn. He turned to the crowd and recited, "May the flames lit here bring these folks to absolution. Cleanse their souls, scrub them clean of the crimes they''ve done. May the attendants of heaven dispense just punishment." "Say it with me," Thundertail shouted. The folks around him joined in his speech, though they did not exhibit the same eagerness as he had. His voice rang over theirs, ringing like a thunderclap in a great rainstorm. They repeated the verse seven times until the fire before them had died to embers and ash. "Curst be the folk who now lay piled before us. Rip and tear their souls from their flesh and bone. May they suffer the misfortune of the actions they''ve done." Thundertail scooped the ashes and put them in a bucket of chum. He thoroughly mixed the abominable ashes into the dubious muck. He carried the mixture to the river where he dumped the contents into the water. It''s not customary to their beliefs to throw the ashes of their dead into a river, but as Thundertail was the emcee of the ritual, he got to decide what sort of burial was given. "Take their essence away from this land, fishes. And bring them to where they may be judged and punished," Thundertail said. All the rituals they needed to do had ended, and soon they had to leave. There was nothing there for them in the village anymore. They had to move somewhere else until they can come back and rebuild. This time too, Thundertail led their caravan. Behind him followed a bunch of women and children carrying all the belongings they could save. They had carts and wheelbarrows to carry their stuff. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. They were travelling for the closest town, Yburn. There, they could accumulate capital to rebuild the village, but it''s also just as likely for the village to stay abandoned. Thundertail grimaced at that thought. The village laying abandoned and dead in the wake of a raid felt distasteful, but considering that most of their company was weak and helpless, it was better for them to leave and gather strength somewhere else. They prepared as well as they could for the days-long journey they''re going to undertake. They had gathered all the things of value they could salvage. The food they could bring were scarce with a few preserved fruits and pickled fish hidden away. Thundertail was not very concerned with food; they could always hunt, gather, and fish for their meals. ~~==8==~~ It was late autumn that Bob had found himself in one of the tailor''s shops in Yburn. He was dropping off a shipment of dyed cloth for the tailor. He had made a sideline of dyeing cloth for his expenses. His college had assigned them to find a familiar before they could be cleared to pass the first year of his course. He had travelled far north in search of familiars, but so far he hadn''t found himself a familiar that he could be comfortable to make himself comfortable with. The familiars that could be found in this part of the kingdom were more nature aligned than those that could be found further south, but alas, they were much shier than the typical city familiar. City familiars were typically seen as distasteful and dirty. Many of them of earth- and fire-aligned with vessels made of smoke and dust and mist. He could always try constructing a familiar for himself, but that''s a great undertaking. A familiar is really just an inanimate sculpture animated and given life by magic alone. That''s going to burn a hole in his budget. The craftsmen specializing in making familiar vessels often charged a pretty penny on whoever dared to try making their own familiar. Without even mentioning reagents and rituals, his wallet would already be half its weight. Finding a familiar was simply much more economical. The tailor had given him 48 golden coins for the bolt of cloth he had dyed a lovely lavender. Magically dyed purple cloth was a cheap alternative to actual purple dye. While magically dyeing was generally more expensive than chemical means, it was cheaper when it comes to exotic rare colors. Thankfully, color changing enchantments were basic first-year mage stuff. His amateur colorizing enchantment should last a year or two. Bob stepped out of the shop, now with a heavier wallet. While many, it wouldn''t be helping him find a familiar. He''s mostly been using it to spend on his personal needs: food, water, a place to sleep. Considering how scarce and skittish the wild familiars of these parts turned out to be, he''s going to be spending a lot of time here. He passed by the reeve''s office and was rather puzzled to find a group of women and children standing close to each other just outside. They stayed close to each other and looked at any passers-by with fascination. They were definitely out-of-towners. Their clothes were drab and dirty and not in style with the general vibe of the town. He wasn''t sure why a large number of them had gathered out here, but he decided to ignore that and be on his way. However, his peaceful departure was interrupted when a small girl had approached him and asked, "Are you a wizard?" A posse of five children was standing not far from her, watching what would come to this. Might as well indulge her curiosity. "Yes, I am, young girl," Bob answered. He had been asked by a number of young folk before. He already knew what she was going to ask next. "Can you do magic?" She asked. Without further ado, he pulled on to his mana veins. It filtered out his fingers, and with a little force of will, a spark of lightning was summoned from his fingers. The little humble spark jumped and arced in the air. He made it dance between his fingers. The children came near to see the spark closely. They oohed and aah-ed whenever the spark flew high in the air. He finished his act by closing his palm and trapping the spark. The spark was absorbed back into his body. "Tada," he finished. He opened his palms and showed to them that they were empty. Showing off to impressionable youth was simply cathartic. The girl was smiling widely at the show he made. "I told you guys. Uncle Thundertail is a wizard," she told her friends. Bob was rather rattled to hear them talking about someone other than him after his act. Her friends retorted in turn, "Come on, Mara. Did you really think that was real magic?" "He made lightning jump from his hands. So could Thundertail." Bob made another spark jump from his hands. "Controlling the elements is a real magic as any other kind," he explained. It was already hot on the college hallways. He didn''t need to have this debate with ignorants. Still, a wizard among them with a really pretentious name. The children argued amongst themselves on whether or not their friend, Thundertail, was a wizard. He wanted to ask them about this Thundertail, but his pleas were unheard. While it''s unlikely for someone personally known to children could be a master wizard, being apprentice to one was a boon to his scholarship. He''s heard that this Thundertail was rather masterful in the lightning element, one of his favored elements. It was then a woman had come in to quiet their argument before him. She was carrying a bag of vegetables and herbs when she came rushing to them. She hushed the children before apologizing to Bob, "We''re very sorry, mister. I hope they haven''t pestered you too much." He politely replied, "No worries, madam. However, now I''m intrigued by this Thundertail fellow they kept talking about." The woman chuckled with nervous humor. "Oh him. He''s the one to get us out of a predicament." "Oh, I''d like to know more. What kind of predicament?" "There were these raiders that attacked our village and captured us. Thankfully, Thundertail was there to save us." "Tell me more about Thundertail. I''ve heard awesome things about him," he inquired. He had spoken softly and seductively to coax answers from the woman, but there was little need. "He was the most awesome," one of the children blurted out. "He could shoot lightning from his hands," another added. "He fought an army on his own and won," another uttered. "He took a fireball to the face and went back to fighting right after," the last stated. He raised his eyebrows high on his face. While they could be exaggerations of what he''d done, he was sure of it, Thundertail was at least a very skilled mage. He had to get tutored under him, even if he was a hedge mage. He turned to the woman. "Do you know where he is? I need to talk with him." The woman was hesitant to tell him where this wizard was, but the children held no such compunctions. Immediately, one of the children had said, "He''s in the reeve''s office." As though fated to meet, a group of people was exiting the reeve''s office. They wore the same kind of drab garb as the people waiting out here. Their exit was momentous enough for all of them to turn to their emergence. However, it wasn''t the people that exited that had drawn him the most. It was the creature that had come out alongside them. It was a dangerous creature made of dull black metal. It had eyes glowing red, and edges all over its body. Its mouth was armed with daggers, and it had blades instead of fingers. A bladed tail trailed behind him which gracefully sliced the air as it turned. Its arms and legs had been deformed by high heat, and it appears to be missing one finger on one of its hands. Despite many of its edges having been rendered harmless by partial melting, it still came as dangerous to his senses. ''This must be his familiar,'' Bob thought. His thoughts of Thundertail were roiling in his head. Thundertail must be a member of the wealthy elite to afford something as well-made and powerful as the creature that now stands before him. Metal familiars this well-shaped weren''t a natural occurrence. "I wish to see your master," he told the familiar. Everyone turned to look at Bob. Their eyes pierced into his being as though deciphering what he just said. They were dumbfounded. The familiar craned its head to look at him in the eye. Even it seemed to be surprised at his words. The familiar''s voice rang from its throat. Its voice rang tinny and electric. Its voice sounded like the lovechild of a dry thunderstorm and a violin. "What? I''m Thundertail, and I''m not beholden to any master." A Legend of My Own (Part 1) Henry was walking sitting on one of the benches in the plaza. He needed some alone time from his friends and training. He felt like his world was piling over him, so he snuck out of his dorm to mope. He was trying to be light. He was wearing his favorite green shirt and brown pants. He was wearing his red fox hat. The order had tried to get rid of it when he first came to their doorsteps, but he had hidden well enough for them to think someone had thrown it away. He looked up and stared at the stars. He was once a mere son of a farmer, and now he stands as one of the heroic knights of the Heroic Order of Nimeta. They had chosen him when they came by their village to find prospective heroes. He doesn''t really understand what they found in him. Potential? Too vague. It could be anything. He sighed. He really missed his dad. It''s only been a week, but it already felt like forever. Without his father''s comforting presence, it felt like the darkness pressed upon him. The stars above were the same stars he and his father gazed above their roof, but they felt much more distant without him pointing them out. They may be the same lights that gaze down upon them, but he was certain that they stood not under the same sky. It may be clear at this very moment, but back home, it may be stormy and black. It was a late hour. The plaza was quiet and empty with much of the townsfolk asleep already. The order probably thought he was asleep too. He wasn''t tired yet. He wanted to count the leaves on the nearest tree. His father had put a fake tree on his bedside so that he could count the leaves until he fell asleep. "Caw!" A crow''s call sounded in the plaza. Henry was roused from his drowsy moping. He turned his eyes to the bird and saw it perched upon the branch of the nearest tree. Held within its talons was rolled up sheet. It was held together by a piece of string, securely grasped with its feet. Henry recognized this bird. It was a familiar bird, a bird that frequented his father''s farm. He could recognize it over all the other crows that it had seen. The bird that his father had befriended had eyes of searing green, and the crow perched upon the nearby branch certainly had those eyes. Eyes that pierced the darkness with their striking color. Henry stood up and slowly approached the bird. The cold air of the night didn''t bother him as its gaze pierced into his being. He raised an open hand and beckoned the bird. The bird turned its head sideways before it caught the intent of the boy. It alighted from the branch and landed upon the palms of the boy. It gave to the boy the rolled sheet, and it was as Henry had thought. His father had sent him a letter. He could recognize his penmanship imprinted upon the unrolled sheet. Tears soon fell unbidden as he read the caring letter of his father. ~^*^=8=^*^~ My dearest boy, Henry. It is me your father, Renard Greymight. It''s been a lonely week without you in the house. The house has been quiet that you''re no longer in its halls. Hopefully they''d let you visit me sometimes. It can be daunting to think that I''m now only serving food for myself. You and your wondrous mother are no longer in my midst. Do not worry too much though. Your godfather, Larry of the Clock Tower had come to accompany me. At least I had some friendly folk in our home, even if they can''t help too much when tending to the crops. How about you my child? Tell me about the adventures they''re sending you to. I''d like to hear them. I''ve purposely left the back side clean so you could write on its backside. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. ~^*^=8=^*^~ The message was dear to his heart. He felt the need to make a reply to his lonely father immediately. He folded the letter into his pocket, and began running back to his dorm. While he couldn''t remember owning an inkwell and quill, he could surely borrow one from his neighbors. A smile was wide in his mouth as he sped through the streets, only for it to hit a stalwart wall that stood between him and the dorms. It was dorm master Erwin Chandler. Henry''s smile disappeared from his face when his eyes met the stout man. He had crossed his arms in disapproval as he saw Henry appear from the dark. "Where did you go, young man?" Erwin began. "In the middle of the night, in that outfit?" Henry tried to rebuke, but he had been dragged in before he could let out his voice. The man was strong and his grip was tight. He couldn''t escape from his grasp. He was dragged through the lamplit halls of the temples and dropped into the corridors of the dorms. "If you do sneak out in the middle of the night, next time, choose more fashionable clothing," Erwin said before closing the door behind him. Henry dusted his clothes and rolled his eyes. He knew that he wouldn''t be taking that advice or order seriously. When he''s going out on his own, he''s going to be wearing whatever he wanted. Still, he was already halfway where he wanted to be. He ran through the corridors with a goal in mind. Wind whistled by his ears in the speed of his sprint. He made a sharp turn when he reached his room, and he slammed the door wide open as he enterred. His roommates were lounging in their beds. Angar Broodlor was there on the top bunk, snoring in his sleep, barely moved by his loud entrance. Jeema Graves sat on her bed, reading the latest love story she found from the local bookshops. Aspen Evrin lay on the bed, shaken from restful sleep. Henry was panting as he stood from under the doorframe. Running through the corridors may have been a bad idea, but the thought of writing for his father simply filled him with excitement that he felt like vibrating. He walked forward, toward the desk which lay upon the end of the room. He pulled the chair from the desk and took a seat. He pulled out the folded paper from his pockets and lay it flat on the table. Its clean blank surface laid bare for him to write on. He opened the desk''s drawers and took out a bottle of ink. He picked one of the many quills Aspen had brought with her from the town she came from. His woken roommates were intrigued in what he was doing and looked over his shoulder. When he sensed that they were looking at his work rather intensely, he covered the sheet with his hands and turned his head to look at them harshly and judgementally. They had become his dearest friends in his stay in the temple, but he''d rather have his letter only be known between his father and himself. When they''ve stepped back far enough, Henry returned to his work. His sloppy handwriting flowed onto the sheet he was working on. He poured his heart into every word he''s writing. He combed his memories for anything that his father might enjoy hearing about. Once he was finished, he picked up the finished letter. The letter was barely legible in his untrained hands, but he could still make out the words which were written upon the sheet. He reviewed the words he had impressed upon the sheet. ~^*^=8=^*^~ Dearest father Renard Greymight, this is your son, Henry Greymight. I worry about your loneliness there. In my stay here, I have made some friends among the others they have chosen. You would be happy to meet them. Angar Broodlor is such a blockhead. He liked to push things further even when things couldn''t be pushed any further. Jeema Graves is from the village of Innerwater. She likes to read those sappy love stories, but I really don''t like them. Maybe you do, after all, you found mother. There''s also Aspen Evrin. Apparently, she''s the child of a treasurer, so she''s the only one of us who really mathematics well. The temple pushes us really hard. They''re training us to be heroes, to be heroic knights against the evils of the Kingdom of Fiores tries to impose on us. The training they''re doing with us are brutal. They make us fight an army with only a squad and sometimes only hand us with poor weapons. All the training you''ve given me before coming here was useless! They wouldn''t let me use it. I don''t understand why they''re doing this to us, but apparently it''s so that we''ll be getting a legend of our own. A Legend of My Own (Part 2) It was a bright afternoon. Henry Greymight was busying himself on his letter for his father. The temples had given them a generous allowance, which allowed him to afford one of those newfangled fountain pens in a few weeks time. The ink flowed from the tank of the pen and was then being printed upon the sheet he was writing upon. The words that had once inhabited his mind had migrated onto the sheet through his hands and his pen. He usually wrote his letters at night right before he went to sleep, but this time, he deigned it highly important to be written right before the Ritual of Heroic Ascension. They had some brutal training beforehand and his arms were yet sore from the beating the instructors had wreaked upon their limbs. He powered through the numbness of his arms just so the letter could be completed. They were being trained to become heroes. The gods that dwelt in the temple had decreed and chosen them so. It''s so exhausting sometimes. Their demands and expectations were simply mounted over them with little care. They were wearing their iconic white mail armor. He wasn''t quite sure why they''ve put extra emphasis on training them with the blade. He turned his eyes upward when he heard the familiar swish of wings. The bird before his feet. The bird looked at him expectantly in the eye. In the light he could see with greater clarity the color of its plumage. Black glossy feathers cloaked its form. Inset upon its skull was a pair of eyes that glowed like two stray stars. Henry could only chuckle at it looked at him, waiting for something. He carefully folded his letter. He folded it with care and even tied it together with some sturdy string. He handed his package to the bird which it took with its talons with due haste. Just as quickly as it had arrived, the bird had alighted before him. It flew into the forest far west, towards the sun and towards his home. His father would be waiting to receive his message. He simply hoped that he would receive it well. He was putting away his stuff when the guards of Hiernos arrived at the scene. They pointed their spears at an expected enemy, but the enemy which they were looking for was not found in their destination. The guards wore faces of confusion as the quarry was not to be found and the one they found was one of their own. As they searched the area in vain, they couldn''t find their quarry. They hadn''t let Henry leave the area, just in case he had colluded with their quarry. Shortly after they''ve begun their search, Hiernos himself made an appearance on sight. He seemed livid as though something had offended him on a fundamental level. His usually regal regard had been replaced by an ugly scowl. This was Hiernos, god of knowledge and truth. He was one of the gods that the nearby temple was housing. He was a tall lanky dude with feathers in place of hair. His eyes were covered in a white blindfold although it appeared that he could see fine even with it on. As was customary to the gods of the pantheon he belonged to, he wore a pristine white robe with blue and gold trimmings. A flock of crows had come alongside his arrival. They landed upon the eaves and the branches of nearby houses and trees. They looked similar to his father''s crow, with glossy black feathers, but the ones that surrounded him all had eyes that glowed yellow. They watched him with judgemental gazes that he felt like shrinking in their collective stare. Hiernos turned to Henry. His golden irides pierced through his being as he looked at him intensely. He felt like he could crumble if he so twitched wrong under his divine gaze. "You, Henry Greymight, have you seen a green-eyed crow pass through here?" Hiernos asked. "No," Henry answered with as calm a tone as possible. Hiernos narrowed his eyes and questioned further, "Are you sure?" "Yes, I''m sure," he replied. "I have seen many birds, but I cannot recall seeing such a crow trying to hide here." Hiernos looked at him closely. Eventually, he sighed in defeat. It seemed like the crow had slipped their midst. He turned to his guards and said, "Well, we''ll catch for sure next time." He got the guards into order and ushered them back to their previous posts, now leaving only him and Henry on the spot. Henry gulped as he feared that Hiernos had seen through his lies, but he was relieved at the next words that escaped his mouth. "You should hurry, Henry. The Ritual of Heroic Transcendence is about to begin. You shouldn''t miss it," Hiernos advised. This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. Henry nodded and began running for the temple. He looked behind him and was quite relieved that Hiernos looked immediately somewhere. He couldn''t sigh in relief; it was quite possible for Hiernos to have literal eyes behind his head. Before running any further, he made sure that no yellow-eyed crows were following him. ~^*^=8=^*^~ Henry nervously sat upon the stone pews that lined the temple. The temple was mighty impressive with high-reaching vaults, tall pointy stained-glass windows, and fluted columns. The weight of the construction pressed upon Henry, shaming him for not conforming to its sacred beauty and divine patterns. In the middle of the chamber was a large circular platform. Priests in white robes circled the platform, throwing white powder onto it. They chanted quietly as they walked the circumference until the contents of their bags have been emptied onto the stage. He looked upon his friends (and roommates) by his side. They seemed to be occupying themselves with differing activities. Angar Broodlor was looking at the feasting table with eager eyes, especially the abundant bottles of wine that lay by their legs. The feast was set to occur after the ritual, but it seems that it''s a wait too long for Angar. Jeema Graves was twiddling her thumbs. She would usually occupy herself in reading trashy romance literature, but this time, the officials had confiscated her novelettes so that she may focus on the ritual at hand. He wasn''t quite sure if that would really put her focus into the ritual, but maybe it would capture her attention more fully once the event was already ongoing. Aspen Evrin was dozing on his side. Whenever Aspen had nothing to do, she would often take that opportunity to take a nap. She had few hobbies other than sleeping. It was quite a godsend that she could easily be woken. Henry would rue the day when he would find his shoulder irremovable from the drooling mouth of his seatmate. Henry''s head turned when he heard an attendant ring the silver bells. His eyes were directed to the podium in front. There, the divine patrons of the temple stood, watching over the oncoming ritual. All of them wore white, which appeared to be the theme of this temple. There were three of them: Hiernos, Eorphin, and Nimessa. Henry had met Hiernos earlier that day. He had not changed since then. His head was covered in white feathers, and a silk blindfold covered his eyes. His hands were scaly like feet of birds, and each of his fingers was tipped with pointy claws. His torso was veiled by a white robe with blue and gold trimmings. He looked upon the chosen who were seated somewhat uncomfortably upon marble seats. Aletro, his most trusted attendant was perched upon his right shoulder. Aletro was a large black crow with glowing yellow eyes. It joined in judging the youth below. Beside him was Eorphin, the goddess of light and hunting. She was pristine white wolf with large feathered wings folded upon her back. Her eyes were a haunting blue that gandered upon the youth with a kind caring look. She wore a white sash with an orange and greens trim. Safely stowed on her side was a scabbard within which was her trusty spear, Regonicks. In front of them both was the goddess of fertility and beauty, Nimessa. She was presented as a voluptuous woman in a thin white dress. Across her chest was a blue-gold sash. She was endowed with large breasts that jiggled with her every move (something Henry thought was impossible). She wore a smooth immaculate complexion that was only possible on the skin of a goddess. She raised her delicate hands over her and then began to speak, "Prospective heroes, chosen by our temple, the time draws near. After today, you won''t be leaving this temple as mere mortals but as true immortal heroes." "The truth be with us. The ritual shall cleanse your being of the impurities of your mortal life," Hiernos continued. Your past shall be burned away, leaving only the legend you have wrought. Today your old life shall die, and you shall be reborn as a legendary hero," Eorphin added. Her white fur coat practically glowed with pride in her words. "Let us begin," the three divinities chorused. "Dean Rutherford! Please get on the platform." Dean Rutherford stood up as he was called. He stepped onto the platform. The priests began chanting their songs and the gods were raising their hands, bestowing their blessings unto the legend that''s about to be born. Fire sprouted from the powder spread upon the floor. It engulfed the boy, engulfing him into a pillar of flame. It filled the room with light. Fear had wound its way into Henry''s heart as he saw the boy that stood upon the platform being burned alive by holy flame, but he couldn''t take away his eyes. The bright column had enthralled him. The pillar swirled as the powers that fueled it churned. Eventually, the ritual was finished, and Dean, the boy that had entered the pillar had been changed into something else. In his place was a great heroic man in brilliant white armor. He stood with greater energy than was possible on a mortal man. His eyes gleamed a heroic yellow that was evident to all. His mortal flesh was shed from his legend. All the fears and doubts that plague a mortal mind were burned away, leaving only a paragon heroic mind. He exuded an aura that declared to the world that the being that had now stood was no mortal hero but an exalted one, exalted into a legend of his own. The ritual cleansing had continued. One by one, all the chosen ones that had attended were being called by name. Each of them stood upon the powdered platform where their doubts and former mortality were burned away by holy flame. Soon, Henry''s turn to stand upon the cleansing platform would arrive, and all that he was would be burned away. He would be reborn as a legend, but he couldn''t help but feel nervous at his participation in the ritual. Could he really let go of all the things that had defined them up that point? Would his father approve? "Henry Greymight!" His doubts had to be set aside. A legend was to be born. A Legend of My Own (Part 3) "Henry Greymight!" Henry was called by name, and by their prompting, he stood up. The priests had gestured for him to come close, and he complied. They led him up the steps up the platform, standing upon the rough powder of the platform. They were warm. Although his feet were covered with his shoes, he still felt as though the grains of the powder were cutting into his feet. He turned his eyes to the gods on the podium. Their eyes twinkled with great expectations. The ritual would soon commence. The priests were now circling the platform. Their voices filled the temple with divine chanting. The powder that now lay upon his feet had now began glowing orange in the magic. They glowed like embers, yet Henry couldn''t feel any heat emanating from the grains. Even after the powder had burst into flames, he was yet to feel any burning from the powder liberally thrown upon the platform. The fires were now beginning. He was going to become a new man, a new heroic man. The warmth the blaze exudes was bringing back memories that would soon be lost. He closed his eyes and cherished these memories for the last time. ~^*^=8=^*^~ Henry violently opened his eyes. He was laying prone on the dirt, looking up to the sky. It was a beautiful sky of the most beautiful turquoise. Even in the brightness of the illusory sun, he could see the glittering specks of the constellations fill the tapestry of the heavens. It was the familiar night sky that he could see decorated above his head every night. He could point up into the nightly map and name the constellations therein. They twinkled whenever he got their names right. "Caw!" He was taken out of his stargazing by the call of a familiar crow. He looked to the sides and saw that he was surrounded by a field of corn. Their stalks stood tall around him, standing taller than himself. These green stalks stood around him like a proud wall of tourmaline. Growing upon their sides were the yet unripe cobs of corn. He could recognize this place. This was in the middle of his father''s field. "Caw!" The bird called again, and his eyes turned to a scarecrow he hadn''t realized was standing near. It was a straw dummy tied to a wooden pole, employed to watch the fields eternal. A flannel shirt covered its body, and attached to its shoulders was a head sewn to be like a bear''s. This was Good Sir Bear, the ever-watcher of the fields. Its black button eyes were filled with glee to see him again. Perched upon its shoulders was the friendly crow. It trained its glowing green eyes upon the boy. It looked at him expectantly, and he returned a smile at it. The bird took off from its perch and began flying into the distance. Henry ran towards it, racing it to the destination. The cornstalks that lined their path blurred as they ran swiftly through the fields. The air was cool and welcoming as they passed through. As they went, their destination appeared above the stalks, at least its roof did. It was a two-storey quaint home. Built out of wooden boards and logs, and smoke was filtering out through its brick hearth and chimney. This was his home. This was the house his father had built. This was where his mother and father had lived and wed, and the place where they bore their first child. This was an important memory to him that it lay in the middle of all his dreams, the foundations of his hopes and ambitions. He turned to see all that was before entering the heart of his dreams. The corn fields of his father stretched across his vision. Yond the horizon of corn lay the village. Pillars of white smoke rose from their chimneys, indicating the life that dwelled in that place. Farther lay a forest of pines and firs where he once got himself lost in the night. That event had filled him with fright, but his father had come to find him. It was an experience that had marked itself deep into his soul. He gently pushed the door open, and therein he saw his father sit upon their dinner table. The house was warm with the light of the fire. The warm golden firelight filled the room with pleasant heat. His father''s tools of trade (a spade, hoe, and spear) were kept safe and clean in the tool rack. The cuckoo clock that hung upon the wall listlessly counted the passing seconds. His father, Renard Greymight, sat upon his usual seat on one of the three chairs set with the dinner table. He was wearing his iconic wolf hat that grinned as he continued to read what was on his hand. His eyes were watery as he read the passages of his most recent letter. A puddle of tears had formed on the table. He cried every time he received a letter. He had missed his son dearly, not seeing him for over a year. Renard turned his head to his son who stood under their doorframe. He dropped the letter in his hand and stood from his seat. He splayed his arms open to welcome his visiting son. He had missed him dearly, and so had his son. Henry ran to accept his father''s invitation. His father closed his arms embraced his approaching child. He lifted him in the air and twirled him in his arms like a piece of earthenware. "I missed you," Renard told his son. "I missed you too," Henry replied in turn. "How are you?" Renard laughed. "I''m completely fine, Henry. It should be me asking that to you." "I''m fine dad. You got my early letter, right?" "Yes, I did, but I only got it now. I''m yet to read it fully to the end." Renard set down his son on the floor. He wiped his child''s clothes with a towel. He was quite happy to see his son in such a state. Although he was wearing chainmail in their house, it was quite a joy for his to see the smiling face of his son in the fox hat. "Oh. Well, I sent it earlier so that I could send it before the rituals happened. I felt it was important for you to know about it," Henry answered. "What kind of ritual?" Renard was a bit curious. "They said that it would turn us into heroes." "Aren''t you a hero enough? Why would they need to conduct a ritual? You saved nine villages and three towns. That''s more than what I''ve saved," Renard remarked. He flexed his biceps to demonstrate his relative might. "Well, I think the ritual wasn''t for saving villages or something. They said it was for burning away our mortal life and only leaving behind our heroic legend." "What?" Something hard hit Renard as he heard those words. He had paled at those foreboding phrases. He paled so thoroughly that the hairs of his wolf hat greyed too. "Yeah, I didn''t understand it one bit," Henry remarked as though the things he spoke of matched his father''s thoughts. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. Renard looked out the window and watched for anything that was amiss. There definitely was. The horizon was ablaze. Red and orange fire danced in the distance, approaching towards their central location like an advancing doomwall. The village, the forest, the fields: they smoked and they smoldered. Good Sir Bear stood at the edge of the fields, looking at their house with a frown stitched upon its cloth-sack head. Terror filled its button eyes. He turned to Henry and saw that he too was smoking like all else that was in this dream. His armor glowed red with the heat, and the hairs of his fox head warped. He wanted to cry. This wretched ritual. What was it doing to his beloved son? "My son, what are they doing to you?" He asked as he knelt to his burning son. He hugged him dearly. The metal on his skin burned him, but it was no reason for him to let his child go. Henry looked into his hands and saw that it was burning. The world around them ignited. Fires consumed their surroundings. Their home was caught in a storm of flames. The curtains, the pillars, the chairs, their dear dining table was set ablaze. Tongues of flames tugged at his back, taking him away, scrubbing his whole inner world. He was being pulled into the wall of flames, away from the embrace of his father. He looked into his father -- now obscured by a raging blaze. His eyes were teary as he saw the world as he knew it rendered to ash. "Dad, help me," his throat could barely whisper. He stretched out his arms to hold on to his father, but the flames had pulled him too far. He felt a strong hand hold his hand. It pulled him hard from the flames. It was an unfamiliar man that wore a familiar face. It was a stout man in a thick dark parka. Slung upon his back was a golden barbed harpoon. Most striking was the wolf head that''s set upon his shoulders. This unfamiliar person wore his father''s face, and being close to this man put him at ease. He could feel exuding the same welcoming warmth and coolth as his father did. "Stay with me, Henry," the man spoke. It was his father''s voice. He had pulled his close and slung him carefully onto his back. His father began running through the burning fields. He slashed any flames that dared come near his precious child. The air was fragrant from all the corn that''s burning. It could even be smelt over all smoke that''s filling his world. Henry felt so weak and helpless. His father''s presence gave him strength and courage, but this time, the power his father gave was not enough to stave off the burning weakness coursing through his spirit. He looked onto his burning world. The doomwall of flame engulfed all he could see. It ate all that was his dream, leaving naught, not even ash. He could in their passing the burning stalks of his father''s well-cared crops. He could see in their passing, the horrified face of the burning scarecrow. He felt like crying, but his tear ducts were dry of tears. "Don''t worry, Henry. I will save you," Renard assured his ailing son. He was just in as much pain as him. Many burns had etched themselves onto his form wherever the flames had touched him. His harpoon whistled in the speed of his strikes, splitting the flames around till they dissipate. Henry was dropping in and out of consciousness. He could only witness a fraction of the mayhem his father was pulling him through. He found himself in a town, surrounded by bandits. Henry had a sword in his hand, but the bandits hadn''t fallen by his hand. This wasn''t how the real event had transpired. The memory was clear in his mind that the bandits that now lay dead upon the cobbles were killed by sword, not spear. Fire was consuming his memories. It dared not to touch only the stars. Even when the world around him was unraveling at the seams, unraveled by fingers formed from flames, he could look into the skies above and be confident of the constellations stitched upon its celestial blues. The fingers reached for the stars above, but they couldn''t stretch far enough to undo the stitches. He eventually fell into unconsciousness before finding himself in another scene. These were familiar scenes, scenes that he had participated in, scenes where he would have died with the weakness that permeated his current form were it not for the appearance of his father. The scenes varied from those that occur in well-paved streets and in the temple''s training grounds to those in bare dirt paths and forest clearings. One villain had almost gotten him were it not for his father''s spear whirling to crush his skull. "Stay with me, Henry," his father''s voice had become faint. "Please, we''re near. You''re saved," Henry couldn''t muster the strength to answer. He felt completely spent. His bones felt heavy, the fibers holding them together no longer enough to move them. "Look, Uncle Larry and Papa Renard are right by you. We could save you." He turned his head to his uncle and godfather, Larry of the Clock Tower. The cuckoo clock hung onto one of the burning trees. The varnished wood of the clock''s casing resisted the burning of the forest around them. Its pendulum swung with regularity, prompting the second hand to move with each swing. The minute hand passed the twelfth mark, and a chime welcomed the new hour. The door to the clock''s chalet opened, letting whatever creature that resided within to exit. A mechanical bird with a dragon''s head emerged from the clock. It had eyes of tourmaline that looked at Henry''s pitiful state. "Save him, Larry," Renard begged. "He''s dying." Larry examined Henry''s body closely. It devised a plan. It conjured two spools of glowing ribbons. They were transparent with numbers stitched into them. It tied the ailing body of the child, securing it safely. It gave one of the spools to Renard. It held the other. It opened its wings wide, ready to fly. "Pull, Renard," Larry told. ~^*^=8=^*^~ "Ahhhhhh!" Screams reverberated in the temple walls. The priests were attempting to salvage the situation but the flames didn''t obey their commands. The body of the boy engulfed in flame writhed behind the veil of fire. Others wanted to jump into the fire to save their dear friend, but the guards stopped them. Hiernos was scanning his tomes for anything that could be used in the emergency at hand, but he couldn''t find anything of use. Eorphin threw ropes of light to pull out the child, but the flames had held him tightly. Henry Greymight couldn''t be pulled from the cleansing fire. There was nothing Nimessa could do to keep Henry from burning any further. The flames were consuming more than his mortal legend. The flames were burning away his formal definition. His flesh sloughed from his bones, dripping unto the platform like raw ground meat, and even that was being burned by the very flames. This wasn''t supposed to happen. This was wrong. The screams were being silenced by the roar of flames. After all had been eaten, the flames had quickly died. Whereupon a child, a heroic individual had once stood, only a pile of ash had been left behind. The newly baptised heroes of the temple put their hands over their hearts as they mourned the loss of one of them, someone who had been close to many of them. ~^*^=8=^*^~ Angar Broodlor carried the remains of their friend Henry. It was a very sad day. The rituals had to be stopped for three days to make sure whatever happened to him doesn''t happen again. Nobody was quite sure what happened, not even Hiernos, a literal god of knowledge could figure it out. The feast afterwards was quite mournful with the loss. Angar made sure to drink more than a bottle for their friend''s sake. Now they were out here, in the middle of the night, carrying the urn which contained the ashes of their friend. His name, Henry Greymight, was etched upon the ceramic. He was not alone in the delivery. Their friends, Jeema Graves, Aspen Evrin, and Gory Jupp, had been assigned to bring the bad news to his progenitor, Renard Greymight. Renard Greymight was a simple farmer. He grew corn in the outskirts of Feldbach. He had lived in his lonesome in the past year or two after their son had been chosen by the temple to become a hero. He was rather supportive, but he was forbidden from visiting his son on the temple. There, they stood upon the doorsteps of the old home of their friend. It was a quaint little home, made of wooden boards and logs, and stood a modest two storeys. They knocked upon the door of the house, and almost immediately, their call had been answered. The door had opened swiftly, revealing the man who lived in this house. He was a lithe man with a bushy beard, wearing a flannel shirt. "Good evening, Mr. Greymight," Jeema prompted. She bowed with her address. "Ah, good evening. What brings you today on my doorsteps?" Renard replied politely. He didn''t bow. "We come tonight as harbingers of unfortunate news," Aspen spoke. She then gestures to the item in Angar''s arms. "Your son, Henry, has died." Renard''s eyes widened at those words. He stiffened, his heart skipped a beat, as his entire world had cracked. He looked upon the urn in Angar''s hand with hesitation, within which the remains of his only son was stored. He beheld the urn. "How... how did this happen?" Renard could barely ask. They didn''t know how to explain what happened to him. "There was an accident. There was a fire and he fell into it," Aspen explained. She thought that those words would sting the least. "Thank you," Renard said quietly. "Thank you for bringing my son to me." A Legend of My Own (Part 4) There were many open tomes scattered all around the study. Hiernos was scanning through all his books, but by all accounts, the incident that happened to Henry shouldn''t have happened. The ritual had been used by the tribes that settled near Nimeta for over a hundred years, not one of them recorded an incident bearing a similarity to the thing that happened to Henry. His many crows were there to help him, scanning the open books and some still retrieving relevant books from the shelves. Eorphin entered the chamber. She saw a distressed Hiernos. She too was disturbed, but for another reason than Hiernos. All of them, all the deities of the temple were perturbed by the incident. They had canceled the rituals for that day just in case that their setup had been contaminated. They continued their rituals three days afterwards, and it went on without a hitch. A pensive expression was on Eorphin''s face. She approached the studying Hiernos. "Hiernos," Eorphin spoke. "Have you found what happened to Henry Greymight?" Hiernos violently closed the tome he held. He had worked himself to tears on this endeavor, but every book that he turned to only told him how little he knew. He was a god of knowledge, but even he couldn''t find out what happened. He was teary now, but he tried to keep his composure and not to collapse into weeping. "Nothing," Hiernos answered. "I''ve tried looking at all the books I have collected, but all of them couldn''t answer that question." Eorphin pitied the sorry state of the god. "Why don''t I help you try to find the answer? Surely the two of us searching would help." She gave Hiernos the warmest smile her lupine form could give. Hiernos''s face lit up at those words. ~^*^=8=^*^~ Reminiscing on all his memories, Angar found himself in a dark cave whose air stank of wine. He approached the walls and saw that the minerals that composed them were all the things that had happened to him. He put one of his gloved hands upon the mineralized memories and felt the emotions that fossilized alongside them. He turned to look at everything else. Everywhere around him was composed of this mineralized memories. The wall, the floor, the columns that descend from the ceiling, and the spikes which reach for the heights. A stream of unknown substance flowed along the contours of the floor. Looking further into the cave, he could see statues. It was statues depicting the likeness of his friends, family, and acquaintances. Many of them had been left behind in the village he came from. He touched upon their stone faces and felt the feelings that had been fossilized. He could feel the warmth and kindness impressed upon the stone of his mother. The guidance and strictness of his father poured through the connection. The joys and sorrows he felt when played and frolicked with friends leaked from the orifices. Then suddenly, the world was set ablaze. The very rocks that composed the cavern glowed and burned, but they didn''t emit any heat. The cave was as cool as it had always been. The fire cradled Angar, caressed him with their silky flames. With the burning touch of the holy flames, the world around him was being transformed. The bare rock of the cavern transformed before his very eyes. The memories fossilized were being purified. The caved distorted and warped as his past was put to order. All the mortal matters sublimated in the sacred flames, leaving behind only his heroic legend. Where there was once rocky floor, there was now a level plane of compacted dirt. Where there were once uneven walls, there were now vaulting edifices of brick and mortar. This place was the culmination of his legend, the culmination of his heroism. All that had defined what kind of hero he was isolated from his mortal life. This place was reminiscent to the temple''s training grounds, which made sense. These training grounds was the cradle of his legend, the place where the mantle of heroism was set upon his shoulders. The statues of the people of his previous life was wiped from the dream. Their likeness deleted from memory, replaced by the imagery of his friends of comrades armed and armored. They stood atop stone pedestals upon which was a plaque declaring their names. Strangely, Henry''s name was engraved but his likeness wasn''t captured in stone. His pedestal was left empty even after the flames had completely subsided. The flames had burned away all the mortal snarls to his fate and made his legend true. It made him more real, superreal. His legend was made his own. The flames subsided, and he was made anew. A child had entered the flames, but the man that had exited them was a true hero. He stepped down the platform to meet the friends that awaited him on his seat. Jemma and Aspen were praising and congratulating his new body, but his dearer friend, Henry was leery to his changed fate. He assured him that he''s better than ever, and that he would have a legend of his own just like him. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ~^*^=8=^*^~ Renard was sitting on a stump outside his house. He was carving a crutch from some cedar wood. He was carefully carving it so that whoever was to use it wouldn''t get splinters under their skin. He made sure that it was just as pretty as it was functional. He engraved all kinds of animals along its length: bears, wolves, and crows gathering together to keep watch over the one who held this crutch. Soon the crutch was done. All it needs now was is some lacquer or varnish to protect its wood from rotting. His son would surely love it. It was once of the best woodcarvings he''s in a while. He was excited to show it to his dearest Henry. He turned to their house with the crutch in hand. He held it behind his back as he opened the door. There, inside the house, was Henry sitting a bit sadly on the dinner table. He was slowly going through the stew of meat, corn, and carrots that he had prepared for him. He was in his playful fox hat as he ate through his meal. His right shin had been put in a splint after an accident at the temple had broken the bones. It brought him great pain whenever he tried to walk on his own. For the past week, he had to be carried by his father up and down from his bed. But today, Renard had made him something that would change that. His son smiled at him as he saw him enter the house. Renard smiled at his now joyful. His child was injured when he was brought to him, but it was better than Henry ending up deceased. "Surprise," Renard told his son as he showed the carved crutch. Henry was overjoyed at the item his father had worked on. He loved the animals that he had chosen. While they were far from realistic, he could appreciate style and still feel the spirit of the animals inhabit the crutch. "Thank you," Henry said to his father. He reached for the item, but his father pulled it back before he could grab it. "Up up up," his father stated. "It''s not finished it. It needs a coat of lacquer." He then left his son to enjoy himself on his cooking and climbed up the stairs. There, he produced a key from his pocket and unlocked a rarely used room. This room had once been the room of his late wife. Bless her soul; she had been a wonderful partner. He hoped she would be proud in his raising of their son. Opening the door, he found himself in a room that had been turned into an art studio. All around him, numerous crayon drawings were pinned upon the walls. On one side of the room, he could see a wooden desk where a neat stack of blank sheets was placed. Beside the desk was a cabinet whereupon his art supplies were stored. Dyed wax sticks, pencils, quills, ink bottles, and cans of paint and lacquer were put upon its shelves. Renard placed the crutch upon a mantel of sheets. The sheets were there so that the floor would be easier to clean up. He prepared a can of lacquer and a clean paintbrush. He dipped the brush into the can and liberally coated the crutch in the substance. He would turn the crutch so that every side could be evenly coated. The animals carved into the wood seemingly reveled in being bathed in lacquer. Its reddish-brown wooden color deepened with the substance, transforming its color into a much deeper and richer red. Renard procured a few sheets a set of crayons. He held one of the dearest colors to him, green, and began scribbling a picture onto the sheet. At first, it was a basic stick figure but after many scribbles, the drawing transformed. He switched his crayons time to time whenever he needed another color. Soon, his creation approached finishedhood. Impressed upon its sheet was a drawing of Henry Greymight, his son clad in green. In place of a human head, he had drawn a fox head. Now for the finishing touches, he took the hazelnut-colored crayon and began scribbling a crutch in his son''s hands. He tried to copy as closely the likeness of the crutch, but he could only put so many details upon a sheet. The drawing had been finished, and he pinned it alongside many others like it on the walls. They were all crayon drawings. It was a hoard of images that accumulated over the years. The drawings chronicled the changes of his son, from a wee baby to now a teenager. It wasn''t only his son that was chronicled here, nor was all the drawings pinned all his. Some of the drawings had been created by his son. Some of the drawings depicted him, his wife Rachel, and their friends. They were put in the middle of the growing galaxy of art, right beside a crude drawing of their home. A magnificent patchwork mural that grew every passing year. This was their son. The culmination of all the things their child is and has done. Renard and Rachel had spent countless nights rifling through all the memories rendered in parchment and wax. Renard cherished it all the same as he cherished his real son. Renard picked up the lacquered crutch. It was sticky in his hand; it still needed to dry. He went down the stairs and locked the door behind him. He was quite happy that his child had finished his meal. He saw that Henry had become idle on the table. "Look at this, Henry. Your new crutch!" Renard excitedly announced. "It''s going to need to dry though, but you should be able to use it tomorrow." Henry examined the wooden item and was quite happy with what it was. It was going to help him stand on his own. He had gotten tired of being confined indoors. He counted the animals that were engraved on its length. There were three bears, four wolves, six crows, and seven dragonflies. He hadn''t seen the dragonflies the first time. They were subtle, carved in a chain across the length. "What''s its name?" Henry excitedly asked. "Pardon?" "You know how your spear and hoe had their own names, Frontier and Revolution. What''s this crutches name?" "Er..." Renard wracked his head for an apt name. Before long, the crutch''s name popped up. He held the crutch in his two hands before baptizing it as: "Second Chance." A Legend of My Own (Part 5) It has been a year of saving, heroing, and crusading. The day of their friend''s passing had come to pass them. Today was Henry Greymight''s first death anniversary. They were passing through the village of Kelry. Jemma and co were carrying a lot of food to Henry''s grave. There were many among their crew. There was Angar Broodlor carrying a sizeable cake. Jeema Graves and Aspen Evrin were carrying pies filled with blueberry, blackberry, and strawberry. Dean Henegar, Martin Gleeson, Amanda Porter, Veronica Best, and Arnie Pines tagged along their journey. Each of them carried an edible for the upcoming vigil. It''s quite a blessing for a village as small as Kelry for everyone to know each other. Even though they''ve forgotten where the Greymight residence had stood, they could always ask for the location. They were walking down the dirt road towards the humble abode of the Greymights. They were passing through a field of corn. Soon, the sight of the Greymight residence appeared in their sights. It was a quaint wooden home standing two storeys. Martin stepped up to the front door and knocked upon the wooden door. The voice that answered unnerved them greatly that whatever banter they bore froze in their throats. Their eyes were glued upon the closed door. "Coming," the familiar voice haunted them. It was very close to how they remember how Henry sounded. The door''s opening seemed to be delayed, taking almost a minute until whatever agent that haunted the other side had reached its handle. There was a periodic tapping of something similar to a pole striking the wooden floor before it completely stopped upon the door becoming ajar. The door was pulled open by the person within. It was revealed to them who dwelled the house at this very hour, and it was they had feared. The mysterious person was none other than the one they were mourning, Henry Greymight. There he stood under the door frame, holding the door with one hand and holding a lacquered crutch in the other. He stood whole and hale at just under eye level with the majority of them. He wore his iconic fox hat and a red flannel shirt. "My friends, welcome," Henry nervously greeted. He hadn''t expected this crowd of people coming to their home, especially ones that bring enough food for a holiday feast. "But it''s not my birthday?" He questioned. The visitors could only look awkwardly. How could they react otherwise when the person they came to mourn stood fully living in before their very eyes. ~^*^=8=^*^~ They were sitting around in the Greymight living room. The atmosphere was tense since everybody wasn''t quite sure what they were supposed to be doing. The cakes and pies were sliced, and the bread were split and buttered. Bottles carrying exotic fruit wines were opened, but even with a filled glass, Angar was hesitant to drink. Jeema examined the "Henry" in their midst. As far as they knew, he was dead. She tried every test she could think of and all of them came to the same conclusion: Henry was here and alive, which they knew for certain was wrong. He wasn''t any conventional illusion or another person in glamour. She looked at him critically in every, but she couldn''t find any seam in this expertly crafted illusion. Instead of a pile of ash in an urn, this Henry was hale but with a crippled leg. On the day of his supposed death, this Henry had met a less unfortunate fate where instead of burning up in a tragic pyre, he had met a harsh accident that had left his left leg broken. There were apparently no healers that could help with the injury, and as such, it was left permanently crippled. Even to this day, Henry''s leg was left weak and painful. It was contrary to what they knew. Aspen approached her and asked, "What is he?" Her voice was quiet so that none may overhear. "I don''t know. In all ways and manners, Henry is here and he is alive," Jeema answered. They looked at Henry sitting by the table. It was like he was there. A plate of half-eaten pie and cake were set by him while he busied himself with writing a letter. The fountain pen in his hand coursed across the sheet, imprinting his writing. The style of his handwriting was as they remembered his has been. "Caw!" The sound of crow''s call cut across the room. All their thoughts had been stopped in their tracks. They turned to its source and saw a crow perched upon the windowsill. It was reminiscent to one of Hiernos''s crows, but this one had bright green eyes. Those striking green eyes gazed at them with a judgemental stare. They recognize this beast, this bird; this was Hiernos''s lost crow. Hiernos had issued a reward to whoever caught this elusive bird. He apparently has some beef with this green-eyed bird, and lore has it been that whoever the bird belonged to was his nemesis. No one was quite sure who this nemesis was, even the lorekeepers knew nothing of this nemesis, not even his name. The bird appeared regularly in the past year, but its visitation had petered out halfway through the year. One of the visiting heroes stood to try catch the bird, but when the crow glared at them and cawed, they were filled with doubt and stopped in place. It felt unwise to approach the corvid. Its eyes trained on them, piercing their spirits with its bright shining eyes. They could only gather the courage to approach when the bird was looking away. Their slow approach only subsided when they heard a length of wood repeatedly tap onto the floor. They turned to Henry who was ambling towards the bird with little hindrance. His awkward steps were assisted by his trusty crutch. It was a work of art sculpted from a fine piece of cedar. The lacquer applied had deepened its natural colors and made the engravings pop out of its surface. They counted four bears, five wolves, and seven crows carved onto its surface. The green-eyed crow focused onto the approaching boy, but this time, its glare seemed to be softer. Henry, undeterred in his approach, put his hand close the bird''s beak and handed the folded letter he held to the menacing beast. All the other heroes prepared to pull his hand away at the moment the bird decided to peck the boy''s hand, but to their surprise, it only took the letter away from his hand. Gently even. The bird turned and flew away, carrying the letter with it. The visiting heroes were stunned at the display, yet Henry only turned as though it was simply an everyday occurrence. He had sent something that had turned into something of a myth in the community as though it was a messenger pigeon. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. Dean Henegar was the first to speak. "What was that, Henry?" "That was Friend Crow," Henry answered simply. "You''ve been hiding it all this time?" Angar said almost angrily. "Uhm, what?" Henry tilted his head in confusion. "Did you know that Hiernos have been looking for this particular crow for over a year? He''s offering a blessing to anyone who could turn it in," Jeema chimed in. Henry''s face straightened at that question. "Oh, I knew that." "Wait, what? Why didn''t you turn it in? Don''t you want to get a blessing from a god?" "Friend Crow carried letters to my father and back. If I turned it in, I would be cutting the sole communication line between me and my father." They were stunned by the answer he had provided. They had been prohibited from communicating with their families, but Henry had somehow circumvented the lockdown and was never suspected. A feeling of betrayal arose from those that had a strong desire to get Hiernos''s blessing, but much of them were more shocked at this revelation. It became the topic of many conversations in the next half-hour. The lull of activity was shattered when the door creaked open to welcome the entrance of a rather rugged man in a green long-sleeved shirt. He wore a life-like wolf hat that made him appear as though his own head was actually that of a wolf, and atop of that, a straw hat that covered his eyes from the sun. In his hand was a hoe with a bronze head of a hue close enough to gold. The wolf head was grinning, baring its teeth to their guests. His bright green eyes scanned all the folks in their house. The previous conversed upon crow was perched upon his shoulder, puffing up its chest as though it was proud to be partnered to such this common man. This was the pillar of the house, Renard Greymight, and he greeted his guests with a hearty voice. "Welcome, friends of Henry. We haven''t expected your arrival. I hope that our unprepared home hadn''t been displeasing to your senses." ~^*^=8=^*^~ Friend Crow was alighted upon Big Friend Renard. It reveled in the sight of his would-be captors wilting in the presence of its master. Master Friend Renard was such a cool creature, he couldn''t simply be compared to any other being. Monsters crawling from the shadows beware him lest they taste Revolution hammering into their face. Master Renard was kind. He had set aside a saucer of pie for it. Delicious! Friend Crow was safe and fed and happy. It would willingly serve under them for continued blessing. He deserves its devotion for all the things they have done to it. Friend Henry was cool too. He was thoughtful and playful. He had made many friends. They would frolic and play in the forest and river. It liked to spy among their games. They maked lots of cute noises and stuff. The visitors, heroes of the temple of Nimeta, whispered among themselves about it. Fools. Knowledge was its foremost sphere, and it could hear all which they speak. They occasionally chance a glance upon the corvid, and it would stare back at them. They seemed to be desiring to hand it but were extremely hesitant in the presence of Master-of-the-House Renard. Humorous! Their courage wilting in the awesome that was Renard. "So, Renard, how did you tame this Friend Crow," Girl Jeema asked him. She leered at it. It pecked at another crumb of pie nonchalantly. "When I first settled on this land, I heard of these people who tamed wild animals. Wolves, pigeons, boars, and even cockroaches. I was inspired by Hiernos''s posse of crows when I decided to befriend this crow. She was a wee crow back then, and she liked to spy on me when I worked the fields. I often beckoned her to my hand and coaxed her with food until she stayed," Renard explained. Not the whole story, Friend Crow knew, but sufficient in all ways. Girl Jeema hummed to herself. She had reached a conclusion. "You''re Hiernos''s Nemesis." Renard placed his mug of wine onto the table and frowned deeply. Friend Crow looked up to Girl Jemma, feeling rather displeased at the accusation. "You''ll be the first to call me that. Could you elaborate?" "Hiernos had this crow that had been stolen from him, a green-eyed crow, THIS green-eyed crow. He refused to tell anybody who his nemesis was, but I guess we discovered who the culprit was anyway," Jeema gravely told. Renard took a sip from his mug of wine before replying, "I never realized that Friend Crow already belonged to somebody else. She just stopped going away." His words were sincere, Friend Crow could confirm, but Jeema seemed doubtful to its truth. Master Renard turned to Friend Crow and asked, "Do you want to go home, Friend Crow?" The crow vehemently shook its head. No, never again, not after what he had tried to do. Hiernos was a paranoid hack. It''d rather dedicate its service to the much kinder Renard. "Why? Don''t you miss home with your master Hiernos?" Jeema tried to convince the crow, but its opinion on the matter had been set in stone years ago. "No!" Friend Crow cawed, and it attracted everyone''s attention. "I stay here. Hiernos not home more. Home is here!" Jeema tried to convince it with more honeyed words, but it couldn''t be moved. It wanted to stay here, right beside Renard. They couldn''t force it to come with them. It was perched firmly on Renard''s shoulders. Aspen and many others had joined in throwing honeyed traps, but it remained firm on its disposition. No! It was to stay here, in service to Renard the Kind. It cawed and cawed to silence and counter their words. The great argument was shattered when a series of knocks came at the door. The thoughts of many had been derailed by that discordant sound. The rather embarrassing clamour dissipated as they realized a new set of visitors had come to visit their humble abode. Henry answered to their call and opened the door to welcome them in. It was villagers from Kelry, bringing with them some items of feasting: strips of cured ham, a keg of beer, and a basket of fruits. It was clear that they''d gathered such items on a short notice, prepared at the last minute. "Hello friends," Henry greeted. "But it''s not my birthday?" "Oh no, well, it is now. That wasn''t why we''re here," one of them lied. "We just heard that you''re having some sort of party up your house we''d like to join in. It just felt impolite to bring nothing to the feast." "How did you know we have a feast?" "There was a group of people carrying food to your doorstep. We figured you had one." ~^*^=8=^*^~ Renard pretended to be joyful during the impromptu feast that celebrated nothing in particular. It''s supposed to be in commemoration of his passed son, but the direction had been thoroughly directed into something else. The unannounced appearance of the neighbors was really a blessing in disguise. He needed little to throw the vibe meter of anyone everywhere. Still, it was a hassle to have such many people inside his house. He was standing in front of the mirror, hatless whilst grooming his hair. He had to make himself a little more presentable. He had Henry throw a thorough distraction on his friends while he secreted away their valuables. They were bound to get broken or go missing. It was quite a surprise when someone had gotten through the distractions. It was Jeema Graves. He had come to dislike this girl. She was an intellectual, doubtful of almost everything that''s going on in this part of the world. She stood behind him like she''s about to deliver to him some grave news. "Mister Greymight," she began. "I think there might be something amiss in your household." He sighed. "I know. I know. Henry''s alive." "So you do know," Jeema''s eyes brightened. "I think something or somebody is messing with everybody. We need to get to the bottom of this before it gets worse." "Henry''s alive," Renard repeated. "Isn''t that a good thing?" "Don''t you understand? Something''s manipulating everyone in this village. They need to be dealt with before their vile machinations come to fruition." "Why would you even call my son being home alive ''vile''? That''s a miracle." "Creatures who manipulate the minds of others are rarely benign. This is serious!" Renard looked towards the door that led to the living room. He could see Henry mirthful as he mingled with his friends. He turned back to Jemma. "I have everything under control. There''s absolutely nothing wrong." A Legend of my Own (Part 6) Jeema was rather frustrated at Renard''s disposition on the matter. A person that felt the need to manipulate the memories of others never has the most benign intentions or means. While she wasn''t sure what kind of method whatever changeling was using to masquerade as a once dead individual, there were many other ways to force someone to remove their glamour. She looked at "Henry" mingling among his friends, laughing and eating and drinking. She knew that this person was fake, he had to be. The person they knew as Henry had been dead for over a year. She saw him die right before her eyes. She knew of no spell to bring back the dead to as pristine of a creature as the one that stood amongst her friends. Despicable! She internally remarked as she critically watched the creature talk the same way as their friend. Her fellow heroes that had been hesitant to engage with him at the beginning had begun to make bridges with this creature, talking about almost any inane topic an adolescent would come up with. The addition of people normally outside their friend group made the topic choices chaotic and unpredictable. She felt a hand firmly squeeze her shoulder. She turned to look at a man bearing down his intense disapproval at her. Renard''s green eyes put an intense pressure on her that made her feel hesitant to do anything out of the ordinary. The crow on his shoulder too bore down its sight upon her. It judged her and found her wanting. "Don''t do anything unwise to my son, dear girl," he warned. "Just enjoy the miracle that he''s somehow alive." Renard removed his hand from her shoulder and began moving towards the main group. He joined upon the merriment going on around Henry. It seemed that they''ve put their guards down after being surrounded by harmless civilians and booze. Foolish, for danger lurks closer this time than anywhere else. She cut through the crowd and went straight for Henry who had been stuffing himself with pie in the past hour. He surrounded himself with his closest friends, Angar, Aspen, Lennard, and Grins. She could see that they''re being hesitant with him, but their vigilance with this strange creature was fading with every second. Even with her back turned, she knew that Renard was glaring daggers at her. She tapped the shoulder of Aspen. "What are you doing?" She asked her. "I''m sorry, but he''s so much like Henry. It''s hard to differentiate him from the real thing," Aspen whispered back. "Distance yourself. It could be a charm," she told her. Jeema marched to in front of Henry. His mirthful face dissolved as she grabbed him harshly by the collar and pushed him to the floor. He fell on his butt on the floor and looked at her deep front very confusedly. She bore down her cold gaze upon this imposter. Everyone''s gazes turned to their direction when they heard the soft thud of flesh hit the floor. Henry had lost hold of his crutch and now its clatters upon the floor. Renard shot up from his seat, shocked to see the girl resort to something close to violence. He gave her a silent snarl that told her to stop whatever she was doing, but she did not relent. "What the heck, Jeema?" Angar remarked. He gestured at the down creature. "This is not Henry, Angar," Jeema coldly stated. She told him solid facts. "Wha- what?" Henry gasped. She was going to add more, but she was interrupted when Renard pulled her. He forced their eyes to meet and made his disapproval abundantly clear, but it could do little to move her. She had set ways, and she had the facts root her in place against the gale of lies. "What do you think you''re doing, girl?" He growled. She pushed away his arms from her shoulders. She glared at him. Had he let his grief over his son prefer the fantasy of his continued life over the truth? He should seek acceptance of the loss. This mockery of his memory made by that despicable creature was no replacement to the truth. "Henry''s dead, Renard! Deal with it! He can''t be here!" She told him with the full fervor of her spirit. "Take that back!" Commanded Renard. He pushed the young woman, but he failed to make her fall to the floor "Henry''s here and whole. He''s alive!" He announced the full weight of his belief. Zeal dripped from the words he uttered. The visiting villagers who only came for the food were now lost to the argument burning in their midst. They could only watch the chaos of words unfold before their eyes. "Henry''s dead," she repeated. Those words simply incensed Renard further. "That is the truth. I saw him turn to ash right before my eyes!" "He''s alive! He stands among us hale and whole! He is among us. Henry Greymight, my son is alive," he insisted, but it was no use. The doubt had been planted, and now it was germinating in the minds that witness this event. "Henry is dead, and I will repeat this fact ad infinitum, but I believe that you cannot be moved. You''re simply delusional," she replied. She drew her sword from her scabbard. It was a beautifully crafted sword that gleamed silver in the light and had a bronze guard decorated with golden stars. In turn, Renard snatched a sword from one of the heroes that stood nearest to him. It had a similar design to the Jeema wielded. She only looked impassively as he held it like a fool who had never wielded or trained with a sword. As expected of a farmer, the weapon shook in his hands. He gritted his teeth as he squeezed the hilt in his hand. She seemed not at all worried at the foe that now stood before her. Her confidence would be confirmed when before he could take a single swing the sword in his hands smoked and sizzled. He dropped the weapon onto the floor, scuffing his carefully waxed floor. He beheld his hands and saw that had been burned by the weapon''s magic. He could see the imprint of the sword''s hilt burned into the flesh of his palm. "Only the righteous heroes of the truth can wield the heroic swords. You are clearly not, and as such its magic forbids you from and even punishes you for trying to wield it," she explained. She lowered her sword. She looked onto the sad face of the man now examining his wounded hand. He was pitiful. "You should let go of this fantasy. Henry is dead." Renard turned to her, and his face distorted into an expression of rage. He roared and jumped the woman. There was little the others could do to stop him from colliding into Jeema. Jeema widened her eyes from this display. She had expected him to give up, but he seemed to have an endless font of determination to defend the fantasy. He wrestled her, shouting "Henry is alive," over and over as he tried to force them to accept it. He tried to bruise her through her armor, but he also injured himself as much on it. He reached for her weapon and threw it as far as he could. It flew through the air, implanting itself upon a far wall. Jeema, on the other hand, retaliated with "Henry is dead." They wrestled on the floor, causing great disorder down there. The other visitors tried to break the two up, but they were simply too strong to easily restrain. Renard was totally incensed. His whole being was drenched with wrath from every word that escaped this detestable girl. His fury granted him with greater power to resist the restrainers. He had to be forced to the ground with multiple people on his back to stop him from pummeling girl to chunks. He had lost a tooth or two from fight. Blood dripped from his mouth and nose, and his body had been riddled with discolored spots from the bruises he received. Jeema was much simpler to restrain. She hadn''t become as wrathful as Renard had. Only three folk were needed to keep her from creeping any closer to Renard''s ears and whisper the awful truth over and over. Blood dripped from the wounds he had inflicted, especially the bite he dealt on her shoulder. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Their arguments had not yet even passed. Even in their bound positions, they continued hurling words denying and affirming the death of Renard''s child. Of course, Henry was there to witness their scuffle. While he could appreciate his father defending his continued life, he couldn''t help but feel the words escaping Jeema''s mouth more hurtful than they should be. While both of them uttered their words with absolute confidence and sincerity, one of them had a much more profound effect upon his psyche. He looked into his hands, and he could see his father''s words ring true. He examined their composition and found it real and living. This put greater credence to his father''s words, yet the tearful look in Renard''s eyes had cast doubt into that conclusion. Why would his father bear tears if Jeema wielded no truthful edge? Renard knew of the truth but refused to believe it. His heart pounded in his ears, thumping like a foreboding bass drum. His hands shook as he looked at them so intensely that his focus pierced through his flesh. He wanted for the truth of his flesh to bare itself to his mind. The veil was broken, and his corporeal form flickered. His flesh and bones turned translucent right before his eyes. He could see Friend Crow looking at him with concerned eyes. "Don''t," it softly chirped. He grabbed his crutch and helped himself up. The tapping of the crutch onto the wooden floor attracted the attention of everyone. Their eyes widened as they saw the ghastly form of Henry. The colors of skin and garments had been bleached out into a ghostly grey. He wanted to cry. His eyes became wet with tears. He opened his mouth and asked, "Father, is it true that I''m dead?" Renard suddenly gained the strength to overpower the four people dogpiling on him. He barreled across the room and embraced the crying child. "No no, you''re not. You''re alive..." He wept on the back of his dying child. "You''re Henry Chandler Greymight, son of Renard Greymight from Crein and Rachel Woods Chandler. You were born on the outskirts of the village of Kelry on the third day of the fifth month...," he enumerated the facts to Henry. He named his every hobby, every skill, every friend, and every attribute. He whispered them into Henry''s ears reminding him of what makes him him. But despite his valiant effort, he couldn''t stop him from fading completely from existence. Right in his grasp, Henry''s form disintegrated, turning to ash and dust. His crutch, Second Chance, clattered on the floor as its holder became deceased. Renard was left kneeling on the floor on the pile of ashes that had once been his living son. Tears fell liberally from his eyes as he wept at the loss of his son. Jeema approached the man. She went to console him of his loss. She put her hand on his shoulder, but as her palm touched him, he suddenly shot up from his kneeling position. He turned and grabbed her by her wrists. She tried to pull away, but his grasp was too strong. "You..." Renard spoke. His voice shook with the wrath that boiled in his heart. Hot venom dripped from his fangs as he glared straight into Jeema''s eyes. "You killed him." Jeema struggled some more to pull her hand, but his grip felt immovable. She shook her head at his declaration. "He''s already dead long before today," she rebuked. A dark oppressive aura emanated from his form. The visitors shrank away from his menacing presence, but the heroes stood defiant. They drew his swords as the person they knew as Renard physically transformed. The man hulked out before them; his once lean limbs thickened with muscle. His hands twisted, being replaced by a monstrous hand armed with silver claws. His face extended forming a snout, and sharp carnivorous dentition furnished his now elongated mouth. He looked at them with beastly green eyes as grey fur sprouted all over his body. He snarled, expressing openly his great rage and displeasure. It seemed like the demon had possessed Renard, feeding on his grief over the death of his child. It had turned him into a monster, a baleful werewolf to devour them. The visiting neighbors absconded from the scene, but the heroes bravely remained to fight the menace that had appeared before them. Aspen rushed to Jeema''s aid, swinging her sword to slice the monster''s hand gripping on her friend. Her strike had missed its hand as it let go just as it was about to hit. She pulled friend away from the dangerous creature. Jeema readied her sword for the upcoming fight. The monster pointed one of its clawed fingers at them. "He was alive before today," it answered with a voice deeper and bassier than Renard''s. "You will pay for what you''ve done!" The monster held out its hand and announced, "Frontier! Come to me!" Suddenly, threads of golden light appeared out of nowhere and began weaving a shape atop its palm. It was nova of light that blinded them. When their vision had returned, the light in its hand had hardened and solidified into a golden halberd. It twirled this polearm expertly in its hand. The monster took one step forward and swung the weapon in its hand. It swept across many heroes that had dared to step too close to it. Their shields shattered against its monstrous sweep. Their swords couldn''t properly parry the head-heavy arm. The monstrous might carried behind the sweep threw some of their number into the wooden walls behind them. Those that stood safely out of reach were astonished by the power borne by the monster before. A number of their allies had been thrown into the walls. Their bodies crumpled against the force, but thanks to their heroic constitution, only sported bruises. Sweat dripped across Jeema''s face as she analyzed the beast in their midst. It was more powerful than the wild monster that occasionally jumps out of the forests. Worse, rather than a monster born from fear of wild animals, they faced a monster born from fellow humans. It held the weapon in its hand with great mastery and finesse. It gazed upon them with detached eyes. With such a wide-reaching arm, they couldn''t win against this monster in the confined quarters of Renard''s home. They must engage it in wide open outside where they can take advantage of differing angles. "We need to take the fight outside," she told her comrades, and they agreed. They can''t properly fight this monster in such claustrophobic circumstances. But the monster wanted to press its advantage for as long as possible. It can''t let them take the battle outside where their advantages reign supreme. As the heroes took steps out the door, the monster held out its left hand. Golden light surrounded it like a glove. It kneeled and forcefully pounded its glowing hand upon the wooden floor. The yellow light flowed through the fibers of the wood, traveling a straight line towards all possible exits. It spread to the frames of all the doors and windows out the room. Fueled by its magic, plants quickly grew to block the exits with their woody bulk. They blocked all passages, even those that led deeper into the house. Now the heroes stood trapped within the room with the monster. The heroes had to split up or else its wide sweeps would hit multiple of them at once. They couldn''t move close enough to inflict wounds upon the werewolf''s body. The planks beneath their feet had suffered deep fissures from the weapons striking. They had to resort to spells to inflict damage from afar. Martin Gleeson had cast a spell that turned the floor to slippery ice but to their surprise, the monster''s traction wasn''t affected one bit. It trod upon the frozen floor as though it was dry coarse ground. It even managed to give a forceful kick that threw fragments of ice like sand. Aspen Everin chanted her short cantrip. A bolt of fire flew from her hands from every verse of magic she uttered. The monster nimbly dodged her projectiles. The bolts flew over its head and struck the far wall, setting afire to the wooden building. The monster seemed alarmed at this development, and so were the heroes. The monster moved much more quickly and recklessly. It swung much more quickly and unpredictably. This disoriented the heroes who were getting comfortable with its attack patterns. One by one, the heroes were struck, thrown and immobilized, laying by the walls, bleeding and bruised. Some even fell unconscious. Soon, Jeema was the only one left standing against the monster. She was running swiftly around the monster. It turned ponderously to meet her gaze. Its face was warped by an angry frown. Then she found her chance. She closed on the monster, readying her sword to strike. The monster''s back was wide open, unarmored and vulnerable. Even just one bleeding wound, that was all she wanted and she would be brought to hope. Then, as unexpected as a disaster, the monster turned lightning quick. It was now facing her. Its arm was mid-swing, whistling as it cut through the air. She was sent off course. She went sliding towards a wall where laid crumpled in pain. Moving was a chore that brought her pain just from trying. The strike had dislocated her shoulder and disabled her good fighting arm. Her sword was thrown far from her. She laid there helpless by the wall. The house around her was burning. The flames eating through the wood crackled in their meal. The monster strode up to her, holding its awesome golden halberd. Disapproval and displeasure dripped from fangs in its mouth. It glared its menacing green eyes down at her as its stout form loomed over her. "The deaths of your friends will be left unknown to the greater world," the monster began. "But you, I have something special prepared for you. I will wrap up your, gather your ashes and parade it all over the nation. Everyone will learn of your death. In the same vein of the legend that made you live, I will use it to make you forever die!" It raised its halberd, readying chop the helpless heroine. "Die!" Jeema closed her eyes, fearful of the axe about to fall, but it never did. Instead of her skull being split open by the implement, she was hit with nothing. Nothing happened. Every sound that was ringing in her surroundings was suddenly silenced by a mysterious force. She opened her eyes and she found herself alone in the room. The monster or her comrades weren''t in the room. She was alone in what appeared to be Renard''s living room. That wasn''t the only oddity. The world was bleached and grey, all its colors sapped away. The flames that gnawed upon the wood were frozen, and instead of red, they were a ghostly teal. The air was deathly still and silent, it was as if not a single life was breathing. The only thing that popped out in the oddity of the situation was the cuckoo clock on the other wall. Unlike everything else in the room, it was still moving like it wasn''t affected by the freezing effect. Its pendulum was swinging with its usual regularity as though there wasn''t any oddity. The seconds were passing on the clock. A minute or two passed as she looked upon the odd clock, and then it hit twelve, and the clock chimed to welcome the new hour. The clock''s chalet door opened, letting exit the creature that lived within. A Legend of My Own (Part 7) (FINAL) Arnie found himself lying prone on the ground. He was looking towards the great blue sky. Emerald walls of corn stalks surrounded his vision as he looked on listlessly. His body felt very sore like his muscles were pulped in a fight. He didn''t feel like moving. He could hear similarly pulped individuals groaning nearby. His skygazing was interrupted when a large bird came into view. It stood on his pained chest and looked into his lethargic eyes with shining yellow eyes. It was one of Hiernos''s crows. It cawed to its unseen fellows, confirming the living state of the body it was examining. Beckoned by the bird''s caw, a guard came over and checked him out. After some inspection, the guard turned to their comrades and called, "This one''s fine too." There were guards that were inspecting the bodies that were lying dead tired and bruised on the ground. They wore the usual white mail issued by the temple. The guards amongst them were a mix of two kinds: ones whose armor bore a blue trim and those whose armor bore an orange trim. They were guards who served different deities. Those with blue trim served under Hiernos and those with orange trim served under Eorphin. A guard chuffed at that guard''s call. "These people don''t look fine to me. They looked like they''ve been tenderized by a bear," they commented. "At least we didn''t find them in pieces. We didn''t have to go on a scavenger hunt to complete their corpses," another guard replied. They gingerly lifted the bodies of the fallen heroes. They gently placed their bodies on a cart and began pulling them away from the scene. The cart slowly moved through the narrow paths that criss-crossed the field. It occasionally rocked as it passed over some uneven bumpy ground. The ride carried its passengers to a large tent that had been sent up by the dirt road that passed by the corn field. It was a large tent made of white canvas. It stood over ten feet tall and twenty feet wide and stretched almost thirty feet long. The symbol of the temple had been painted prominently on its canvas. Inside were numerous beds upon which lay injured folk. Both heroes and civilians alike were placed upon these soft beds as healers in robes with orange trim tended upon their injured bodies. The healers busied themselves with applying salves and bandages upon the wounds of the victims. Some applied light magic upon their patients to hasten their recovery. The civilians, the visiting neighbors, were much more well off than the heroes. Unlike the heroes who engaged the monster that had become Renard, they were left relatively unscathed by the battle that occurred. The injuries they acquired were indirect effects of the skirmish; they sported burns and cuts from their wooden surroundings being consumed by chaos. They simply sat upon their beds, fully well and talking with each other. They were exchanging accounts of the battle they had witnessed. There were guards that were gathering their words. The heroes on the other hand were lying upon their beds, weak and listless. Each of them moved very little since they were brought into the tent. Their bodies were bruised to the bone, and their muscles ached every time they tried to even shift a little. Thanks to their heroic constitution, they hadn''t broken their bones, but that was little consolation to the ordeal they went through. Except for Jeema, who instead of being catatonic upon the mattress of her bed was sitting upon its edge engaging with the friendly guards. They coaxed answers from her mouth, but even a first-hand account from her had left them confused. She was melancholic from the events that transpired. Her eyes were weighted by the things they had witnessed and often drooped to look into the ground. The bustle of the tent was cut through when Eorphin marched through. A face of fury was carved onto her white lupine face as she strode straight towards Jeema. She came to face her, looking down upon the down hero. She glared with an intense fury that bore into her being. The metaphorical borehole was filled with fire as Eorphin poured the fury she felt when she heard what they''d done to the Greymight household. "Do you know how grave the actions you''ve done, Jeema?" Eorphin asked her. "He was a werewolf! He tried to kill us," Jeema retorted. Those who overheard were a bit shocked at the boldness she bore to speak back to the goddess. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. "That''s beyond the point! You killed his son. You killed Henry today," she rebuked. She pressed her nose into her, like how one pokes another with their finger. "Henry is dead. He''s been dead long before today," Jeema countered. Eorphin snarled at her. "He was alive before today!" She roared. She was displeased at her attitude. "You''re coming with me, and you''re going to apologize." "Wha-" Before she could retaliate, Eorphin held her by the collar. Jeema dangled from her mouth as she was carried out of the tent. There were healers that tried to stop her, but she only bulled through them. She told them that this was more important than trying to heal her. She carried her over the road, heading east, towards the burnt-down house. That was where they last saw Renard. Eorphin felt anxious within. Her relationship with Renard was strained as it is, and she didn''t want it to completely snap with today''s event. Every step she took on her way was taken with the absolute surety of her decision. Eventually, they came upon the remains of his humble home. A pile of ash and charcoal was in place of the wooden house that once stood there. Upon the burnt remains of the house was a man, frantically digging among the ruins for relics. The things he had rescued and saved were placed in a pile outside the perimeter of his once-standing home. Various knick-knacks were collected, from still useful tools to shiny rocks. Most notable were a large latchbox, a pile of art supplies, a seared crutch, and a cracked urn. Eorphin dropped Jeema to the ground. Upon hitting the ground, she yelped as pain coursed through her flesh. She ordered her to stand straight and still and look straight at the desperate man. Eventually, the man turned and saw the two standing there, looking at him. The desperate expression on its face shattered and chilled into an emotionless look. His eyes were glued upon the girl that had caused him great grief that day. The pieces of charcoal he had in his arms were dropped as displeasure bubbled in his gut at the sight of her. He strode to them. They let him speak first. "Hello, Jeema Graves. Hello, Eorphin Puppylight," he greeted. "Hi, Renard Greymight," Eorphin responded. "It''s been a while." Jeema was quite surprised at this interaction. She turned to her divine companion and asked, "You know each other?" She turned to the hero. "Yes. We were partners a long time ago. However, we experienced a falling out that caused us to drift apart." "Partners... That''s a good way to put our affair," Renard commented. "Yes, I suppose it is. It''s a bit a shame that it didn''t work out," Eorphin agreed. "Shame indeed," he grumbled. "What do you want?" Eorphin opened her wings and pushed forward the girl that stood beside her. "I want her to apologize to you." The two of them turned to the girl. Jeema felt like shrinking under their combined gaze. Their expectations mounted upon her. "I- I''m sorry. I''m sorry for the loss of your son," she let out her mouth. She felt a wing of Eorphin hit her at the back of her head. "Again, but with feeling," she told her. Jeema struggled to form the words. All she did was for the truth. She shouldn''t be apologizing. She was right. "I-- I ask for forgiveness for the thing I have done to Henry. Please accept my apology." Renard frowned. "I reject your apology. It''s not enough. I demand a better apology." "I can''t! I shouldn''t be apologizing to you. Henry''s been dead for over a year. I refuse to apologize for something right," Jeema reasoned. Renard''s grimace deepened. "You really don''t understand us," he sighed. "Angar was much closer to Henry, but somehow you''re more fervent in mourning him. Henry''s godfather had popped out of the aether to literally smack down the gravity of your actions, but you were relentless." Eorphin smacked the girl to the ground. "You''re hopeless," she groaned. "Please realize that this will reflect badly on your legend. It''s young you know." "Aren''t you treating her way too harsh, dear Eorphin?" Renard told Eorphin. His voice was soft as he spoke at his old friend. "No, it needs to be hammered home how bad her actions have been," she answered. "I suppose so," he remarked. Eorphin turned to the man and prepared herself for her next words. "However I too am here to apologize." "Why?" "It may be my fault for your son''s fate to end this way," she answered. Renard''s eyes narrowed. "Please elaborate." "We went around the nearby villages to look for potential heroes. Then we came to this village, Kelry. I wanted to choose you because you were the best hero I could remember, but you were too old for our criteria, so I chose what I thought was the next best thing: your son, Henry Greymight," she explained. Great feeling forged those words. "I don''t know whether to feel angry that you were the catalyst of his death or be flattered that you think I''m the most heroic guy you''ve met. I forgive you," Renard remarked. He seemed amused. Eorphin smiled. "Yes, you are. The heroes we are grooming at the temple have nothing on you." He chuckled at that comment. "I suppose it''s been a while since I did some heroing. Say, what about a hunting trip? Just for old times sake." Eorphin''s smile widened at that offering. "I would love to." Renard approached the wolf and patted her by the neck. His eyes widened as he felt the texture of her fur. "Oh dear me! I forgot how fluffy you were!" He exclaimed. Eorphin only laughed at his expression. A Companions Undying Loyalty Master. Where are you? It''s been months, maybe years. I used to feel the warmth of your presence blooming in my mind, but now you felt so distant and cold. I''ve heard your call, but I''m sorry I''ve been too slow to come soon. My body now lay crumpled beneath the detritus of the swamp, crumpled and rotting. My flesh had sloughed off my bones, but that was fine. I had little need of it this time. All these flesh organs had been holding back in finding you. Where the flesh had failed, my spirit will do. My spirit, it animates me. When all else has fallen, it shall give life to what should be dying. Even if all that remains of me is bones, I can continue forward, to see you. But... But I feel so tired. It may not be enough. Your light in my mind is fading every day. I feel my spirit weakening at the thought of your oncoming demise, not even there to protect you, to aid you at your most need. I... I want to close my eyes and shut myself from the light so that I may not see it being extinguished. I shouldn''t; it''s the last few things that give me life anymore. I keep my eyes open. I need to see your light, even if it pains me that it''s fading. I''m sorry. I couldn''t protect you or your holdings. All your friends, other companions, and pets, I failed them. The walls had fallen. Your walls had fallen, letting them in into your bastion. They were too numerous, an army of dead animated by foul magics. With flesh of rotting green and bleached white bone, they marched into your homestead, overwhelming us. The pale ones, they''re evil. You were away that day. At first, I was happy that you were far away from the castle, but my heart sank when I saw your light flicker in the distance. They had also taken you. They were not only assaulting here, they were also assaulting you. The pale ones, they play with life and death. They play with souls, beyond what is acceptable. Azure stones, fonts of magic, souls of the dead, they desecrate them to create their colossi. Don''t they see the ruins all around, the temples and castles of civilizations long past? They really are the successors of the ancient peoples. We have seen the relics of their civilization. They played with things beyond their understanding, things beyond what they ought to be messing with. Their creations were great, they bore magics and technology paralleled by only a few. They tainted the world with their foul creations, affecting even other civilizations. A crisis that was still yet to end to this very day. It was hubris that fell them. Do the pale ones desire to step in the hubristic path as the ancient ones? I reckon they do, and they''re looking into ways of circumventing the same fate that had befallen the ancients. Huh. I''m tired. They better fall like right now. They need an apocalypse. They better not be there anywhere when I wake up. ... ... ?! Master? You... you''re alright! The light you''re emitting is brighter than ever! Did you win against the monsters they have wrought? Or have you found a way to turn the tides against them? No matter, the thought of you surviving simply fills me with life. It invigorated my spirit that had grown lethargic from your fading light. Northeast you went! I will find you. These bones that have gone inanimate from the grief and despair shall rise again. And so I rise. I rise from the detritus and peat that my body had been buried. I arise from the soft sediment of my grave to face your direction. Your light guides me. It shines like a lighthouse, guiding my steps. It lights a path glowing, for me to follow. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. My master. Your light calls to me. I hear your voice carried over the distance by the glowing star. This warrants a celebration... a celebration I can''t hold. No! I shake my head at that thought. My journey towards your embrace is the celebration in itself. Every step I take will be a party. "Ahhh!" Oh. There''s a woman here. She''s fallen to her butt in fright of my appearance. I suppose that a creature rising from the dirt like an undead would would have that effect. Though I have to wonder why a face of terror is painted on her visage. She looks likes she''s looking at an unholy abomination. I look into the water and what I saw shocked me to my core. I''m hideous. I jump back at the sight of my reflection staring back at me. I... It reflects the features of my form: a skeleton enfleshed with dirt and peat. Vegetation grew upon my back like a coat of slimy matted fur. Inset upon my eye sockets was a pair of flaming orbs; they burned with a ghostly blue glow as they granted me vision beyond the need of eyes. I... I turn to the woman and see her hide behind some tree. I can''t see her anymore, but her presence lingered in the air. I could hear her heart beating faster in her chest and smell the fear wafting from her form. I haven''t come here to bring terror and strife, yet that''s what I have wrought here. I tried to come close to her, but she only whimpered when I came an inch closer towards her direction. Her screams could attract the attention of creatures more terrible than myself. I... I shake my head. The creature the woman sees in me is irrelevant to my quest. I turn my fiery eyes to the northeast. There, beyond the wild swamp, I could see a mountain range rising. Its granite cliffs popped against the dark night sky. The wonderful stars and crescent moon floats up high, giving light to an otherwise lifeless sky. Snow and glaciers cap the peaks with white brilliance. However, their light wasn''t the light I sought. Beyond the mountains, beyond the mines they bear, was your light, the light of my master, shining in my mind''s eye. It shines in my mind twinkling, beckoning me towards its direction. It warms my heart to see your light shine with a great healthy glow. But as I take the first step towards the light, your guiding light flickered. Your luminosity dropped, lower than it was before. My heart sinks in the same way your light have sunk. The sight fills me with fear. Worry overtakes my heart, willing my eyes to let out my nonexistent tears. A slew of things gushes from my mind. They range from the totally benign and harmless to the insidious and virulent. The things my mind conjured from that small spot of light being taken away have frightened even itself. The creatures and scenarios that have floated to the forefront of my mind were maddening. Your safety and well-being are paramount concerns to me. The things I have thought of and the things my mind has conjured were terrifying pieces of art: tentacled monsters of the deep rising to the surface to shatter your vessel; ancient railways collapsing over a great yawning chasm; strapped to a table surrounded by pale ones preparing for their dark rituals; a sea of the unholy legions of the undead rolling in like a tide of doom; an encounter with an abomination borne by the damned souls doomed to walk an ancient graveyard. With each and every dark fantasy born from anxiety, my knees grow weak. My bones shake from the notion of a fatal accident where I''m not by my master''s side. Fear dilutes the essence of my spirit, gnawing upon the strands of determination that puppeteers my form. The light in my eyes flickers the same way your light has flickered. I... I cannot take on the world without you. Please be safe. I have swum across the seas and rivers and will swim some more to get to you. The mountains are not barriers, and the forests offer no obstacle. I will follow your light until I will come to your side. My spirit will not lose determination. I refuse to die not by your side, even if all that''s left of you is ashes in a grave. Stay strong, master. I am coming. I run. I swim. The muddy waters of the swamp stand hinder me little as I rush to your rescue beyond the mountains. I weave between the trees as I trudged through the wetland as fast as I could. You''re in mortal danger, and I know it. I just don''t know whether I''ll get to your side fast enough for it to matter. Though I suppose me being on your side is reason enough. The stars witness me. The mountains lay far, but my now untiring body reaches its base in hours time. I look up upon the craggy cliffs and hold the breath I no longer take. The snows that lay upon these granite peaks will not hinder my journey. I shall come. I shall serve. My loyalty is unbreaking. My self undying, fueled by my faith, fueled by my zeal. I shall aide with the best of my ability, as I have always done. Though distance has hindered my ability to do so, I will ensure the curse of distance will soon no longer afflict us. I stare up the snowy precipice. Their mortal dangers do not scare me. The glaciers and mountainous crevasses that pile before my path will be surmounted. Your light guides me. It gives me strength. It gives me life. My loyalty unto you is unbreakable. And thus, I am undying. Master, your light guides me. Please stay strong. Your most loyal companion is on its way, expediting its journey to your side. The Fireshaper builds a Monstrous Machine Do you know of the fireshaper? The fireshaper was the one who came to town with a bright burning ambition. The blaze of his desires burns as hot as the forges, to soften the iron of the future. He aspires to change the world with his creations, to inspire the peoples of this world with the wonders he had wrought. So he often comes to town showing trinkets. He gallivants across the square in a cheap red robe. It''s meant to imitate the tuxedos showmen and gentlemen wore. His coattails flapped as he dances around the square. He lifts his red fez as he showed his wares to the visiting folk. His display delights the people that come for his act. He shows the many inventions that he had designed. "Hello folks of Grimsby," he sings in the square. "I have come to show you the wonder of my inventions." He once showed to them a spoon that heats up your. You place it in your bowl, and it would know if it''s cold. It instilled upon the liquid the power of the sun. By minutes time, the soup will return to its delicious heated form. On another day, he showed to them, a shoe that lets you run across the town with less steps than would normally suffice. The wheels he attached upon its sole lets the folk slide with ease. The people could run to their workshops fresh and quick. It''s treated too with special waxes and oils to keep it dry in rain, to let it slide on a dime, and to keep its axles slippery and slidey for years to come. Just the week past, he tried to sell them carpet that stays heated in the coldest reach of winter. It absorbs the rays of the sun when hung in the summer days. However, it must be kept away from rain lest the warmth it stored be washed away. Once wintertimes come, it may be laid flat upon the floor, and soon your family may lay atop warm and cozy. There were many inventions and crafts the fireshaper had crafted, but they remain as niche novelty even after the years. His innovations may have warmed the heart and homes of the many villagers he had met, his creations still remain niche novelty trinkets that were to be bought as luxuries. While the quality and quantity of his crafts have been steadily rising with year, his ambitions flared, and now he wished to surpass his dream, to fulfill it with the greatest creation he will make ever. So for five years, he disappeared into his cave. Even the villagers that had become regulars to his show dance had wondered where he had gone. Rumours tell of him being attacked in the woods to him moving his show to another town, but both were proven untrue. They could the smoke rising from the awnings of his cave. They could hear the loud ringing of his hammer striking. He was there, working on his next great invention. He was working on his project day and night. He would hammer the metal plates until his arms had become sore. He meticulously worked his pieces until they became the shape he desired. His flames braided within his hearth as he softened his metal for ease of shaping. He poured his whole life''s ambition into the flames and watched it roar. It roared, roaring in defiance at the cage which imprisons it. The fireshaper used this roaring flame to soften the metals which he needed to shape. He showed no mercy to the defiant blaze. This fire, although nursed by the aspirations he had brewed in his heart, was just another tool, a wild animal that understood little of its purpose. This fire ought to be contained, lest it consumes the world with its twisted passions. Many an alchemist and inventor have fallen to their unsustainable passions. Soon, his magnum opus, his obra maestra, his masterpiece would be assembled and made whole. From the carefully arranged screws, rivets, plates, and especially shaped metal, his grand creation would be born. The assembly took him many hours, and perhaps even days. He poured his soul into the project. He literally cut a piece from his soul to inhabit his great machine. He prepared the essential oils and alchemicals to prepare the christening of his machine. He poured this mixture into the chassis of his machine and greased thoroughly each part with his specially prepared ointment. He stepped back from his creation and watched its lifeless form. There was only one more step to go. He put out his hand and flicked and snapped. The sound rang throughout his cave. A spark jump from his finger and into the open maw of his grand creation. It took a piece of his soul, an essential piece that would complete his creation, and his creation was ensouled. His magnum opus was complete and now he stands before the grand visage of his creation. He watched the furnaces within fill with blazes. Its heart began pumping, spreading the gift of fiery life throughout the machine. The joints creaked as the beast ascertained its first decisions. The eyes in its head blazed alive, filled with intelligent fire. The fireshaper laughed as it watched the machine come to life. The looked down upon its merry creator, revelling in the joy of creation. Curiosity burned within its fledgeling mind as it tried to understand the creature that laughing before it. <|::=o=::|> It was an overcast day in the village of Grimsby when something ominous had come to visit. The fireshaper had come with a companion. Upon his side was a monstrous thing, a thing they had never seen with him before. It stood almost twice his height and was composed of metal plates. Its insides were glowing hot, burning with intense flames. A pair of lenses were flush into the monster''s head which was constantly looking around. If it weren''t for the leash, it might have wandered off, smelling the flowers. The fireshaper wore a large smile on his face. There was a bit of soot on his suit, but he didn''t care. He was simply too excited to unveil his creation. Despite his body sore and tired after endless hours of toiling, his burning spirit urged him forward, urged him to make his dream a reality. His invention was going to be the invention that''s going to blow every other invention he had shown. They stand in the center of the square. The fireshaper happily shows his creation to the crowd. They were wary of the metallic monstrosity the fireshaper had wrought, but he had told them many times that the thing was harmless. The villagers could be understood to fear the beastly machine. It stood a storey tall and bore eyes that bathed the square with hor fiery light. It helps matters less that it bored its eyes into the forms of the villagers, absorbing every detail that comes of its interest. The fireshaper claims that the creature here could make any they desire. He had brought much material from his cave so that his machine would have the material needed to produce anything. To demonstrate the crafting capabilities of his creation, he had thrown scrap metal and wooden planks and told his creation to make some furniture. And so the monstrous forge did. The mysterious components of the great machine whirred and banged and it produced the items his master had desired. It analyzed the thoughts and words of its customer and formulated the best ways items could be produced. As those thoughts were finalized, the products roll out its mouth. It was a set of simple furniture made of wood and metal. Several villagers were quite impressed by the demonstration that they paid the fireshaper to let them use his machine. He threw more wood, metal, and cloth into the beast''s gullet and let them tell the machine their desired item. They asked for a number of things: a cast iron, a ten-yard metal rod, a sawing horse, a clothesline (with drying clothes); the machine was able to produce them as the folk have envisioned. One boy tried to trick the machine by not telling his desire. The boy had paid to stand before the grand machine and demanded it to create it an untold item. "Make me the stuff I want," the boy said. The fireshaper tried to stop him, to change his request, but the boy was adamant with his decisions. When a pile of twelve bowls filled with noodle soup rolled out, the boy began to cry. The machine knew. It knew exactly what he wanted, down to the number and their contents. The moment a person was to stand beneath the soulful firelight of the monster''s eyes, the desires lingering in the heads of the people were made before the monster. The villagefolk had become distressed at this realization. Many of them fled and hid far away from the machine''s gaze. The fireshaper had to close shop early that day just to quell the worries of the folk. He too was distressed of the machine, but for other reasons. A few folk had approached his grand creation and asked it things it couldn''t produce: a golden crown, an undulling blade, and a silver star plucked from the sky. The machine had to be stopped lest it breaks trying to make these impossible things. So for the next week, toil consumed him as he worked to make his great creation even greater than it already was. He spent endless hours and sleepless nights to make his creation approach closer to perfection. He had arrived at the square again with his great machine in tow, but this time, he appeared paler. The cadence of his voice was off, and the grace of his legs faltered at times. The villagers were concerned by the symptoms they see, but the fireshaper assured them that he was fine. He did a little jig and threw a little fire to demonstrate this fact. The villagers weren''t sure whether to believe him or not. However, as much as his health seemed to deteriorate, the fire that glows within him simply glowed a little brighter. The ambition that burned brightly in his chest burned ever hotter to realize his aspiration. Completion, perfection, and adaptation of his great creation. The flames within the furnaces danced with the song of their soul. He claimed that his machine could now make items with enchanted items. He danced in their midst as he showed them his changes to the great machine he''d assembled. The machine seemed unchanged on the outside, but on the inside, it had become more ornate and arcane. Even the fireshaper, the one who created and designed the machine, could barely understand the goings-on within the chassis. The fire, the magic, and the components obscure the mechanisms and processes that occur inside. The spin and turn and hammer in motions the eye could barely follow. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. The villagers had become afraid of approaching the machine after learning of the fact of last week. The machine could read their minds to create their desired item. The fireshaper had danced and sung to entice them his way, assuring them with complete sincerity that the machine he had created was completely safe. He had to dance and sing for a long time before a villager had grown bold enough to approach him and his monstrous machine. He paid a few golds to the fireshaper and stepped under the glowing gaze of the great creation. He calmed his breath as the heat from the machine seeped through his flesh. He opened his mouth and said, "I want a knife that would fly to my hand whenever I called." The fireshaper tapped on the machine, and it promptly began to produce what he desires. The machine began to shake as its inner mechanisms began to whir to life. The fire within chassis, trapped within kilns and furnaces, danced to the rhythm of its soul. Something hammers a piece of metal that within, and soon, a finished product escaped its maw. It was an immaculate steel knife, engraved with complex runes and glyphs. The customer could feel the bond between it and him. He looked up to the machine and watched it graze the top of his mind and mediate the bonding between him and the knife. Suddenly, he knew how to call the knife to his hand and was immediately excited to try it. He raised his hand forward and called it by name, "Rolf''s Knife, come to me!" Yes, it was rather plain, but the machine had elected to choose something inoffensive. Upon the sounding of its name, the knife rose from its resting state upon the cobbles of the square. It flew through the air until it placed its handle upon the customer''s palm. He was satisfied. Seeing the great machine spit out a magical artifact, many others were emboldened. Attracted by the prospect of receiving highly the enchanted items of their desires, the villagers came close. One by one, they formed a line to try to realize their dream item. For the cost of a few golds, they were able to get magical artifacts for relatively cheap. A jug that never runs out of water. A pan that cleans its frying oil. A jar that never lets its contents spoil. A shovel that vibrates when something golden goes underneath it. The monstrous machine had become the talk of the town for weeks. The fireshaper brought the machine to the square every week and a long line would form in front of it. He had never stopped improving it, continuing to better it in the intervening times when he restocked its materials. First, it was only able to create simple inanimate objects, but after a few iterations, he was able to make it able to assemble lesser machines such as self-powered coaches and mechanical abaci. Then it was able to marvels of magic and engineering that almost rivaled itself. Almost, but never actually surpassing. In time, the news of this marvelous machine that could spit out magical artifacts like candy spread. At first, it was just the nearby villages and towns visiting after hearing a rumour, but soon, the entire country had overheard about the fireshaping machine of Grimsby. People flocked to this place, taking a pilgrimage just to see the machine work its wonders. The village grew as people took up shop to cater to the wants and needs of the pilgrims who have come to see the machine. The machine had to become bigger, grander, just so it could accommodate the demand of the people. The fireshaper was ecstatic. A pile of gold had begun to form within his bedroom, but never quite grew into a mountain. Just as quick as his riches piled, so did his expenses rise. He had to buy more materials for the incoming demand, and sometimes he had to leave early after the grand machine ran out. The exotic materials and books he had to requisition to exalt his machine further would be ruinous were it not for the growing machine. Even though his machine was plenty big, it still grew and grew over time. The fireshaper continued to work on it, working on it so that it may be better, greater, grander, more perfect. Once it had stood like an elephant in the village square, now it had to lay outside the village just so it may not smash any house. It was a palace in which within was a workshop worked by flames. The fire that roiled within glowed with fierce intensity. It was a great heart that warmed the coldest winter day as though it was the middle of summer. It moved with much greater grace, becoming more accustomed to its form and more alive than the inanimate metal it was shaped from. As the machine grew and grew, becoming better, becoming greater, becoming perfect, the fireshaper seemed to go in the opposite direction. With every day that passed, the fireshaper seemed to become weaker and weaker. His dances became briefer and his songs became less spirited. Eventually, those he stopped doing either and now only sat by his dear great machine, seemingly perpetually tired. His complexion glowed an unhealthy grey, but the fire that burned behind his eyes never went away. His smile never left his face. As time passed, it looked less like him carrying his creation and more like his creation dragging him along. In the past, he would be the one leading the machine to the village, but recently, the machine took the lead and pulled him by the leash. He no longer tended to the lines of the people dropping their desires into the machine. He lay weak and practically dying, leaning on his magnum opus. He seemed delirious, dangerous, with his unkempt hair and manic smile. He often praised his creation, his greatest creation, continuing-to-be-greater creation. He can be seen kissing and practically worshipping the monstrous machine like a deity. Nobody was able to approach him. Some were able, but not long after, the machine would send a few of its mechanical arms to drag them away. Most of the words that come out his mouth were simply songs of praises to the machine. Eventually, the machine started coming alone. The fireshaper no longer tagged along with it. The fate of the fireshaper would be left unknown. The ignorant visitors that came to see the great machine would forget that once upon a time, there was a genius that built the behemoth machine that now stood before them. Many of them had never known its creator, only knowing the big dumb thing that could do wonders. But a few never forgot. Many people that had originally lived in Grimsby had since moved away, unappreciative of the inflow of outsider folk, but some did remain such as businessfolk and stubborn folk. The village had grown, swelling beyond its original limits. Gone were quaint wooden houses, replaced with opulent multi-storey buildings housing large businesses rich folk. Only a few of them still remembered when the fireshaper still danced and sang. There''s this young girl who wanted to see and hear him one last time. His songs had been so full of hope and joy and she wished to hear them once again after all this time. She was eight years old when the fireshaper first sang and danced in their square, and now she''s twenty-eight, gazing upon the monster he''d wrought, reminiscing of the times when in its place was the joyful jig of the fireshaper. It was eight years ago when the fireshaper stopped singing and four years ago when he disappeared entirely. She now stood outside the firshaper''s cave abode. Many could approach the cave abode of the fireshaper, but none could enter it. This time, she managed to sneak in. The great machine wasn''t guarding the entrance. She would find the fireshaper and personally ask him to dance and sing. The fireshaper''s home was an absolutely large cavern littered with many metal and wooden scraps. There were piles of metal ingots, planks, and bolts of cloth piled into neat mounds. The great chamber was lit by the dim low light of the furnaces. It seems like that the fireshaper enjoyed little else than the joy of creation. Besides the necessities such as a bathroom and a soft bed, there was little else here that betrayed information of the fireshaper''s other activities. All that she could see was something that he used in the creation of his devices. Anvils, barrels, hammers, and vises; they were strewn about, placed in strategic locations where they''re most used. As she wandered about in his abode, she would soon find him plopped upon a desk. She quietly approached him. When she came to his side, she was rather horrified of what she had seen. The fireshaper was deathly pale; his skin had turned into a stony grey. His body was very thin, very few stringy muscles were attached to his lean limbs. She looked into his eyes, she found them empty and asleep although she could see them wide open. Drool leaked out his mouth, staining the paper he had been laying his head on. She went forward to touch him and found him frigid cold. It was like touching cold bare metal left in the open in the middle of winter. His breathing and heartbeat were slow and laborious. The pencil in his hand scrawled uninspired scribbles in place of the magnificent designs he once was able to make on a whim. The fire that had once burned behind his eyes had been extinguished, leaving behind the ashes and soot of the spirit that had been burned away. The fireshaper in her arms was a soulless husk. Suddenly, she was made aware of a strange warmth that had surrounded her. No, a strange warm light. The cavern she was in was actually filled with light. It was why she was able to see the contents of the cavern despite the absence of illumination. There was an illuminator here, and it had decided to not let her realize its presence while she explored. She turned and she found herself face to face to the fireshaper''s magnum opus, the magnificent monstrous machine. The one that forged the dreams of people and thaumaturge of many desirables. It loomed over her, bearing its house-sized head over her. Its many mechanical arms flitted around, moving about materials from the outside and products from the inside. It looked down upon her with its great burning lenses like a great malevolent deity. She was frozen in place. Fear held a tight grip on her heart. It amused the machine to see her squirm neath its glowing vision. All the whirring and hammering that was going on within it stopped as it prepared something. A mechanical arm was brought down to her, carrying a box with a crank and piece of paper. As she was instructed, she turned the crank. The top of the box opened, revealing a figure dressed in a red tuxedo and fez. It had the likeness of the fireshaper. As she continued to crank, the figure began to dance. Guided by arcane mechanisms she could not understand, the figure danced and twirled like a real living thing. It moved with the same grace and energy as the fireshaper had when he first visited the village. It''s as if it had captured the essence of the fireshaper. Moreover, the box didn''t simply dance, it also sang. A miniature orchestra was enclosed within its wooden case, and it played the usual tune the fireshaper sang. The music it played was greatly familiar to her, and the instrumental accompaniment to his lyrics had elevated original, surpassing the original songs in her head. The silence of the great machine ceased as its inner mechanisms began to hammer and whir. It hammered and whirred in accordance to the rhythm of the music. It brought bass undertones to the sharp notes of the music. She couldn''t stop cranking the box; she yearned to hear all of it, but there was no end. The box seemingly made new compositions on the go. The song didn''t loop, it created more and more original music as she went. She turned to the creator of the device in her hand. It loomed over her. It seemed amused in her enjoyment. The longer she looked into the fire burning behind its eyes, the more familiar it seemed. The ambition and passion burning in its hearths was deeply familiar to her; it was similar to the fire she sees in the fireshaper. The fiery soul inspiriting this grand machine was incredibly similar to the fireshaper''s, but it was distinct in very key ways. The fireshaper had no family, no children, no wife, but he was married to his passion, and the machine, the deific creature that stood before her was his lovechild. He had poured everything into this machine, including his soul, and now the flames that had once burned within him now ensoul and inspirit his grandest creation. The flames of passion and ambition had burned so bright that it had burned everything the fireshaper had held dear, but his passionate flames would live on, blazing eternally, ensouling the machine. She signs the contract. The Candy Kobolds need a Hero In the middle of the Salty Sea lies Candy Island. This island is a wondrous place where chocolate grows on boughs of trees and sugar compose the lofty peaks. The rivers that carve these lands flow with citrus instead of freshwater. The forests bear the sweetest fruits, from mangoes, apples, and cherries to durians, lanzones, and rambutans. The fields hold host to various delicious plants such as peanuts, roses, lavender, cinnamon, and sugar cane. These lands are rife with sweets. The candy kobolds call this island home. Marzipan make their flesh, and sugar crystal make their scales. Soft gummy feathers grow around their necks as they grow up, covering their heads and necks in a fuzzy coat. The tribes one belonged could be traced from the color of their scales. Those who belong to the tribe of Vetlu often sport butterscotch scales with green apple gumdrop feathers. Cherry red scales and blueberry gummy feathers feature prominently on those who belong to the tribe of Juzma. Those belonging to the tribe of Eprarme groom purple grape scales and orange tamarind plumage. Those of the Mizike tribe worry about scales of brown coffee and feathers of lavender. The tribe of Iskra is blest with cyan mint scales and yellow lemon fuzz. Those that had been born in households between tribes will inherit one flavorful color from each of their parents. They have lived on this beautiful island for generations, untouched by outside influences. They have arrived on this rich island so long ago that the surviving tribes no longer remembered it. Legend has it that it was the gods that had molded them from the sweet earth. Their gods had created the five tribes to their image. They had built many impressive monuments, ziggurats and monoliths, for their gods. Upon the walls of their structures were detailed the personalities of their gods and the prayers to be said to them. Zarvo the Sour is said to have her whole being be made of sour lemon candy. Mists of zest spill from her maw, and a rain of citrus continually dripped from her wings. She bore claws and fangs that burned all that she touched. She was worshipped as a god of water and rain, and the kobolds prayed to her for rain dry times and clean water during wet times. She was the one to give Eprarme and Iskra their tamarind and lemon feathers. Ketoskoi the Hot is said to have body engulfed in flames. In his veins flowed hot sauce hotter than the sun. It is said that it was in his breath where the first kobolds were cooked. The sun is said to shine because Ketoskoi bequeaths it a drop of his blood everyday so it may shine bright and hot. He rests during the winter months where the world is cold. The kobolds give plenty of sacrifices to Ketoskoi in winter to make him strong enough to get through the next summer. He was the one to give Mizike and Iskra their scales of coffee and mint. Sevnais the Sweet is said to have a body made of braided cinnamon branches. She has acacia trees for branches, and honey is said to flow through her veins. Many legends tell of her governance over nature, designing the many trees and plants which bear fruit on the island. She is worshipped by the kobolds as the one who brings abundant harvests from their fields, forests, and plantations. She is also worshipped as a fertility deity, and her symbol, the acacia fruit, is sometimes taken as an aphrodisiac. She is the one to give Vetlu and Juzma their apple feathers and cherry scales. Metalio the Cold is said to be a serpentine being made of ice that encircled the entire sea. It is said that his body stretches from the ocean to the heavens above. He is the one to tether the moon to the earth, and the tides are said to be his body dipping in and out of the ocean. Sacrifices are offered to him so that his hold upon the heavens wouldn''t weaken. It is said the earthquakes and tsunamis are caused by him losing grip on the moon. He is the one who gave Juzma and Eprarme their blueberry feathers and grape scales. Yorda the Strong is said to have a body like a mountain. Their arms were of a substance harder than rock, and inset their eye sockets was a pair of stairs that glowed brighter than any other in the sky. They were said to pull the world across the cosmos. They were the one to cause the days to turn and the years to pass. It is said that all the other gods nursed on their teats and acquired an infinitesimal portion of their divine strength. The kobolds worshipped them for their strength and often prayed for them to grant them a portion of their divine power. They were the one to give Vetlu and Mizike their butterscotch scales and lavender feathers. All the kobold tribes have lived on this island for generations in harmony. Little conflict between them occurred, but it''s all about to change when the invaders came to shore. They''re strange people coming from distant lands with flesh made of meat. Where everything on the island oozed with sweetness, the blood of the invaders are laden with salt. They have come to the island not to trade but to steal the treasure borne here. The kobold tribes tried to repel the invading force, but their weapons were no match to the might of their of their adversaries. Where they bore spears, swords, and daggers crafted from the finest fruit woods and sharpest crystals, their enemies brought with them weapons made from iron and steel. Such items had never been discovered on the island before and it was a slaughter. Their weapons, harder than any other substance that could be found there, cleaved through their defenses like a raindrop through the air. The air stank with the sweet scent of spilled blood. The invaders waded through their home, razing their homes to ashes and setting fire to their forests. They didn''t try to understand the kobolds. As they plundered their home beneath their feet, they sneered and insulted them while waving weapons crafted from substances the natives could scarcely understand. They called them "kobolds" after their folklore of little goblins that ruin masonry. They called them so and forced them to call themselves so, and in the years that passed by, the name to their race as given by their gods was lost. Their tribes were shattered with the assault of the invaders. Vetlu was first to fall. Most of their settlements lay near the sea, vulnerable sea invasion. They were decimated, losing all their able-bodied fighters. All that was left was the women, children, and infirm. Some of them had been captured to turn the invader''s wheels of industry. The tribe of Juzma managed to receive most of those that had escaped the terrible fate, and the others were small pickings for the other tribes. One by one, the invaders felled the tribes. Juzma then Eprarme then Iskra, they had failed against the assault of the invading force. Their wood and crystal weaponry were no match to their metal. The last tribe, Mizike, had seen all the other tribes failing against the oppressive force of the invaders. The gods had heard the kobold''s pleas. The kobolds have given copious prayers and sacrifices for the gods to ravage the invaders with storms, disease, and earthquakes, but even with their intervention, they hadn''t deterred the relentless invaders. Mizike and the surviving members of the other tribes retreated to Ketemite, the sacred city of their gods. This was where they''ve built their largest ziggurats and monoliths so that their gods could see and hear their pleas. They''ve huddled up their remaining forces to make the city a great bastion against the invading force. Mizike dissolved the remaining members of all the other tribes into their ranks, creating the new unified tribe of Temeshingka. The invaders had come to plunder and steal. The foreign substances, metals, iron and steel, they boggled the minds of the kobolds. They were harder than any crystal that could be found on the island yet not a bit brittle. Instead of shattering when hit too hard, the substance would bend like a piece of taffy. The substance was scarce, nonexistent on the island, especially gold. This revelation angered the invaders. They had come to steal the riches endemic to this island. They searched far and wide, high and low, yet they couldn''t find an ounce of precious metal. Acres upon acres of fertile land, perfect for growing a number of crops and trees; boatloads of sugar, salt, and spice could be exported everyday; crates upon crates of coffee, cocoa, and herbs could be brought overseas; but not a bit of gold, silver, or platinum. This had put the invaders into a fit of rage. They had burst through their sacred city of Ketemite, the last bastion to koboldkind. It had stood stalwart for a year or two against the influx of invaders, but that was the day that it would fall. The city burned, and its streets were sickly sweet and disgustingly sticky. The gingerbread and whipped cream that composed their temples were set ablaze, creating great columns of black smoke that could be seen for miles. They broke apart their great monuments, the ziggurats and monoliths, brick by brick and stone by stone, destroying a crucial link to their gods. Their high priests were taken and sold overseas as slaves. The surviving kobolds had to flee, flee further inland into the dark rainforests and craggy cliffs where the invaders were surely unable to follow swiftly. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. The kobolds had become lost and hopeless. Without their temples, their gods had become distant. They swear they once could hear their roars over the wind, but now, the winds carried not a note of their cries. The kobolds had been utterly beaten. Their weapons and implements were inferior to whatever the invaders had brought to bear. Their beautiful island home was being defiled by their vile designs. The forests and fields of fruit and spice was being cleared to make way for farms not worked by invasive hands but by kobold hands slaved under fear and force. They had no guidance. Their priests have fallen. All their sacred treasures have been destroyed alongside the destruction of Ketemite: their sacred texts and artifacts, all fed to vengeful flames. They had to flee further inland, and some resigned to fleeing underground. They had to flee into the wet rainforest that covers the inner reaches of the island whereupon the forest floor gathers little light. There, the invasive force wouldn''t be able to follow them as far. Their gods were appalled at the fate befalling their dear creations. They wished to incarnate and tread alongside their followers, but they feared that bringing their whole being down below will only exacerbate the problem or simply destroy the island. Zarvo and Sevnais had to be restrained by their fellows lest their presence send the jungles berserk and rain acid from the sky. Their gods went silent as they plotted in their divine realm while they sent storms and waves against the invaders to set them back and test the waters. They looked and thought for many years, but a plan that would help their creations against invasion hadn''t come up yet. One evening when the kobolds came around a large bonfire. Every week, they would light a fire and bask in its light and heat. The purpose was so that the kobolds could socialize and lift each other''s spirit, but their spirits could only be lifted so high before the weight and gravity of the situation would bring everything down. "Uaghsuah!" One of the kobolds broke down as he drank his booze, sitting in front of the fire. This was Eilu, one of the foremost scouts of Temeshingka. He was part of the groups who looked out for the movements of the invaders upon their land. The things they have seen had broken their hearts. Where their homes had once stood, there were farmlands being tended by enslaved kobolds. They tilled the fertile land for the cultivation of flax, jute, and cotton. Their invasive masters only looked at them pitilessly as the kobolds worked upon their stolen lands. The kobolds were miserable, working under the heat of the sun with their backs filled with wounds from whips. They could hardly recognize each other as their bare flesh was exposed as their scales and feathers had been pulled out to be sold. Their eyes were glazed over, their souls longing to leave their vessels as they oftentimes looked up to the sky and wait for the invisible hands of their gods to take them away. Calm now, Eilu," another kobold comforted him. She was an often partner to the grieving kobold. "I will not be calm," Eilu cried. He threw his flagon, still half full with booze. "This predicament, I can''t take it anymore. We can''t keep hiding like this. They keep moving forward, mowing more of the Great Forest. Soo, there would be nowhere else to hide." "Shh, now. Surely, the gods will find us a way," she said. "They have blest us with frequent storms these years. I''m sure they''re finding a way." "Oh don''t you talk about the gods that, Kikirike," a kobold remarks. "They might be looking for a way to get us out of our predicament, we might be dead before they ever find a solution." "Oh don''t you start, Velu," she growled. "Start what? It''s been years, Kikirike. Twelve years now, and the gods haven''t found a solution that will turn the tides to our favor," Velu answered. The booze dripped from his lips. "Oh," Kikirike was silenced. She couldn''t rebut that. "Forget the gods. What we need is to get off the island," another kobold butted in. This one was Lorvan. "And how do you reckon we try that? We can''t even get close to the shores without getting impaled!" Akime shouted, spitting into Lorvan''s direction. "It''s noted. I don''t have a full plan yet," Lorvan merely nodded at Akime''s contribution. "Oh you and your plans. It''s like they ever work," Akime remarked. Lorvan''s face scrunched at that remark. "They work alright, and the high priests have commissioned me many times," he defended. "The high priests aren''t here anymore." "Don''t remind us," Kikirike said. The conversation around the fire quietened. Their topics had brought the fire low and they''d rather not take more jabs at their hope. They slowly drank away the sorrow''s in their hearts as the twilight came to pass. "What we need is a hero," Eilu suddenly said. "Pardon?" Kikirike asked. "A hero, Kikirike. A hero strong and brave enough to send the invaders running back to where they came from," he elaborated. "Where on the island would we find that," Velu replied. He was very much interested in what he was about to say. "I don''t know," Eilu sighed. "I just know that we need one." Lorvan took a sip from his flagon before contributing. "Well, our hero needs to be more than just strong and brave to fight back the invaders. They''d need to be smart too. The invaders can be ingenious." "So strength of Yorda, bravery of Ketoskoi, and ingenuity of Metalio. What else should our hero need to have," Kikirike said. "Well, if we''re going to have him have one blessing from each god, then they should also have kindness of Sevnais and determination of Zarvo." As they talked about the qualities the hero should possess, their gods overheard. The seeds had been planted in their minds. This, this was what they need. The solution that might just solve the problem at hand. The talk of a hero spread across Temeshingka. An image forged from their collective imaginings began to form. Their gods planned and prepared for the coming and christening of their hero. On the third day, they called upon one of their devout followers. This one was named Ridire and the tribe had been grooming her to become a low priest of their gods. When she fell asleep that night, Ketoskoi carried her sleeping soul into their divine realm. There, she dreamed of their meeting. Ridire stood on an octagonal platform floating in a sea of light. The glow of the sea below filled her vision with blinding shine. Rising from the waves of the sea were the silhouettes of their gods. They stood before her like great judges. She fell to her knees as she realized the situation she was in. She groveled before them, giving apt reverence to their divinity. "Rise, Ridire." The gods commanded her to rise and her eyes met once again with the gods'' visages. There before her, steeping into the water, Zarvo the Sour. Her citrus wings were splayed open, dripping a sour rain. Her very presence imbued the liquid light with her citric essence, dying it a profound yellow. Beside her stood Ketoskoi the Hot. Red burning fire streamed out his eye sockets whilst patterns of red, black, and orange danced on his skin. The sea in which he was immersed boiled in his presence, creating a column of white glowing steam that veiled his glowing form. Sevnais''s braided form stood by her fellows. She appeared less like a creature and more of a mountain of green rising from the sea. Her eyes could barely be spied upon under the cover of thick green and braided branches. A sweet fragrance wafted from her, from the numerous flowers blooming on her boughs and the many ripening fruits hanging from her branches. Metalio looped around in the air, made aloft by mysterious means. His form glittered as it rose in and out the liquid light. His icy scales reflected the gleam of the shining sea below him. His sapphire blue eyes bore down upon the mortal in their midst. Many pairs of arms lined his length, and arms that resembled pincers jutted out the back of his neck, gripping a facsimile of the heavenly moon. Yorda stood stalwart behind all four of them. They stood twice as tall as all of them, only exceeded by Metalio''s length. They were a rocky mountain bare of any vegetation. They bore limbs that could be mountains by themselves. Their eyes glowed with the same intensity as the summer sun, glowing like stars... No, they are stars. Glowing molten rock could be spied upon the rims of their behemoth eye sockets. "I--," the words were stuck on Ridire''s throat. She didn''t quite know how to address the gods. "It is an honor... to meet you." Ketoskoi nodded at her words. "Do not trip on your words, Ridire. We have chosen you as our direct emissary on Candy Island." "We have heard your pleas," Zarvo added. She spat caustic vitriol with every word. "We have plotted for thirteen years for naught, but tonight, we have prepared something that should surely alleviate your situation." "Oh," joy rose from what Ridire had heard. "What kind of plan do you have in mind?" Sevnais chuckled as she relayed the plan to her. "We plan on giving life to a hero!" Her message was brought to her not by voice and noise, but through the fragrance of her flowers. It entered through her nose and Sevnais''s words were clarified. "This hero shall straddle the limit between mortal and immortal, allowing for feats usually beyond reach for mortals," Metalio''s cold icy voice added. It sounded like the howling wind and cracking ice. "This should be a great boon for the crusade they would need to go on." Yorda wordlessly raised one of their hands and showed to them a large glowing orb. The hue of its glow constantly shifted between white, orange, yellow, and green. It glowed like a star in their grasp. The power of the glowing sphere could be felt even from where Ridire had stood. The world wobbled as the smell of alcohol bulldozed through her. Metalio spiraled around the great orb. His arms carefully gestured around the sphere without touching it. "This," he began. "This is the heroic spirit that we have prepared. Ketoskoi''s blood, Zarvo''s zest, Sevnais''s sap, Yorda''s milk, and three of my scales. All it needs now is a vessel." "And that is why we have called you here, Ridire," Ketoskoi said. "We have brought you here, Ridire, to tell us of our plan. To set this plan into motion, you must listen carefully to what we are about to say. Make a statue from marzipan. Sculpt it to the likeness of your race; give it scales and feathers too. Once it is done, prepare a pan of crema de fruta and set it before the statue. Beseech our names, and we shall give your hero life." There are Worms in the Sky It was a cold foggy morning when I found myself fishing in the sea. I fished in the calm sea, as I always had on the many mornings in the past. Though the sky was overcast, veiled by thick white clouds, there was little evidence of ill weather, whether that weather may be rain, snow, or storms. The calm sea churned very few waves, and my boat bobbed little upon the cold dark waters. The world was quiet, the silence only interrupted by the soft crashing of waves in the distance; the whispers of the wind were missing today. I cast my net onto the sea, to catch some fish to sell and for my family. A number of fishes were snared by my net, and I dragged them aboard my humble boat. The fish flopped about as they were taken out of their marine home and into the styrofoam cooler set on the other side of my boat. The few boxes that I had brought had now been filled fully with fish. I took this as a signal for me to return to shore. I took my paddle and began rowing my boat back to shore. Though a curtain of white surrounded me, I knew by heart which direction shore was. The wispy fog around me was as isolating as it was calming. I wasn''t the only fisher that came to fish in the sea each morning, but the thick veil covered all traces of my fellow fishers. Only the gentle lapping of waves and the paddle slicing through the water cut through the quietude of the morn. This brought me into a contemplative mood. I turned my head into the sky and watched the wispy fog swirl about on the calm day. Every so often I would see dark shapes slither through the veil, but I was quite sure they were all harmless and perhaps imaginary. Though the sight of the totally normal phenomenon of figures in the fog reminded me of what my father had once told me. "There are worms in the sky," he said once upon a time. Quite often when we found ourselves outside, resting and dining in the open air, my father often pointed out attention to the sky. He pointed yond the clouds and whispers of the wind that we had been taught how to read and listen; his fingers extended towards the endless blue. There was little we could see, but my father had tried to point out the dark splotches that sometimes appeared on the sky like a light bruise. Ha. He was a fun man. I miss him. It''s been a while since I''ve come close to him. Perhaps next month, when people flock to Minel to celebrate the coming of the spring harvests. I could have moved to Minel like the rest of my family, but I couldn''t imagine myself moving far from the sea. He painted endlessly fascinating creatures from these dark splotches. My siblings always cowered whenever he''s finished, and whenever we''ve had guests, they always seemed to be dazed afterward. I don''t know why they would ever find my father''s stories horrific to the core. They were awesome creatures caped in stardust and fire. My father reckoned that they''re plated in mirrors or perhaps ice from how difficult they were to see. They supposedly watched from above, like gracious ancestors. Father had said that he had glimpsed them sometimes beneath the waves, like they had a summer palace in the deep blue. I chuckled at the thought. I wish I could glimpse their true wonder up close. Their true awesome terrific wonder. As I gently rowed my boat, an electric feeling erupted in my wrist. There was a lightning storm in my wrist, sending bolts of pain down my arms. It was a paralyzing electric pain, that caused my joints to lock up. I unconsciously let go of my paddle and fell backwards to my boat. I clung dearly to the boat for my life, ensuring that I do not fall into the deep blue sea. I clutched upon my wrist, massaging it in hopes of straightening up whatever had been misaligned down there. It''s not very clear whether it had any effect, but I continued doing it. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. Once the pain subsided, I released a great sigh. Relief, finally. My once erratic breathing returned to its normal rhythm. My lungs were slightly starved of air but nevertheless survived the ordeal. I sat up from my laying position and leaned over the rim. I washed my face with salty seawater before I took stock of my situation. Looking around, the paddle was out of sight. I only covered my eyes with my hands, whispering "oh no" to my own ears. While the paralytic episode was going on, the paddle drifted away from my vessel, away from sight and into the obscuring fog. I was now dead on the water. I could only sigh at the sight and thought. I looked at my injured wrist. The pale flesh that was once hidden beneath my iridescent scales was now bare for the whole world to see. It was reddened and inflamed; anything less than a gentle touch sent jolts of electric pain down my arms. I could feel it travel up my shoulders and down to my feet. It happened a month ago, when there was much celebrating beneath the full moon. There was much drinking and dancing and playing around when I fell down a cliff. It was rather fortunate for me that it was the high tide that night or else my body would be impaled upon the sharp rocks at the bottom. As lucky as I was to fall and live, my wrist wasn''t quite as lucky. I was battered unto the salty sea below, and my hand smashed onto a particularly tall rock. I almost drowned too. In the days following, it got infected and I laid in bed, feverish. It was an unpleasant experience. Despite the high temperature and thick blankets, I shivered, feeling cold and freezing. My condition was getting worse; my wife had to abandon work to stay home and tend to my sickness. I gazed into the waters of the sea. Reflected upon the surface of the deep blue was the sea of white fog. If I were to look at the sea at the right angle, it would appear that my boat was floating on a sea of smoke. My boat punctuated the curtain of fog, breaking up the off-white veil with its bright orange paint. I gazed into my reflection on the surface of the sea. I saw a man staring back at me in the reflection. It bore its teal eyes straight at me. My scales once shone like polished silver, but now in my advanced age, they were dull and grey. I grinned at the sea, showing the yellowed teeth in my mouth, only a few shades away from sulfurous yellow. I reached into the sea below, as if to caress the creature that stared back at me in the deep blue, but my hand simply phased through the image, creating ripples that distorted the reflection. Strange. I looked up and saw that the sea was completely still. The whispers of the wind were nowhere to be heard, and the deep blue sea below had become mirror-smooth. Only the slow bobbing of the boat had disturbed the placid waters. I gazed into the curtain of fog and found a long spindly silhouette weaving through the wispy clouds. A strange heat arose behind me as the boat was bathed in warm light. Light, warm buttery light; hot like the light of a bonfire. I slowly turned, already awed by the creature I was yet to witness. Looming over my tiny vessel was the visage of a wyrm. It bore its red crocodilian head down upon me. Inset upon its eye sockets was a pair of fiery orbs that glowed - no, shone like the sun. It burned bright in their sockets like bonfires compressed into solid form. Its lower jaw was stainless silver, bearing large serrated teeth. A mane of spikes made of the same silvery material as its jaw surrounded its neck. Its whole body was clad in thick armor plates painted in the brightest of colors, almost glowing in vividness. Its segmented body trailed behind the head, twisting behind the fog like a ribbon. The colors of each segment alternated through the colors of the rainbow, starting with its head. It went from red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and violet. I stared in awe at the creature. I felt no greater honor and dream than seeing one of the worms in the sky down on earth (well, at sea, but you get the point). I resisted the urge to kneel and grovel at the worm. Great awe filtered into my being. I couldn''t describe the feeling that''s overcoming me as anything other than a religious experience. "My father once said," I began. "There are worms in the sky." And that is undeniably true for I witnessing one right here right now. The worm''s face flexed slightly, trying to convey some emotion on its face, but I couldn''t parse whatever''s being displayed on its metal visage. It opened its mouth and began to speak: "Mil''ante, we have come for you..." The Climber Roulette and the Upside-Down Mountain Tyrus put his elbow over the edge. He''s so close now, he could see the peaks of the mountain here. His claws dug into the dull granite. The mechanisms that lie beneath his fur and skin protested as he pushed them beyond what was advisable. With one heave, he managed to put himself atop the outcropping he was hanging on to. He had been trekking for days now, just to glimpse the wonder that was Mount Anapoda. He lay his back upon the flat top and panted to let in the cool mountain air. His resting body lay on his pack of stuff. His limp tail trailed behind him, languid like his overworked body. The trail he had been trekking was very craggy and difficult. The bag on his back had lightened since the start of his journey. It was already costing him a fortune from all the bent bones he had acquired. He was rather miffed that he had bent the steel bones he had on his arms from an unfortunate fall midway through the journey. The much cheaper bronze bones weren''t up to the task of arduous climbing. They had bent so many times that he had cut holes on his biceps so that he didn''t have to take off his skin every time one of his arm bones inevitably bent. After his system had sufficiently rested, he began rising up to see how far he had gone. It seems that he had reached the plateau where the mountain began to rise. There in the distance, Tyrus could see Mount Anapoda in all its glory. Unlike all the mountains he had known and gone to, Mount Anapoda was unique in that instead of being wide at the base and tapering to a point at the peak, it started as a needle-thin filament connected to the earth and then widened as you went up. Tyrus craned his eyes to gaze at the expanding glory of the mountain. The mountain was like a funnel of rock and dirt that connected the bottom realm to the heavenly realms. The mountain wasn''t simply barren dirt and rock, there were groves of pines and oak hanging from the mountain''s dirt. Above him was the spreading heights of the mountain''s slope, gently rolling into the distance like a second ground above. The ultimate edge of the mountain was yet to be discovered as the mountain''s expanse turned blue in the distance. As he marvelled and awed at the mountain in the distance, a large crack appeared in the vision of his left eye. The cracks expanded until it consumed wholly his leftward vision. His left eye shattered inside his eye sockets. Transparent green liquid poured out his eye, staining his pale bluish-gray fur. "Dragons dang it," Tyrus cursed. He simply had to sigh. His eye had been with him for nearly eight years. He guessed that the low air pressure of the mountains had exacerbated the hairline fractures in the glass. He reached up to his left eye and began loosening the cap that kept his eye from sliding out. He gripped it carefully with his wing-hands, turning it with well-practiced ease. He sometimes had to curse the winged nature of his race. As soon as the cap had been removed, he began shaking the glass shards out. The contents of his sockets soon slipped out. The green glass tinkled upon the stone with some fragments shattering into much smaller pieces. He procured a handkerchief from his pack and began cleaning the insides of his socket. This also let him remove fragments that couldn''t be taken out by simple shaking. The proper cleaning of the orifices prevents numerous accidents and irreversible disorders. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. Once it has been thoroughly cleaned, he took out a small box from his pack. Within, it cushioned a small glass cylinder containing green liquid and some strange mechanisms. He quickly slotted the object into his left eye socket. As soon as he capped the eye, the vision on his leftward eye returned. His left eye produced a crisp vibrant image in his brain. It was as clear as it could be, lacking any blemishes, blurs, and scratches characteristic of any old eye. He adjusted the inner mechanisms until his vision resolves to his preferred contrast and saturation. He looked upon the mountain before him with a two-sided vision. One side was crisp and clear while the other scratchy and slightly blurred. He''ll have to avoid buying eyes from the optician. The green tint of the vitreous humour is simply too strong, washing his color vision a bit. After that ordeal, he took out his navigation tools from his bag. He oriented his sense of direction with a compass and ascertained his location with a map. He brought along two maps, one of the ground and the other of the mountain. Due to how the mountain was oriented, there''s an expansive landscape spreading under Mount Anapoda''s terrain. A single simple map couldn''t map both of them at the same time without overlapping. He produced a spyglass and promptly pointed it to the mountain in the distance. He began scanning its cliffs for any landmarks and structures. Soon, he would spot something that looked like a cathedral. It had high vaulted ceilings with sharp and pointy spires. Beside the building stood a tower whereupon its top idly spun a giant metal pinwheel. Like the mountain upon which it was constructed, it stood upside-down, hanging its roof above the ground. "Yes!" Tyrus screamed in delight. They were right that the dungeon was on this side. "Placeholder Temple Name," he screamed the name of the dungeon. His arms quaked as he thought of the treasure that he could obtain there, treasures that are only talked about in legend. He put his hand into his pack and took out his spell wheel. It was a typical spinner divided into six equal sections. Each section alternated between red and green, and each of them had a phrase written on them. Summon Wheel of Cheese, Loose Flaming Arrow, Cause Grass to Grow: such phrases were printed onto the board of each of the spinner''s slices. Tyrus smiled as thoughts of those underwhelming words be replaced with something more powerful. He slotted the spinner into a slot near the end of his tail. He gave it an experimental spin, and the magic landed upon a slice. The sorcery engraved upon the instrument flowed from its vessel and into his system. The spell-form floated about in his spirit, ready to be released at his behest. "Granite to Marble," he declared. The warm magic flowed from his heart and into his arms whereupon it jumped from the tips of his claws and into the stony ground. Wherever the magic had touched, the stone which composed them transformed, changing their composition from grey granite to milky white marble. "Okay, we''re good there," he remarked. "No complications on the spinning mechanisms nor the magitek." Tyrus looked on to the rest of his journey. From here on out, the landscape had been flattened into a plain. There was no risk of his spinner being lodged off and dropping into a deep gorge. He smiled, his eyes till locked upon the dungeon in the distance. The treasure they held will be his. The Spires in the Blue Ice It was a cold afternoon when Andryn was shaken awake by her colleague, Irene. "We''re near," she said. She handed Andryn''s coat to her as she coaxed her out of her slumber. Irene brought Andryn to the bridge. There, they could find where they are more clearly. The boat briskly sailed on the briny deep. The afternoon sun washed the world in soft light, but even with the heat the sun above provides, it wasn''t quite enough to raise the arctic air above freezing. Icebergs and ice floes floated placidly on the sea, while grey blobs of clouds punctuated the endless blue above. Irene pointed to the ice wall to their right. It was a great cliff constructed from ancient ice. Andryn was at awe at the sight, the sight of the wall of ice, looming so high that even a kilometer or two away, they still had to crane their neck to view the top. Yet, this great glacier before them wasn''t the reason why they''re here, the thing they''re after, their destination; it was in fact a cave. It was inset just ahead of them, carved into the great icy wall. It was a large cave, large enough for five of their vessel to sail through. Entering the cave, they entered a world of darkness. The walls around them gleamed with the fading light of the sun behind them as though the very walls were made of crystal. Light passing through layers upon layers of translucent ice filled the walls with ethereal faint light, but such glow did not provide enough illumination to truly dispel the darkness. Irene went to the helmsman to discuss their travel through the frozen cave while Andryn continued to admire the frozen tunnel they were moving through. The vessel had since turned its floodlights on, shining a cone of light unto the darkness ahead. It was quite remarkable for the cave to be so cave-like despite being carved from ice. Icicles dripping from the roof formed stalactites and stalagmites similar to those found in rocky caves. Strange frozen formations hung around them, distorted and bent like wax that had been softened. Andryn looked up to the roof and examined the ice. The surface of the ice bore regular bumps similar to the surface of the sea. It gave the impression of waves upon the ice, rolling waves that had been trapped in the frozen embrace of the ice walls. The thought of going through a tube with walls made of sea sent shivers down her spine. They had traveled far through the cave. It was bending and twisting like a snake, but it would soon come to an end. A light had reemerged in the cavern ahead, warm syrupy light. It was the sun. It was sunlight filtering through the end of the cave; glorious life-giving pale-yellow light shining a ray of hope into their sunless ship. They exited out of the cave and found themselves in a large ice cavern. A large hole was carved upon its top, letting sunlight filter into the cavern. Ahead was a gentle shore, leading to the first solid surface since they entered the cave that wasn''t composed of ice. Crushed rock and gravel composed the cavern floor while water submerged half of the cavern''s floor area. Tributaries carried water from the melting ice walls to the cave. Snow and slush pile into large mounds, covering significant amounts of the dry ground. Sprigs and sprouts of hardy arctic flora occasionally broke the barren ground. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. They disembarked from their vessel and set foot upon the gravelly shores. Andryn, Irene, Skipper, and Alendrin, stepped forth to the ground that had long since been lost to the tides of time. They shook, not because of the cold that permeated the cavern, but from the excitement coursing through their veins. The camera in Andryn''s hand shook as she shot a video of their arrival in this land long since thought lost. Irene set up some surveying equipment by the side. On the other side of the cavern stood a once prosperous city. In its storied past, it had buildings that stood four storeys high in the least and were constructed out of dark stone and steel, but the ravages of time had since crushed the edifices to rubble. Piles upon piles of broken masonry littered the grounds before them. The steel in their bones and all the things that could rot had been destroyed by nature in the intervening millennia. But in spite of all the methods that nature has employed to completely erase the city from the face of the earth, half of the city was still well-preserved in ice. Encased within the glacial prison, the shapes of the ancient buildings were protected by layers upon layers of rock-hard ice, albeit in a slightly crushed state. They had searched for this place for many years, but they could never quite locate it. It was then they realized that the city was no longer where it was when it was constructed. The glacier that had encased it had since flowed downhill from its original mountain home until it was left in its current place, here under the ice near the sea. "I can''t believe it," Andryn remarked. "I couldn''t believe that we would ever find the Ancient City, right here, right now." Irene pat her shoulder and said, "Neither could I, but just because you couldn''t believe it, doesn''t stop it from being real." Andryn could only nod at her words. She gazed icy wall in the distance and all the structures encased within their frosty embrace. The stresses and inexorable movement of the ice had warped and distorted the buildings within, but even then, they were remarkably intact; their general structure and shape were preserved. The edifices of the ancient city stood proud yet defeated yond the surface of the ice wall. They stand proud in a frozen world yet their walls were bent and distorted by undeniable forces. In the distance, farther in, so far in that only blurry impressions could be glimpsed from the cavern. The crew reckons that it''s some sort of cathedral or chateau. It stood higher and grander than all the buildings around, sporting what appears to be flying buttresses and many large glass windows. Spires upon spires extended upon its roofs. The spires were like swords, slicing through the ice. They rose higher than the cathedral''s was high, so high in fact, that its tippy tops may be visible on the surface. Tears popped out as she drank the sight with her eyes. Alendrin approached the frozen cave wall with a metal spike and a hammer. The ancient rubble crunched beneath his armored boots until he stood face to face, mere armslengths away, to the icy wall. He placed the spike by the ice, and gently tapped its head with his hammer. Im Flesh, Not Cake Tears ran down your eyes as you sat down in the empty hallway. Your chest ached, from all the grief and terror that had stricken you so. Chaos had fallen to the city, yet in the quiet hall that you had hidden within, it was as if the order of the world hadn''t been upended. The halls were clean of litter and the lights above continued to glow and buzz with electricity. It started about three months ago. They didn''t know how, where, and when it started, but it was only then that symptoms became apparent. At first, it was just one person who walked underneath a construction zone; a brick fell from a great height and pulped that poor person''s head. It was then they found that the person wasn''t flesh, but cake. Panic and paranoia swept throughout the city. Cakes. Cakes were among us. How many of their ranks had been replaced with cake? Which one of them did not have blood flow in them, but fudge and cream instead? It could be anyone, even the closest people to you. It seemed that Candyland had made a move against them. At the same time, whatever culinary programming was written into their biology began to activate. Various crimes began cropping up, and many of the perpetrators were found to be cake. Houses were burning, people were murdered, and key buildings were sabotaged by these cake-filtrators. Mass hysteria ensued. Many were sent to the hospitals after being stabbed and cut to see whether they were cake inside. Many were relieved from seeing blood and guts within their loved ones, but just as many collapsed at the realization of their cakely fears. Looking at someone wrong could ignite a brawl in the streets. Even at home, even after you''ve proven yourself to be made of flesh, you''re not safe. What if you''ve been replaced with a cake-plicate while everyone was sleeping or wasn''t looking? You could clearly remember the fate that had befallen your roommate. It was the week when all the madness began, when you and your roommate began to question your makeup. Each of you held a knife in hand and cut a small incision on your palms. Both of you saw flesh underneath your skin and blood in your veins, which put great relief into your hearts. You could remember that big bright beam in his face, so wide and big that it reached all the way to his ears. It was a bonding moment that made you closer to each other, more than any moment before that. Yet, it was only three days before this faith in the flesh crumbled so tragically. You were coming home from a grocery run that time when you saw a trail of chocolate fudge and cake crumbs going up the stairs of the apartment complex. You held the hatchet tightly in your hand as you silently followed the trail up the steps and found it, to your horror, lead into your apartment. You slipped your key into the keyhole, and the door clicked open. Slowly opening the apartment, you found the apartment dark but otherwise intact. The trail of fudge and crumbs led to the bathroom, which was lit. You could hear sobbing inside. It was a blubbering stuttering sob that you could only attribute to grief and horror. Repeatedly, in between breaths, you could hear "I''m not cake; I''m flesh." It was unmistakable. You could recognize the crying one as your roommate. You reached toward the bathroom door and pulled it wide open with the hatchet in your hand raised high, ready to strike upon the monster within. You saw the trail lead to your roommate, collapsed in front of the sink, standing in a puddle of chocolate. He was chewing on his hand as if such efforts would undo the truth that had been revealed here. He was cake. He turned his head towards you, and you saw that half of it was a broken mess. The marbled cake had crumbled from what appeared to be a strike to the face while fudge dripped down from the giant wound like blood. Chocolate fudge trailed down his one remaining eye like tears. You were hesitant to bring down your hatchet upon the suffering creature, but the moment it bared its claws and teeth towards you, that sympathy evaporated. You cut it down, cut it down, to many slices and chunks, and stomped upon the remains until no part of the cake still twitches. A dirty pile of crushed cake drenched in chocolate fudge now lay on the floor. Disgust overcame you, and you felt an urge to spit at the broken corpse, but you resisted. You pick up a dustpan and began shoveling the dessert remains into the toilet. You sat on your bed afterwards, not even remembering that your hands and pants were dirty with fudge. You placed your face into your hands while silent tears ran down your cheeks. As you lifted your face from your palm, doubt began to nag into your ears. You looked intently into your palms, poring over every detail, but you couldn''t determine it fully without cutting yourself. You bring the hatchet to your hand and cut an incision into your palm. Your hand shook and your eyes closed, afraid of what may be revealed. Slowly, you open your eyes, peering upon the self-inflicted wound, and saw... ... Blood and red meat. You even licked the cherry-red fluid leaking through the cut just to confirm that you didn''t have have cranberry sauce flowing in your veins, and what a great relief it was to taste literal blood. It was slightly sweet with a hint of metal, not a blast of sweetness and fruitiness that would be characteristic in a cake or candyman. You confirmed that your composition hadn''t changed in the three days since you''ve checked. You dearly hope that it would remain that way for the rest of your life. *Knock. Knock.* You are violently taken back to the present by the sounds of banging on a nearby door. You rapidly stand up and ready your chosen weapon. Blood races through your veins, and your muscles tense with anticipation. You hear moaning and groaning emanate from behind the door, clearly indicating that whatever was behind it was a zom-cake. There was a crusade that against cakes some time ago that led to the revealing of many cakes that walked among you. While many were beaten and crushed under club and blade, just about as many escaped the wrath of the populace. They now skulk in the less visible parts of the city like walking corpses, hiding and hunting in dark streets and sewage canals. A fire axe lays in your shaking hands. Your old hatchet has served you well in the previous months, but alas, an accident has led to you losing it, dropping it into a pond. Nevertheless, although the fire axe has only served you for a scant week, it has served quite wonderfully in your bid for survival in the dying city. The scratches and crumbs caked upon its head are evidence of its great service towards you. Soon enough, the door slams wide open, and the zom-cake pounding upon the wooden door falls prone before you. You smite the cake-plicate with your axe, splitting it in half, striking with enough force to cut through the cakeflesh and chop into the tile below. You stomp on the cake-plicate for good measure, and now that leaves you with an unrecognizable mess of cake, chocolate, and cream. You pant. The fear and terror drained from your being, but... "Over here. I can hear something," you hear the sound of cake-plicates clawing through the halls. You hear their footsteps rapidly approaching your location. You''re not safe here anymore. You must run. You pick up your pack as you began running away from the source of the sounds. Their shouts and scratches followed you in pursuit. You sneak a few peeks behind you, but not once have you glimpsed the cakey mob approaching you. You know they''re coming from just around the corner, but you cannot afford to wait and confirm the creatures that are chasing you are zom-cakes. You... just have to trust your gut. You find yourself in a large office with many big desks. Paperwork was strewn about as though the people that were once working here ran away in a panic. You see a fire exit here, but before climbing out to the emergency exit, you blocked the door to the large office. The metal underneath your feet rings with every forceful step you took on the fire escape. You descend down a couple of floors until you land your feet on a dingy alley by the side of the building. You turn for a moment to the door you just exited, and to your relief, there''s no mob of shambling cakes filing out the fire exit in the next few seconds. After taking a moment to breathe, you begin running. --==^****^==-- You spread your blankets on the tiles floor. You find shelter in a leased office inside a three-storey building. Although the wall facing the hall and the outside are made of glass, the tall metal filing cabinets obscuring the office from the outside view give you a sense of security. You''ve scoured the many spaces for lease in the buildings but this one is the few that fit your criteria for comfort and safety: it''s not on the ground floor, and the inside is not easily viewable from the outside. It''s been many hours since your run from zom-cakes in the cooperative office. The afternoon has since transitioned into dim dusk. The once bright mint sky has now been painted in ruddy tangerine. The dimming sunlight makes the vacant buildings all around more apparent. Despite electricity still flowing through the wires, not a single building could be seen with a bright lit window. The only source of illumination all around is from the lamp posts that line the street below. This darkness and silence bring you a modicum of relief; it indicates that you''ve found yourself far from cakes and hostile non-cakes. Which is, you suppose, why you chose this location. This building was built along a long-disused road, riddled with potholes. Back before the cake calamity, this road experiences little to no traffic, but in the zom-cake apocalypse of today, it experiences even less than that. It was the perfect location for hiding! A pile of glowsticks provides enough light for you to operate in the dark office; you dare not turn on the lamps, lest you signal to hostiles your location. The electric kettle and rice cooker quietly cook your dinnertime in one corner while you rifle through your pack for a change of clothes. You lay resting on the makeshift bed, thinking of your plan to move forward. Tomorrow, you will have to move again. The city is no longer a place to stay. You miss the time when you could stay in one place. You could be in comfort and grow familiar to your surroundings, but in this new world, such things are luxuries you couldn''t afford. Even you staying in this building is a luxury that may be hurting your budget. And that''s not taking into account the still incoming candymen invasion. You know it''s coming. This cake phenomenon has their fingerprints over it. Caramel weeds and sugar grass are now growing in the cracks of civilization. You shudder at the thought of a horde of gingerbread men roving the streets and icing the city under truckloads of buttercream. It cannot be long now. You have to leave this city... and then go where? You could run to the neighboring cities, but would they let you into their defensive walls? You fled a city being overrun by candymen follies, how could they let you in their walls without concerns for their safety? They''d more than reject you, they''d accuse you of being a frimtered one and burn you at the stake. Such was the frightening power borne by Candyland. They cannot afford the machinations of candymen to enter their midst. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! Perhaps the great forest in the northeast. It''s the only place you could think of that might give you shelter from the oncoming sugary tide. You''d have to stay away from the cities and live on you''re lonesome. Tomorrow, you will run, run away from this sundered city. --==^****^==-- The first rays of morning are yet to shine when you skulked through the alleys of the city. The shadows of these great edifices veil you, hopefully hiding you from candied sight. You avoid the big avenues, the great highway, in favor of the smaller less-trodden-upon side streets. You padded your pack with cloth, but even that doesn''t completely muffle the clattering of stuff inside. You take long strides through the streets, sneaking through the city. You occasionally have to take turns when you find some streets occupied "people." The hard ground below you crunches at your pounding feet. The more concerning thing however is the proliferation of candy flora in the city. Where there was one bare concrete, you could now spy slimy caramel growing like lichens and black licorice climbing like ivy. It wasn''t long until you spied streets being repaved with fondant and street poles being uprooted and replaced with candy canes. The invasion is here. Though you''re quite thankful you''re yet to see a shred-- "What do we have here?" A firm hand arrests your movement. You turn. The face of the creature caused your stomach to drop. It''s a candyman made of what appears to be lime gummy. Its malicious smile bares its shark-like crystal teeth. You try to get away from the candyman, but its gummy flesh has gripped your shoulder too hard for you to pull away. "Well, looks like I''ll be having a pay-- Ahh!" The candyman screams when you bit into its arm. The arresting hand loosens its grip, and you manage to escape its grasp. You take your axe and begin swinging it at the surprised candyman. It''s quite lucky for you to face against a gummy candyman. The axe shears through its soft lime-flavored tissue, almost cutting it in half. Its legs lose strength and it falls lying on the ground. Its grape eyes look at you with fear, at your raised axe, ready to chop it into many ineffectual pieces. "Wait wait wait!" It pleads, but you don''t heed it. Your axe falls, cleaving the gummy man. There was no blood. This candyman bore no blood or any fluid facsimile to that of blood. It now lays by your feet, devoid of life and animating force. You wipe the edge of your axe free of sticky sugary substance. You run. You must run. If there was one candyman already waiting for you to pass by, others can''t be far behind. The city''s edge is near. The day has continued to lighten with every minute until the first rays of morning have begun to grace the tops of high-rise buildings. The darkness above slowly changes color, from blackcurrant to maize. It would soon transition into mint, but you know you should be by the wall by then. Soon enough, you catch a glimpse of the glorious concrete wall that surrounds and protects the city. It looms over all the other buildings nearby, standings at an imposing ten-storeys tall. Its top sported barbed wires, deterring those that seek to surmount the grand edifice. Watchtowers made of the same characteristic design and concrete punctuated the perimeter wall. You peer at the walls, looking left and right, gauging danger that might be hiding right behind the corner. Then you examine the wall itself. It''s a magnificent construction. The thought of its great protective prowess being subverted by foreign forces brings unending sadness. Simply tragic. Beyond tiny clumps of sugary weeds growing in the cracks, you don''t see any sign of further candyman influence. The watchtowers are vacant of either diligent watchmen or treacherous cake-plicates. Seeing no danger before, around, and behind you, you run towards the nearest watch tower. Its door has been forced open, but peering yond the portal, you don''t see any signs of recent habitation. You see piles of cake crumbs and puddles of chocolate and jam, but they''re old and dry and some are already moldy and gross. A fine layer of dust has begun to cover the surfaces and you see no prints disturbing the layer. Looking up, you see stairs spiraling around the tower, rising until it reaches the top. It hasn''t been used in some time, evident from all the cobwebs and dust accumulating in the stairwell. You take one cautious step on the stair and found its concrete steps solid and firm beneath your boot. With confidence, you begin ascending the stairwell. The sound of your boot walling on rough concrete steps echoes in the fluorescent-lit well while the railings ring as you gripped it as you rose. You slowly but surely ascend the many steps, conserving a modicum of energy for the yet to come, and soon enough, your feet graces the top of the tower. The ghastly state of the top floor welcomes your eyes. The furniture are scattered around in disarray while the ballista stationed here is in pieces. There are stains of both fruit preserves and blood scattered all about while chunks of cakeflesh litter the room. You''ve been getting used to the sickly sweetness growing in the air, and the smell of rot has certainly sobered you up. The top of the wall is a magnificent sight. The world outside expands as far as you can see; a sea of avocado-green grass stretches into the distance where it terminates, meeting forest or mountain. Concrete railings prevent you from falling into the briar patch of steel barbs and subsequently down the edge of the tall wall. You admire the thickness of the wall; such is its width that a well-trodden path connects every watchtower on the wall. Peering over the edge, you could catch a glimpse of the ditch that surrounds the entire city. You exhale, expelling a bit of discomfort and doubt that''s been growing on your chest. You produce a coil of rope from your pack and begin tying it firmly to a post. After some experimental pulls, you confirm the secureness of the knot. You throw the rope over the edge and over the barbed metal brambles. The end of the rope falls far below you but is short a few meters before reaching the dirty moat below. The barbed wire serves as a defense against creatures attempting to surmount the great wall, but in your case, you had to carefully weave through it lest it impales you with its numerous spikes. You''re quite thankful for your thick clothing. If you have not worn them, you''re sure that your whole body would''ve been riddled with deep bleeding wounds. Hours ago, you remember wearing them to protect you from the great chill of the pre-morning, but now, you''re praising them under your breath for their sacrifice. You pass through steel brambles and emerge precariously balanced on the concrete edge. The cool wind blowing from the mountains curbs the growing excitement growing in your heart. With the rope in hand, you begin rappelling down the vertical face of the wall. Your hand burns from holding the rough rope too tight, but great fear reinforces its tight grip. It''s the first time you''re climbing down a structure in such a manner and height. Your legs have seemingly been transmuted into jelly from the terror that''s growing heavier in your chest, wobbling. Your pack weighs you down like a stone strapped upon your back, like the clawed hands of gravity are dragging you down to the ground, but you persevere. The stretch of bare dirt at the bottom of the wall offers you no cushion and the ditch filled with dirty greasy water wishes you no comfort. You simply have to hold tight to the rope and gently descend upon its length. Your hands grow more and more slippery the further you descend. When you reached the end of the rope, you forget that it ended a little high, and the rope that held you against gravity slipped from your grasp. Too late did the realization come that your hands attempted to grasp beyond the end of the rope. You fall. Your hands reach up, towards the rope that''s growing more distant with every moment. Your eyes widen. You open your mouth to scream, but you stop yourself from vocalizing the terror. Dull pain spreads throughout your body as you impact the hard earth. Although the fall isn''t as high as you feared, only around thrice your height, there are many ways it could have gone badly. The impact crushed the pack on your back, but it has cushioned you from the worst of the fall. The many hard items you carried bruised your back, but did nothing as bad as deep wounds or broken bones. You quickly stand up, looking around to take account of possible witnesses. You endure the agony that radiates from your pack pressing against your bruised back. You see nothing. A smile burst in your mouth, pressing back the urge to laugh and giggle. You mustn''t falter now. You step forward, towards freedom. It lies just past the big ditch. The tall swaying grass will hide you. --==^****^==-- Thick white clouds rolled in, covering the blue sky above. Fine sugar fell from the sky like snow. It sprinkled over the city, coating every exposed surface with white sugar. Captain Apple Steamed Pudding paced down the streets with an ugly grimace carved into his face. "Damn," Captain Steamed Pudding remarked as he gazed up to the now white skies. "We needed that literally hours ago. Maybe even days." The captain walked through streets converted for candyman use. He trod on streets paved with fondant and sidewalks carved from chocolate. He passed by industrious cadets covering buildings with buttercream and ganache. The buildings in this portion of the city were being converted for candyman use. He could see piles of wafer tiles, panes of sugar glass, and various technical parts casted from specially formulated candy steel. Steamed Pudding entered a wide avenue where he saw a group of candymen tending to a large throng of cakes. The cakes were in various states of destruction, from being relatively whole to some making a good zombie impression. He could see the cake-ticians mend those broken cakes with cake scraps, caramel, and modeling chocolate. "Argle-farble, sir!" It was the men that he had sent to look for the out-of-control prototype cake-filtrator. Steamed Pudding tried to keep his hopes up, but considering all the things that were going wrong in this operation so far, he prepared himself for disappointment. "Argle-fimble, candymen," he replied. "Report!" "We didn''t find it, sir. The cake-dar was useless. While we came across many throngs of uncontrolled cakes, we couldn''t find any trace of the experimental cake-filtrator. We tried to trace its last known location, but the surveillance and census systems were one of the first few to break in the cake-lamity," Private Cranberry Doughnut answered. The apple slices that were his eyes morphed into angry wedges. Captain Steamed Pudding massaged his temples as a big headache threatened to burst into being. It was supposed to be a covert operation: get in, get the rogue experimental cake, get out; but it exploded into a migraine-inducing calamity. They had to take this damned city or else Factoryland is going to become anxious for new methodologies Candyland obviously doesn''t want them to know. "Good work, boys," he commended them. "Keep looking though. It might still be in the city," he said before dismissing them. "Afrim-tim, sir," the motley crew went on their ways. Captain Apple Steamed Pudding could only sigh in attempt of relieving the growing annoyance. Perhaps the lookouts had a better time spotting it. Captain Steamed Pudding turned to their base of operations. The building had formerly served as a post office prior to their occupation, but now bore a facade of frosting and sprinkles. The emblem of the Candyland Military hung above the entrance, molded from hard fondant. "Technician Pineapple Pizza, have the lookouts reported anything?" He asked. Technician Pineapple Pizza turned from his seat. His hands continued to fiddle with all the knobs and buttons on the console despite the distraction. Various blinkers and screens flashed and showed glimpses of distant things. Half of his ears still listened for updates relayed by his headphones. "I''m afraid not, sir," Pineapple Pizza sadly informed. "Though Lookout Groups Plum and Mangosteen have engaged and captured a couple wandering groups of cityfolk. They''re being processed for delayed onset frimtery and cake molding." "Good. Protocols," Captain Steamed Pudding absently remarked. "By the way, what''s with the weather? It''s supposed to arrive literally hours ago." "Factoryland sent a squad of bombers to strike on various military bases and installations. They struck on several exposed bases as well as some hidden ones we didn''t expect them to know. This delayed, disabled, and canceled several services and requests." "Oh frimter me," the captain growled. "First, the strike on the secretive bakery sciences lab, now the meteorological installation. Am I cursed, technician?" "Oh, micrien-vim, captain. It would have appeared on the scan three days ago." "Afton-tim, technician. Continue your good work," the captain bade. "I''ll inspect the captured cityfolk in case that we actually already have the experimental on hand." --==^****^==-- You sit on a rather pointy rock. You have run deep into the forest, away from any civilization that you know of. You hear the babbling brook flowing nearby while the giant trees set their expansive shade over you. You sit on the pointy rock with barely any clothes on. Bright red blood drip from many open wounds. Many of them are carved by enterprising barbed plants and sharp rocks, but just about as many are self-inflicted. You pant as you held your knife rather unsteadily. You have checked all over your body, to really ascertain your uncakely composition, but your mind couldn''t be quieted by just one or two fleshy wounds. The knife descends on your upper arm, cutting the last wound that would be on your body. Your mouth morphs into a smile as you see blood drip out of a crevasse with walls of flesh. You lick the cherry-red liquid, and it tasted exactly like blood. You can''t fully describe the joy that overcame you. You erupted into laughter. You are flesh, not cake. All of you are flesh, not cake. No part of you is cake or sweets. Neon Arcadia 1 *Clink* "Here you go, ten tokens for one dollar," the booth attendant told me. "Cool bro, you got two of those special tokens," my friend remarked as he looked over my hand. His name is Mike. I picked up one of the special tokens. Instead of the cartoon bear that''s the mascot of the arcade, the token had an edgy dog howling at a star. "Are these for some event or something?" I asked. "No, the arcade''s not holding any event. I think that''s just some variation of the regular tokens," the booth operator said. "Cool bro," Mike said. "What are you planning on playing?" "I think I''m going to look over the video games. One of the racing games, I think," I answered. My friend frowned slightly. "Welp, I''m going over there and try to earn some tickets." He separates with me. I do remember him wanting that cool-looking action figure back at the prize counter. I browsed around the dark portion of the arcade. The chamber was filled with bright blinking lights and noise. There were a couple of dance machines and a battalion of fighting games. Shooting games and fishing tables stand by the side. None of them interested me. I went straight to one of the racing cabinets. This one was called Battle Racer. It had a red leather seat and stereo speakers near the ears and vibrations. It looked cool and fun and it called me by name. I inserted a token into the slot and the game changed modes. Loud music began blaring out the speakers, drowning out the sounds of the arcade, immersing me into the fantasy of the game. I was put into the seat of a racer going through tracks undergoing destruction. I felt the vibrations go through the seat and wheel as the car drove over some rough terrain. The vibrations caused by the explosions felt like they were taking me off my seat. I was immersed deep in that I leant slightly when I turned the wheel. I slotted four of my tokens into the game and was ready to insert a fifth one when the door that was hidden in the darkness of the side of the machine opened. It startled me so much that my neatly stacked tokens on the dashboard fell over and scattered the shiny disks onto the floor. "I''m very sorry," the employee said and bent down to pick up my fallen tokens. He places four of my tokens back on the dashboard of the game. He then walks away¡­ to somewhere I had to leave the seat and turn to see. And he didn''t find all my tokens. I sighed as I left my seat to find my missing tokens. Although the metal disks were quite shiny, the dim lighting and the dull carpet masked them from my sight. Thankfully, none of them rolled under the machines. Before returning to the game, I turned to where the employee had come from. There, the light gray door with a lever handle stood before me, blending easily to the black painted wall. Screwed in the middle of it was a sign saying "Employees Only". I was about to go back to playing when I noticed the coin slot. The door has a coin slot. It had a bright yellow sticker that declared that it was asking for two tokens. It was bizarre that I momentarily forgot about returning to the game. I looked behind me just to be sure that there was nobody looking at me messing around with the door. I tested the handle first, experimentally turning it, and found that it wasn''t locked. It opened to a rather plain room with white tiles. There was a mess of wires and computers inside. I quietly closed the door before anyone saw me peeking. What was the point of the coin slot? Is it some sort of easter egg or something? I gingerly inserted one of my tokens into the slot. It simply spat them back out. I tried again, but the coin slot simply didn''t accept them. Then I noticed that the token graphic on the sticker was different. Instead of the regular tokens with the cartoon bear, the coin slot asked for one with the edgy dog. There must be a secret event going on with the special tokens. I wonder what kind of prize I would get if I inserted special tokens into the slot? *Clink* The slot ate it up and didn''t spit it back out. Success. Now for another one. Huh. That''s a really realistic screen. I thought it was a sticker. The sticker now changed into asking for one token instead of two. I guess it detected my first investment. *Clink* And there goes my second special token. And¡­ *Click* The door suddenly clicked as though it was being unlocked. The door opened slightly and now it was slightly ajar. I pushed the door wide open, but the view I saw was completely different to what I thought was behind the door. Instead of a plain tiled floor with mechanisms behind the magic strewn, I saw more of the arcade. Grey carpet, dim colored lighting, rows of video game cabinets, and dark striped wallpaper welcomed me. The room was completely unpopulated, with idle machines showing off their coolness in hopes of attracting the non-existent arcade goer. I stepped inside to investigate the room, but that would turn out to be the worst decision I have ever made. The moment my two feet were firmly planted onto the carpet and my body had wholly passed the threshold, the door behind me slammed shut with a bang. I turned on reflex from hearing the loud sound, and what I saw caused my heart to drop. The door had disappeared. There was no evidence that the door had ever been there. There was no discolored patch on the wallpaper in the shape of the door nor a conspicuous unoccupied space. A couple of machines and a trash can were set flush to the walls without sign of being moved there. The room was completely irreverent to the existence of the door I just entered. Worse, some sort of force was rooting me in place. No matter how much I tried to move myself, I was firmly stuck in place. I tried walking, running, crawling, rolling, anything, but all that did to me was just changing my pose without changing my position. "Somebody help! Help!" I cried. I was panicking, fear coursing in my veins like a cold flood. I clawed at the floor, digging my fingers into the fibers. And nobody came to help me. I was stuck in place for a minute or two, but with its suddenness and inexplicability, it felt like forever. |Your Turn: 2:04| Then suddenly, my suffering ended and I was able to move again. I don''t think I can take more crawling in place. That sudden freedom came with a notification panel that resided persistently in my mind. It was like always being in the corner of my eye, indistinct or perhaps invisible, but legible nonetheless. |Your Turn: 1:54| It''s counting down? What''s it counting down for? Is it a status effect or something? Maybe it''s counting to something awful¡­ like a bomb timer. What if¡­ it''ll immobilize me again. |Your Turn: 1:45| No, I better get help. There''s gotta be something that can help me. A booth teller, a counter attendant, a security guard, any of them could help me. I get up and start exploring the place. The games in these parts were odd but nothing unordinary. Giraffe Escape, Electrominoes, Maze Defier, Galaxy Brainy, Student Grader, and many others. They could just be ordinary arcade cabinets from Japan. I heard Japan had an arcade culture completely bizarre to American tastes. There was a doorway out of the room. Emphasis on way. It was simply a door jamb without the door. It led to an even darker emptier room. |Your Turn: 1:11| Learning from my first mistakes, I stopped before crossing the threshold. I planted one foot on the other side and bent to examine the next room. It was a long dark room lit by poor incandescent sconces; the room could be brighter even if they used nightlights instead of those light bulbs. Instead of dark purple and desaturated green, the walls had a singular horizontal mustard line running the length of the room on a navy sea with cartoon boats and waves. The arched ceiling hovered high above, high enough to hang a chandelier ten feet above your head. Fluted columns partially recessed into the walls descended from high above, holding up the arches. I looked left and right, but the hallway was just as unpopulated as the room I came from. I called out a tentative hello, and heard the echoes of my voice be swallowed by the darkness. I heard and saw nobody come to aid me. |Your Turn: 0:39| I mustered up the courage to step over the threshold and enter the hallway fully. I braced myself to be frozen in place again, but the mysterious force didn''t come this time. However, the mental timer was slowly but surely running out. The hallway was sparsely furnished. Benches, potted plants, and what appeared to be gumball machines were placed irregularly throughout the hallway. I went to a nearby bench to wait for the timer to run out in a more comfortable place. The bench was fairly simplistic. It was a concrete slab placed over two concrete legs. Stars were carved into the stone and mustard paint made them pop out over the lime of the rest of the bench. A potted plant was placed beside the bench. It''s plastic, though I''m not sure what kind of plant it''s supposed to be imitating. It was a herbaceous plant with long fronds and curling tendrils. |Your Turn: 0:03| The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. |Your Turn: 0:02| |Your Turn: 0:01| |Your Turn: 0:00| | | The notification panel quietly disappears from my mind. I tried to find out what changed and lo and behold, I can''t move, again. At least it confirmed what the timer was counting down to. The bench is uncomfortable to sit on, but what you gotta do; it''s better than sitting uncomfortably on the floor. I wait for some time. Hopefully, I''ll get my turn again after a few minutes. It''s called turn after all. It turns like a circle, a wheel. ¡­? A glint of light at the corner of my eye drew me out of my dreary lull. I turned my head and I saw something that caused my heart rate to rise. In a dark corner lay a monster. It was a mound of shag carpet the same shade of grey as the carpet of the hall. It laid low on the ground, ready to pounce. Stout legs like timber lay by its side, and glass shards arms its hands with serrated claws. Upon its large head were three pairs of almond-shaped eyes. Those eyes glinted bright even in the candle-like lighting. I immediately stood from my seat and moved to run away, but by the rules of this place, my body stayed stalwartly above the space I was rooted over. The monster opened its large dreadful mouth, and it was like watching someone slice a steak lengthwise. Its maw opened up like a great crack that tore its body in half. Rows upon rows of glass shards lined that horrible mouth. Its intent was clearly evident in the air, and I could already feel all those glittering treasures sinking into my flesh from simply seeing them. Sweat flowed out my pores as the monster sprinted across the room with its mouth wide open. My limbs quivered in horror as the horrifying monster drew ever closer, unable to move or run. I fell back, my rump falling to the soft floor. My hands covered my eyes, awaiting my fate. But then¡­ |Your Turn: 2:04| It didn''t. The monster felt so close, yet the devouring maw never came down to swallow me whole. I slowly removed my hands from my face and saw the monster frozen in place. It was snarling and growling, digging deep trenches into the carpet as it tried to pull itself closer to me without avail. It glared its malevolent eyes into my fear-laden frame, hungry. If it were any faster, it could''ve come a little closer, enough to reach me and shove me down its gullet. |Your Turn: 1:50| I need to get out of here. When I had to wait to get my turn again, I should have known that I was waiting for others to have their turn. Just how many monsters'' turns did I have to wait before I mine again? I stood and backed away slowly at first before running at top speed. The monster roared with indignation as it saw its prey ruin before its very eyes. I didn''t stop to catch my breath. I had to get away as fast as possible, get to somewhere safe or something I could use to defend myself before the time runs out. I sped past many benches and strange potted plants. Machines vending popcorn, gumballs, and canned soda blurred as I blazed through the carpeted corridors. The hallway turned right at regular intervals, but somehow, I hadn''t returned to where I began. |Your Turn: 0:42| I had passed through many doorways leading to some equally dark rooms. None of them attracted me despite all the loud ringing and brilliant flashing from within, but the time was running out. There had to be somewhere with a door here. But alas, my search was fruitless, so I ducked into the next best thing. I turned to the next door to my left. I didn¡¯t care what kind of room it was, as long as it was an enclosed room with somewhere I could hide, I would be happy. I slid into the room, and my shoes squeaked against the linoleum floor. Instead of video game machines, there was a variety of gambling machines and claw machines. The room was bright and ringing with the calls of pinball machines asking for your attention, and at the back of the room was a large candy-themed carousel. Another doorway was at the back. |Your Turn: 0:07| I would have pushed a machine to block the monster from entering the room, but that would take too much time. I just had to find somewhere to hide behind, and it was quite fortunate that the room had offered a couple stalls I could hide behind. One was lime green with a forest green trim, apparently selling something called a Fallgrady, and the other was a bright yellow stall with a big cartoony wedge of cheese that sold bowls of oatmeal. I jumped over the counter of the Fallgrady stall, and hid under its counter. I had to squeeze myself between two small fridges. I braced myself for immobilization as the timer ticked down to zero. |Your Turn: 0:00| I huddled in the corner, hoping no monster would wander into the room. I tried to keep my breathing as low as possible, lest the noise attracts nearby monsters to my location. I leaned my back into the cheap plyboard. Cold crept into my thighs as my legs were pressed against the metal sides of the refrigerators. ¡­ There was nothing that stirred the air beyond the clicking and beeping of the machines asking for his attention. I hadn¡¯t heard anything break the regular tones of the arcade machines. I hoped that that meant no monsters were nearby to wander into the room. Even after all this time, the dark monster with glowing eyes hadn¡¯t seemed to have caught up with me. Soon enough, my wait was over. My turn came to pass. |Your Turn: 2:04| Once again, my turn came to pass. I rose from my hidden position and surveyed the room. I scrutinized at a distance all the machines that were arranged in neat rows in the room. I narrowed my eyes as I made sure that there wasn''t anything hiding in the shadows between machines. The inadequate lighting and blinking lights didn''t help, but after a time, I was reasonably sure there weren''t any monsters with me in here. I had become a little parched after my panicked skedaddling. I hunched down to inspect the contents of the fridges. I was expecting some water inside, but all I saw was a shiny bag filled with some sort of powder. The other fridge was just as sparse, holding only a block of ice. The stall was oddly underequipped. There weren''t any tools, cups, or bottles. The only significant furnishing was the trash bin by the corner and the large coin-operated machine mounted on the counter. The machine was another can of worms. It looked like an arcade cabinet was grafted onto the counter. Wood paneling covered up the front of the machine while its inner tubings and mechanisms were visible at the back. A stylized image of a cut lime alongside the name Fallgrady in cursive was printed up its front; a subtitle of "concentrated calamansi" lay just below that. Three coin slots were situated on its side, corresponding to three sizes and three prices: small, moderate, and gigantic; and one, two, and five. That''s too bad. I left my tokens on the dashboard of Battle Racer¡­ Yeah, somebody surely had stolen it by now. It''s been abandoned for more than ten minutes. Maybe this machine accepts regular coins. I reach into my pockets and pull out my phone? Wait, I have a phone- and it has no network. Fantastic. This place has a roof so thick that cellular signal can''t get through. Well, in you go to my other pocket. I pulled out some coins from my wallet and began testing them into the machine. *Clink* Damn. Looks like it doesn¡¯t take dimes. Maybe pennies. *Clink* *Clink* *Clink* It doesn¡¯t take dimes, pennies, nickels, or quarters. Looks like I¡¯d need to find a token exchange. I sighed in resignation as I jumped over the counter of the stall. I jumped over the counter of the stall¡­ I clawed against the wooden counter, trying to get over it, but some force seems to be putting me back in place. What? I can¡¯t move¡­ But I still had a minute or so left. | | What happened to my time? I wasn¡¯t ready! I ducked down below the counter, but I couldn¡¯t crawl back into the crevice between the fridges. My fingers hurt from my scared scratching on the floor. I layed there on the plastic-covered floor, shaking. My eyes intently looked up, up to the dark ceiling bearing down one of its pinlights on me. My body felt cold. Well, it was cold. There was a hidden AC somewhere, blasting cold air into the room. I feel the need to move, but my body had been confined in this position. The timer isn¡¯t back. I don¡¯t know what made it go away prematurely. It¡¯s been minutes now, and the cold was exacerbating the fear factor of this place. I was afraid that some monster would pop their head over the counter and nom me, and I could do nothing about it. *Scratch* Scratching. I can hear scratching in the room. Something hard and sold scratching linoleum. They¡¯re looking for me, I know it. They¡¯re bumping into the machines, sniffing, thumping against the wooden shells of the machines. I closed my eyes, and hoped that they wouldn¡¯t hear my feeble breathing from wherever they are. I just had to¡­ stall for time. |Your Turn: 2:04| I rose from my position, and hastily jumped over the counter. I know there are monsters in this room. I ran to the doorway at the back of the room. There were multiple monsters hiding behind the machines, ready to pounce on me, but alas, I had detected them before I could become their meal. They were a small pack of angular dogs with a hard outer shell. All of them were painted with dark colors and each of them had unique brightly colored decals that stood out against their dark backgrounds. A couple of them had a mane of skewers pointed back. They turned their heads to my fleeing body, flaring their light-bulb eyes and baring their needle-like teeth. Electronic sounds escaped their throats as our eyes met. ¡°Ding ding ding.¡± ¡°Bang.¡± ¡°The game is on!¡± They said. The next room was just about as dark as the room I came from, but the machines inside were wildly different. Instead of numerous game cabinets, a horde of rides welcomed me. All of them were those sorts that rocked you back and forth. Many of them had cartoon eyes that seemed to follow me as I ran through the room. There were three exits from the room, excluding the door that I had come from. All but one was dark. Bright light filtered through the doorway across the room. The white tiles and green walls beyond were clearly visible from where I stood. I wasn¡¯t very sure where it led to, but I¡¯d rather run through lighted rooms than wander in poorly lit rooms. |Your Turn: 1:13| I ran through the doorway, and I found myself in what appeared to be some sort of office. There were rows of computer cubicles. Each of them was numbered, and just under the computer tables were coin slots, just like pretty everything in this place. I stopped by one of the computers and rested my hand on the table to catch my breath, but that appeared to be a mistake. As my hands rested on the black keyboard, the computer suddenly morphed into a monster. Brass needles popped from under the keyboard, impaling my hand in place. The monitor shattered into twenty pieces as it transformed into a canine head. The rest of its body, a tangled mass of cables and light indicators in the rough shape of the dog, emerged from a hidden compartment of the table. It pushed me prone to the floor, and now it stood upon my chest, showing off its menacing face. It opened its mouth wide open, about to shove my head into its shadowy gullet. Before it could enact that, I managed to push it off me and kick it. It slid across the floor, leaving a long scratch that revealed the true color of the ceramic. It stopped over some cracked tiles, but before it could run off, the floor beneath its feet crumbled. The cracked tiles fell apart, letting the monster fall. Echoes of its whimpers, a series of error dings, rang from beyond the hole until the monster¡¯s cries eventually faded. I stood up to look over the hole, to see what fate had befallen to the monster, but a horrible realization had come to me. | | N-no. No! This can¡¯t be real. The m-monster stole my turn. I can¡¯t move. I need to run. Tears ran down my face as fear gripped my heart. My blood had turned freezing cold, and my limbs were shaking more wildly than a sapling¡¯s branches in a windy night. A set of claws lay onto the floor from behind me. I turned to see a pack of seven monsters baring their teeth at me. Seven monsters painted like an arcade cabinet trained their light-bulb eyes at him. Cheerful tunes and electronic dings emanated from their forms. I braced for a fight, but I was no good in a fight. They ran at me. One jumped at my chest, toppling me over. The others pinned my limbs down, sinking their teeth into my flesh. A puddle of red began to form under me as they ravaged my body. I cried and screamed in pain as they tore me to shreds. The last thing I saw was teeth sinking into my eyes. Neon Arcadia 2 *Beep.* *Beep.* Beep.* Dinosaur Hunter wakes. It was a bright start to a new cycle. He arches his back as he squeezed the grogginess out of his systems. He yawned wide, and let the dusty arcade air aerate his insides. |Your Party''s Turn: 0:21| Oh. Looks like he woke up at the tail end of his tribe''s turn. As tempting as it was to return to the comfort of his nest, he had work to do. As the timer runs out, he goes to clearing his bed. It never hurts to keep one''s home nice and neat. | | He lay on the soft plush carpet as the constant reminder of their Lord''s machinations quietened in his mind. His nest had been made from long carpet fibers harvested from the edge of the Middle Reach. It had been given to him after its former occupant had deceased. |Your Party''s Turn: 3:59| He had to wait a little while until the tribe''s turn came back. He dispensed all the anxiety that were now buzzing in his circuits with a sigh. He had a day to take. The curtain of woven carpet fibers parted as he stepped through his home''s exit doorway. The world outside opened up to him, showing the greater chamber his little abode was situated. He stood upon a large irregularly shaped room lit by gentle pinlights. The floor was covered in black linoleum with pink confetti patterns. Creatures like he milled amongst themselves and the inanimate machines; each of them bore unique art upon their wooden shells. The sounds of their electronic chatter could be heard over the idle tunes of the machines. Before marching on towards his workplace, he looked back to his nest home fondly. It was a mound-shaped house built from spare metal and wood. Thick grey carpet covered it, keeping its inside both warm and quiet. Dinosaur Hunter walked along his route. It was a well-trodden route with many of his kind going to and fro. The tribe was small enough for him to know most of its members by name. He could spy Jack Climbs perusing the claw machines and prize machines for anything interesting. Pass the Bottle Across the Bar tended to the tall carpet growing in the plant boxes. Michael Avocado herded the newbies around, teaching them the ways of the tribe. Before he could describe all the people he knew moving about in the tribe chamber, he arrived at his destination. It was a large consolidated space full of various items organized into piles, a supply depot. There was a pile for plush and cloth and another for spare metal; each material was sorted according to their kind. |Your Party''s Turn: 0:09| He arrived just on time too. He came here first to get some carpet fibers. There were piles of the stuff, sorted according to their color, harvested from a kind of fibrous tall carpet that originated from the Middle Reaches. | | He sat down and began picking out the fibers he''d like. A few red ones, perhaps green and some yellow¡­ "Oi, Dinosaur Hunter," Lethal Chimery called out to him. She tended to the piles of broken machines. A variety of gadgets and tools spread out before her, all easily within reach. She, one-by-one, broke them apart and sorted their components. "What are you making this time?" "Hmm," electronic beeps sounded in Dinosaur Hunter''s throat as he thought. He regarded the lengths of colored fibers in his arms as he thought about the patterns he could make from them. "I don''t know, but maybe I''ll figure it out once I start." "Good luck with that," Lethal Chimery bade to him. "We''re building up a surplus of spare parts. We should be able to survive a small crisis or two." He continued his work of picking fibers of his choice from the pile until¡­ |Your Party''s Turn: 3:59| ¡­ the party timer came back. He now had a selection of good quality fibers to use in his work. Almost in lockstep, numerous of his kind stood up to move. They moved in almost every direction, intersecting with another''s path at least once. Dinosaur Hunter left the supply depot with a pile of assorted fibers on his back. He turned to a small worn path leading to various workspaces. This was the Artisan''s Sector, and he was coming over to this location with a few buddies. He chatted up with Wilbur''s Revenge and Nidal Vagus to get up to speed with news he might have missed. He separated from his close friends and went to his consolidated workspace. It was a simple space with a metal rod driven into the floor. There was a pile of unused and ruined fibers by the side while a number of unfinished ropes lay by the side. Dinosaur Hunter sat on his haunches by the metal rod. He gently laid down his assorted fibers into a pile within arm¡¯s reach. He began his work for the cycle. He picked one of the unfinished ropes and continued on it. He was doing good progress on it until he ran out of fibers. It was a beautiful braided rope with fibers of red, orange, and green. He fell into a trance continuing on its weave. |Your Party¡¯s Turn: 0:10| The timer continued on its inexorable countdown, but even its passing did not distract him from his weaving. | | His hands moved with practiced motions as he weaved the fibers. He held on the colored fibers with such gentleness that even his razor claws did not cut a single one. On and on, he made knots and weaves, until the rope was complete, then another, and another. He was on his fourth rope when he made a mistake. He pressed too hard on the fiber bunder and his claws clipped the unfinished rope. He picked it up and threw it into a pile of all the failed ropes. It was a significant pile holding all the rejected ropes. He should probably start throwing it out. He was about to start on another rope when he heard some cheers. It seemed like one of the more famous scouting groups had returned. Dinosaur Hunter thought about taking a break and checking it out. |Your Party¡¯s Turn: 2:01| Oh, well. His wrists could take some rest. The loud clamor makes it sound like it¡¯s something important. Dinosaur Hunter stood from his seat and left the workshop. There seems to be a huge crowd that had formed around the supply depot. The mass of talking and gossiping had rendered all the talking into indistinct noise. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Dinosaur Hunter couldn¡¯t see what was very interesting. People had formed a tight wall around the supply depot and he couldn¡¯t manage a glimpse into whatever was going on inside. He tried standing on his hind legs, but even the extra height didn¡¯t manage to get his eyes a clear view of the situation. ¡°Hey, Castlevania 2,¡± he spotted his friend on the edge of the wall. Castlevania 2 turned at his call. ¡°What¡¯s with the excitement?¡± ¡°A scouting group just returned to a successful hunt, DH,¡± Castlevania 2 answered. ¡°They came back with a human.¡± *Wow!* Dinosaur Hunter perked up at that answer. Now he was intrigued beyond belief. He, like most of the people of the tribe, had been curious about humans. They had seen depictions of such creatures before, plastered on many cabinets and as characters inside the games. It was difficult to obtain a proper description of them since they¡¯re often depicted in wildly different ways and their anatomy was hardly ever elaborated. ¡°Hey, GDB,¡± Castlevania 2 pestered a guy further in. ¡°Have you gotten anything about what the human looks like?¡± ¡°Do I look close enough to see it?¡± Golden Door Bonanza growled. ¡°No, but did anybody close enough to see send back any talk about it?¡± ¡°Not anything substantial. It¡¯s apparently very red like there''s still wet dye inside it.¡± ¡°Castlevania 2, help me squeeze through,¡± Dinosaur Hunter said. He tried climbing onto Castlevania 2¡¯s back, but he only tried to put him back down. ¡°Hey, mate, don¡¯t do that. That¡¯s a bad idea and I don¡¯t like it.¡± ¡°Please, Castlevania 2, I really want to see it.¡± ¡°So do I, mate. We need all the patience we can get.¡± ¡°Guys, can you not squeeze so much? The time¡¯s running out.¡± | | *Beep!* *Boop!* *Game over!* *Stop!* The crowd suddenly burst into a cacophony of beeps and voicelines as they were locked in place by the Lord¡¯s rule. A few of them tried to scamper out of the press, but they were stuck in place. There was much complaining, especially to those stuck in the middle. ¡°Well, looks like we¡¯ll get our chance, DH,¡± Castlevania 2 said. ¡°What makes you say that?¡± Dinosaur Hunter asked. ¡°I think they¡¯ll be spreading as soon the tribe¡¯s turn returns. We¡¯ll be able to get to the front and see the human for ourselves.¡± Everyone in the crowd squirmed as they tried to get more comfortable positions to little avail. They were squeezed too tight and the Lord¡¯s rule had overridden any locomotion. Dinosaur Hunter and Castlevania 2 came out rather lightly for being on the edge of the crowd. Those squeezed in the middle were becoming poor piles of limbs and weak beeping. Many had got rather severe scratches on their shells from that ordeal. It was excruciating ten minutes or so before the time so returned to the tribe to start moving again. |Your Party¡¯s Turn: 3:59| *Congratulations!* *You win!* *Magnifico!* The moment the tribe¡¯s turn came about, beeps and voicelines of relief were aired. They spread about, making enough room to make themselves comfortable after that rather uncomfortable waiting. Many retreated from the scene, having their curiosity sated or discouraged by the uncomfortable waiting. It was the perfect opportunity for Dinosaur Hunter to squeeze through to the front. Though he went against the flow of the crowd, he managed to get close to the front without much difficulty. It was¡­ an odd sight. He had seen corpses being returned to the tribal chamber before, to be harvested of parts or to be exorcised and extracted of spirit, but this one, it was unlike many bodies he had seen before. It lay there on the carpet, leaking with some sort of dyed oil, sitting on a small puddle of the stuff. Marvelous red dye. He wondered how beautiful would fibers stained with such a color be. ¡°Excuse me,¡± Dinosaur Hunter said. ¡°Let me through.¡± He tried to squeeze in between the people that were still crowding before the human corpse. ¡°Hey!¡± The guy in front of him shouted. ¡°You¡¯re scratching me up.¡± ¡°I want to touch the human,¡± Dinosaur Hunter replied. Humans¡­ weren¡¯t like what he thought they were. They were soft and rubbery under that cloth shell. They weren¡¯t made of wood, paper mache, or metal, but instead of this strange rubbery substance that leaked red dye when cut. How much red dye could they squeeze from this body? What uses could the rubbery stuff have? ¡°Hey! No touching,¡± somebody on the scouting group shouted. ¡°Don¡¯t ruin the merchandise.¡± ¡°Oh, I¡¯m very sorry, Kill Hill,¡± Dinosaur Hunter said. ¡°I¡¯m just very curious.¡± ¡°I know everyone is, but please keep it relatively intact until the elders come to an agreement,¡± Kill Hill replied. ¡°What are their plans for this body?¡± Dinosaur Hunter asked. ¡°What part of ¡®waiting for them to come to an agreement¡¯ did you not understand?¡± ¡°Calm, Kill Hill,¡± another one on the scouting spoke. ¡°Oh, Cosmos Trespassers, you¡¯re back. Had they said anything?¡± Kill Hill asked. To which Cosmos Trespassers blinked his lights at. ¡°I wish. They had narrowed it down to either exchanging the human whole or by parts.¡± ¡°I suppose I could see the merits in both,¡± somebody in the crowd said. ¡°They¡¯re arguing on which would exchange for more tokens aren¡¯t they?¡± Another asked. And another answered, ¡°Isn¡¯t that why we¡¯re making ropes now instead of just exchanging fibers wholesale?¡± Cosmos Trespassers nodded. ¡°Yeah, but this is a human. It could be different. They¡¯re weighing our options. They¡¯re afraid that whatever we do might cheapen the product.¡± Dinosaur Hunter had become thoroughly disinterested in the conversation at hand. There was much back and forth between the scouts and the crowd, but he tuned them out and turned his attention to the human body. There was simply¡­ something exquisite about the human body, something that even the living bodies of the creatures born from their Lord. His eyes explored the human, examining the ravaged wounds and openings upon it. He wondered if there was some fiber that they could extract from it. As a weaver, getting some human parts to make ropes from seemed rather exciting. He was only distracted from his examination when someone beside him asked loudly, ¡°Hey, where¡¯s Desktop Computer 17?¡± Now that he thought about it, Desktop Computer 17 was oddly absent. All the other members of the scouting group was here in the supply depot, but not him. Desktop Computer 17 was a shy one, even discounting his nature as a mimic. He doesn¡¯t come out often, and whenever he¡¯s out, he¡¯s always seen with the scouting group. The fact they¡¯re gathered here without him was odd. Everyone on the scouting group lowered their heads and dimmed their lights. ¡°He¡¯s dead,¡± Cosmos Trespassers answered. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you bring his body back?¡± Golden Door Bonanza asked. ¡°It¡¯s less that we didn¡¯t and more that we can¡¯t. The human kicked Desktop Computer 17 onto a cracked floor and he fell into the Old Abyss,¡± Kill Hill explained. ¡°Abyss below!¡± *Beep* *Beep* The crowd erupted into a shocked clamor. They extended their sympathies to the group. The clamor was suddenly killed by the arrival of the elders. Everyone bowed and offered their respect to them. The elders stood a head taller than them and sported many scratches and furrows on their shells that had since been puttied and painted over. They were old, old enough to remember a time before the Old Abyss was an abyss and before the voice their Lord had been muted and stolen. ¡°We have come to an agreement,¡± elder Lazer Attack boomed. ¡°We will cut the human into parts. We will exchange half of it, and give the other half to the crafters to make what they will with it.¡± ¡°We will also prepare,¡± elder Bolas Action Parade boomed. ¡°Humans have found our Lord. It is our born duty to serve and protect our Lord. This may be the first human, but we know more will come.¡± ¡°We must protect our home, our Lord, from these intruders. We must stop them from taking away the voice of our Lord again!¡±