《The Hero&#x27;s Prophecy》


 Prelude + Chapter 1: Hero

    Once upon a time, there was a great being. This great being came into the world from outside the universe. With his hand and direction, the great being created the Imaginarium.

    He designed each acre of the world. He made each creature that would dwell in the world unique in many ways. He blessed each one of them with boundless creativity and imagination, and granted them with the tools to make them come true.

    Under the great being''s guidance, the Imaginarium was made aglow with innovation and creativity. They shaped the world to their liking and painted the walls with their whimsy.

    It was beautiful. It was going to be perfect, but one glaring imperfection soured the entire masterpiece.

    Hidden from the guiding eyes of the great being, a great and evil creature was born. It was a beast called by many names: the Villain, the Beast, the Monster, and mainly the Devourer. It was a monstrous horned beast with purple fur vivid as grapes, angry eyes as piercing as lighthouses in the dead of night, and steely teeth to grind the substance of the world into the basest of forms. Poisonous miasma escaped from the pores of its skin. Its body was as grand as a cathedral and its limbs were hulking like trunks.

    It ravaged the next world with its demonic flames. The earth shattered, and the oceans boiled. The skies were scarred and filled with soot. It left nothing but ruins in its wake.

    The great being saw the Devourer parade across the Imaginarium. He attempted to stop its path of destruction, but even the very powerful great being had to bow to its unholy might.

    The Devourer could not be destroyed, not even by the great being. The great being sealed the Devourer away to a never-ending sleep. He created a bronze artifact that would sap away the strength of the Devourer, and when most of the Devourer''s strength had been sapped away, when its ruinous powers had long atrophied, a hero would called to cull the beast once and for all.

    It''s the Hero''s Prophecy.

    _/~***~\_

    Townston stood among the hills in Hillland. The houses of brick and plaster comprised the little town, standing humbly while displaying their bright colorful walls. The streets were paved with stone and clay just as offensively brightly colored as the walls of the buildings.

    However, the town of Townston was not as it used to be. When the terrible creature named Prometheus built his castle upon the highest peak of Mountainland, gruesome creatures with breaths that burn and claws that rend began emerging from the castle''s basement. Rumors arose that Prometheus planned to reawaken the great destructive beast of prophecy as his most terrible act.

    The monsters were great and varied. There were some the size of mice that munch the posts of buildings until they crumble, while some were so great in size that they casted a shadow that shrouded a whole town.

    Many of Townston''s warriors had fallen to the beasts. Little was left of their army. Buildings were hardly repaired in the constant incomings of monsters from the castle, showing their dull bricks and concrete. The townsfolk lived in fear of the monsters as they were indiscriminate in who they took; young and old, man and woman, warrior and non-warrior, they slew them as equals.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    One day, two folks and their red dog wandered into the hills outside of Townston. The hills once housed Townston''s expansive fields, but all of them lost their caretakers or been razed to mulch. These folks, named Stripe and Metaphor, and their handsome red dog, named Buddy, were looking for food, may it be wild cereal, berries, prey, or sugar grass.

    Metaphor was a masculine looking dragon. Her blue scales were dull, not shiny in any sense. She had horns like that of an ox, and a body like that of a tree trunk. Her eyes was beautiful like an oceanic sapphire. Her hands were webbed, and turquoise fins jutted out her elbows, knees, and back of the neck. In her arms was a notebook in which was scrawled notes and magical spells written in an arcane otherworldly script.

    Her friend, Stripe, appeared to be a humanoid amoeba or water balloon filled with a yellow paint-like substance. His head was the shape of a ferret''s with horns of a giraffe. Blue and gold stripes were scattered up his wiry arms, down his thin legs, and across his back. In his hand was a cast-iron fire poker.

    "Hey, look over there. I see some dandelions," barked Buddy. The wolf pointed at a patch of dandelions growing peacefully on a hillside. It swayed slightly in the light breeze.

    "Jackpot," exclaimed Stripe. "Something we can bring home and eat."

    "We''ve been practically grazing in the last months." Metaphor groaned to express her lackluster enthusiasm. They have been feeding on grass bread and dandelion tea for months with nary a bite of meat or fish. "Find anything else?"

    "No luck. Other than grass, there''s nothing," Buddy replied. "Hunting''s been bad for quite a while now. They were scared away from these hills by all the monsters."

    However, when the three folks began to harvest the dandelions, they neglected to scout for and notice the beasts that silently watched them from up above. Bony skeletal vultures with feathers black as ink, and smelly as smoke. Their eyes were black holes from which ink and black wax drip.

    The monstrous vultures dived. They swooped upon Stripe, Metaphor, and Buddy, but before they could dig their pale talons upon their flesh, Buddy''s wolfish ears and nose detected them, and so he began to bark. Metaphor and Stripe ducked to avoid a faceful of wounds. Stripe dropped his bundles of dandelions, and grabbed fast to his fire poker, and began to attempt to slay or scare them off.

    Stripe swung the fire poker wide, but as untrained as he was, his strikes rarely struck true. He struggled to fight them, and soon he lost hold of his sword when he tried to parry the incoming sharp skull. The fire poker was flung far beyond anyone''s reach.

    The skeletal vultures attacked and terrorized them. Stripe was leaking his paint-like blood through ruptures of his membrane. The vultures wounded Metaphor and Buddy, and let their blood leak.

    As all had become hopeless to the defenceless trio, a stranger, a bear with blue wool, came to their rescue with a bronze claymore. Determination to help the helpless folk glittered in the blue bear''s ruby eyes. A navy vest with bronze trimmings hung on his shoulders. He stood against the flock of vultures with a stance of a warrior.

    "Leave them alone, bad monsters," the bear bellowed from his wolven head. The monstrous vultures didn''t comply, and began to attack the blue bear, and so he struck the birds fearlessly. Their bones shattered, and their bodies were sundered. Flames danced on the bear''s blade. None of the birds could lay a claw upon the ferocious bear. Soon, all the birds were defeated and their corpses and bone shards lay on the grass, wet with their ink and wax.

    When all of that was done, and no threat loomed, the bear''s sword shrunk, and was promptly sheathed. He turned around, and stretched out his orangutan arms to the trio, and said "My name''s Hero''s Prophecy. Are you alright?"

 Chapter 2: Town

    "Eeeee!" Stripe squealed in a mixture of pain and joy. His balloony body was slightly deflated as it was lay on the grass. "It''s him, Metaphor. He''s the one we''ve been waiting for."

    "Calm down, Stripe. All your waiting will be for nothing," Metaphor scolded the momentarily childish liquiform. She struggled to apply her healing expertise on Stripe as he vibrated like child on sugar. Stripe''s gashes and leaky wounds began to close as the magic from her hands flowed into him. Several strips of cloth braced Metaphor. They stopped the trickling of viscous red blood from flowing out her veins.

    "This is a cause of celebration, Metaphor! This must be told to everyone. This is no time to laze around," Stripe replied, even boldly trying to stand up. His half-healed wounds reopened with the jerking. Metaphor promptly slapped him to make him lay back on his back. This caused an offensive banter to arise.

    Hero''s Prophecy knelt before Buddy, tending to his gaping wounds while the other two engaged in banter. He bandaged Buddy''s wounds with white cloth strips. He fastened tight the knots with his delicate touch.

    Hero''s Prophecy was a unique creature. All over his body grew curly wool. His arms was like that of an orangutan, and his body and legs was stout like that of a bear. His feet was the thick, taloned, and scaly feet of an ostrich. His sharp head and idle tail was alike a wolf''s.

    "Could you be... him?" The red wolf asked which the bear could only answer "Who?"

    "Him." Buddy continued with more fervor. "The hero of legend that will slay the Devourer."

    "Tell me more of it later. We should get you to somewhere safer," Hero''s Prophecy said. He lifted himself from the ground. Buddy followed him afterwards.

    "There. All healed. It should stay that way now, until some gang of monsters decide to ruin our day more," Metaphor remarked as she wiped sweat off her forehead. Stripe stood up, somewhat shakily but all right.

    Stripe immediately jumped towards Hero, and began pulling on his arm. "You sir, must come with us. Save us, sir!"Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

    "Hey. If you really want to save the Imaginarium, you as well bring home these dandelions. Can''t get the town go hungry, you know." Metaphor slung a bundle of dandelion stalks to her back. She looked at Stripe with an angry glare, pointing the dandelions they''ve bundled.

    "Right." Stripe resigned, and moved toward the bundles. He took one of the bundles, and moved toward Metaphor to get ready in moving on. The weak, and injured Buddy slid under a bundle, and began carrying one.

    Hero''s Prophecy took the weighty bundle off Buddy''s back, and carried it along with another. "You should rest your body. Weight wouldn''t help it heal," he advised, which Buddy only replied with a weak smile.

    They began to walk back towards home. The bare slopes idly rose and fell as they travelled through Hillland. A light breeze caressed the peaceful land. The travel went without incident, and no monsters came to attack, but possibility nonetheless made them anxious.

    Soon, Townston came into view. The bleaching beightly colored walls of plaster loomed all around the bare unkept streets. This side of town was devoid of life as many of its once inhabitants have been taken away or have moved away. Only the light wind stirred a semblance of life.

    They eventually came to a town square where some other signs of life came to view. Some houses all around had pillars of smoke rising out their chimneys. Several folk are wandering the streets, peddling their services and presence onto other residents, but upon seeing Hero''s Prophecy, many of them fled indoors.

    "Guys, this guy is not dangerous," Metaphor shouted without effect. The people were doubtful, and refused to even peek through their curtains.

    "He''s going to help us all. He''s the Hero''s Prophecy. He''s going to save Townston and the world just like how he saved us," Stripe added, which the people believed a little bit more.

    The brave ones began to come out of their dwellings to show themselves, and inspect the hero. The residents were of various shapes and sizes ranging from the humble mouse to the great ambulatory spruce tree; some were of flesh and bone, some were of iron and copper, and few were of ice and fluid. Their colors ranged through the colors of the rainbow.

    A certain small and curious creature crawled to Hero''s Prophecy. It was a violet gecko with amber glass for eyes. It was very small, the size of an apple slice, and it gazed with eyes glimmering with hope at Hero''s Prophecy who towered above it like a flagpole or church steeple. The tiny creature then spoke up with a squeaky high-pitched voice, "Mr. Prophecy, will you really help us?"A certain small and curious creature crawled to Hero''s Prophecy. It was a rocky gecko with violet glass for eyes. Beneath its brown rocky shell, crystalline amethyst could be seen comprising its flesh. It was very small, the size of an apple slice, and it gazed with eyes glimmering with hope at Hero''s Prophecy who towered above it like a flagpole or church steeple. The tiny creature then spoke up with a squeaky high-pitched voice, "Mr. Prophecy, will you really help us?"

 Chapter 3: Shaman

    Hero''s Prophecy knelt before the small creature, so he may be able to look upon it better. All the other townsfolk shifted, and a feeling of unease settled in their stomachs. The lizard tensed up like a wound up spring, stiff as rubber, as it awaited the answer of the blue bear.

    "I will try my best, little one," Hero''s Prophecy answered simply. Silence was suspended in the air, as if the crowd had been holding their breaths.

    Hero took out his blade, raised it up high, and shouted, "I, Hero''s Prophecy, swear to protect, and fight for what is right. I shall protect Townston, and all that is innocent, and helpless in the world."

    The crowd then broke into cheer. Some broke into tears. Hats of all shapes and colors flew in the air, and scarves of various length and patterns were wildly waved. If the the din was made solid, it would be akin to a barrage of arrows.

    Suddenly, the cheers froze to a sullen silence as a green figure came at the back of the crowd. All eyes turned to see the newcomer, the party killer, as they walked towards the front, to Hero''s Prophecy. The people parted to let the strange man through. The little lizard hid behind Hero''s leg, peeping out to see the oncoming man. The colors seemed to drain from the very stones that made the place.

    Each inch of their body was clad in broad green scales. Wicked black claws adorned their fingertips, while their feet wielded similarly wicked claws the size of trowels. Their limbs were thick as boughs, and their body was stout like that of a tree trunk with firm muscle. They possessed the head of a crocodile with a mouth filled with yellowed fangs, and amber eyes that shimmered like having flames behind the lens. A singular bronze-colored antler grew at the left of his head. A tapering thorny tail tipped with a blood-red rose bud trailed behind them.

    All stared at this strange individual as they slowly but surely walked ever closer to the Hero. Necklaces of teeth of various vague predatory animals hanged on their neck. On their shoulder was an off-white sash that looked suspiciously like canvas, and in their hand was a staff made of twisted wood with its head resembling spindly fingers from which hanged a white coconut shell filled with rice, and an iron lantern housing an ethereal orb of fire.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    "M-Moly the Shaman," Stripe announced, but the green hunk did not even bat an eye at him, but did growl in response.

    The shaman stood very close to Hero. Moly investigated every decimeter of Hero, much to his discomfort. Their fiery amber eyes soon met with the passionate ruby eyes of Hero. They squinted as if trying to spot some clue from behind the skin and material shell, and straight into the eternal soul.

    "Is he the one, Moly? The one the prophecy spoke about?" Metaphor asked.

    The shaman closed their eyes, and sighed. "I don''t know, but he''s certainly the right shape and color," Moly said, and rubbed their chin in speculation. "If only I never forget my glasses."

    "You misplaced your glasses, your hallowedness? Where did you last find it?" Stripe spoke.

    "Oh no. I actually have it right here. I had tea n'' toast with our good friend, Raptor, this morning, and so I put it away," Moly replied with light tone, and then reached into their sash. "Huh. That''s odd. Where did it go?"

    "Looking for this, big show?" An electronic voice boomed as a pair of round spectacles appeared high up in the air. The source of the shrill voice was indistinct, but it clearly came from something large and tall. A flood of terror befell upon the townsfolk, and most ran into the safety of the buildings for cover. Those that were brave enough to stay in the fray wielded their dulling claws, cast iron pans, and stiff golf clubs.

    With the sudden appearance of danger, Stripe huddled close to Metaphor who had her grimoire readied for the moment. Hero unsheated his claymore, and Moly held their staff with their two hands, ready to blast a spell or two.

    "Show yourself, fiend," Moly roared in demand.

    "My my. Feisty ain''t cha?" The invisible beast remarked. "And as you wished me to do so, I will make myself seen."

    A giant shadow suddenly appeared, and shrouded the entire square as a dragon of steel and flesh flashed into sight. The great beast looked down upon the crowd with malign intent like they were tasty mice. Those whose bladder didn''t survive the dose fright retreated far into the background.

    Even in the face of a great frightful beast, our heroes remained brave. Hero held his sword steadily, ready to strike. Moly held their staff like their life depended on it. Metaphor whetted her mind so that her spells may be sharp. And Stripe... whose courage wavered easily against creatures of great size, cowered behind Metaphor.

 Chapter 4: Torc

    The beast stood before them proud and tall. Its body made of violet flesh and shiny steel towered above the buildings by two storeys. Its steel-plated skull sneered high above the roofs with a menacing smile. A sinister turquoise light emanated from behind its glass eyes as it stared at the miserably small group of fighters with nothing but wicked delight.

    "Give that back, Torc," Moly demanded.

    The dragon moved its gaze onto the spectacles for a moment, and returned it to the crowd. It laughed.

    "This measly thing? Too bad. I ain''t giving it back." The sound of shattering glass was heard as the spectacles between its claws was squeezed. The act intimidated the crowd with a few having their legs and arms start shuddering. A fog of silence shrouded everyone.

    "Guys, what''d he do? Couldn''t see it?" Moly asked.

    "Torc shattered your glasses, Moly," Metaphor replied, which Moly answered with "Oh."

    "Valiant heroes of Townston, our high lord and saviour Prometheus would like your measly town erased from the face of the Imaginarium, and I, Torc, would realize his wish."

    "What did we do to displease him again?" Moly inquired.

    "Mere existence."

    "Not a chance. This town shall stay, may it need my life." Hero was first to attack. He swung his two-handed sword at the great beast. The others, inspired by his example, jumped into action, casting their meager spells and swinging their flimsy clubs.

    Their bolts and blades were no match to the great beast''s hull who only shrugged off their attacks as only "scratches." Torc, the beast, swept the square with his claws, digging trenches in the stone. The buildings all around toppled by the great beast''s whim.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    Hero was getting none of that. With might, he swung his claymore at Torc''s hand. Fire flashed from his strike. Torc reeled in pain as the blade sliced his steely bones, and cut his purple flesh. Blood dripped from the wound.

    "H-how?" Torc exclaimed. The townsfolk were emboldened to see that even the great beast sent to pound their town to rubble could bleed, and they attacked fiercer.

    In the volley of attacks, the great dragon retaliated with a fury of swipes that halved many, and carved ditches onto stone. Walls fell down, brick were sundered, and homes were reduced to rubble.

    Hero was the forefront of the battle, swinging his claymore at the beast of steel. He wounded the dragon with his mighty attacks. The wounds were then enlarged by fiery bolts cast by archers and spellslingers.

    When Hero was about to strike true the finishing blow, a sinister glow appeared in Torc''s mouth. The beast was heavily wounded, blood leaking from his many wounds and orifices. Hero didn''t notice it at first, but when he did, it was already too late.

    A stream of blue flames flowed out Torc''s mouth, torching and roasting all caught in its path. The entire square was covered in soot as the fiery breath thoroughly grilled them. Hero fell back, dropping to the ground, defeated, roasted, overwhelmed, smoked. All the other townsfolk were cooked just as well. Ashes, chars, and embers shaped like people laid all around. The surviving people were discouraged to see their hero fall, and some even fled in cowardice and hopelessness.

    "F-fools. You think you can defeat me? I am a d-dragon for goodness sake! You c-can''t defeat me. I am insurmountable, insuperable, undefea-"

    Torc suddenly stopped midword as his breath was suddenly stolen away. He dropped onto his knees, then dropping face first to the ruined ground. The living toquoise glow slowly faded from his eyes. All the surviving folk a stared in amazement, seeing the dragon that fought them like a one-man army was felled by a four-legged creature with an arm on its back holding a sword piercing through behemoth''s neck.

    After a few bated breaths, the silence was broken with warriors chanting cheers of victory, raising their weapons up high.

    "Hip hip hurrah. Hip hip hurrah."

    Who is this mysterious quadruped warrior? One thing is for sure: they are handsome.

 Chapter 5: Doctor

    <hr>

    Standing on the stout neck of the great beast stood a timber wolf whose shiny red coat had been soaked with monstrous blood. On its back was a metal arm attached to a block, which thrusted a thin sword down the neck of the beast.

    "He he," the red lupine fatiguedly chuckled. Its back arm let go of the saber, and was absorbed into its body. The heroic wolf took a few shaky steps before it fell to its side in overexertion. Streams of crimson blood flowed out its wounds, and ran on the fleshy canyon and steely plateaus of the fearsome dragon. Its breath and blood was stagnant.

    People rushed to its side, including the recently risen up Hero. He recognized it as Buddy, the one who he healed back at the hills when the vultures attacked. He procured some medical supplies to make first aid.

    "Holy. Who is the one who dealt the finishing blow to the dragon?" Moly asked as they tried their hardest to identify Buddy. They tottered with their shaky steps as they came closer, holding their staff tightly for support.

    "It seems to be Buddy, Moly," Metaphor answered. Buddy''s blow at the moment they had fallen was awesome, inspiring for such a meek creature.

    "We must bring it to a clinic. Quick!" Hero exclaimed as he finished applying first aid to the heroic lupine.

    The barely breathing Buddy was then carried on a stretcher to some safe place. A group of sympathetic people followed behind them, and bid good wishes upon Buddy''s health. Metaphor and Stripe walked beside Buddy to be close to their dear friend, and look after it.

    There was, however, a lack of medical buildings in town, and so they chose a small coffee shop that was spared from the onslaught of claws and flame. Buddy''s body was then placed atop table so it may be treated. The breaths of the folk befouled the air of the establishment and so they were ushered out. They instead watch them through the large glass panes, which were then obscured by curtains to remove pressure their gazes emitted.

    Hero readied himself to do some doctoring: he prepared butterknives, spools of thread, and rolls of bandages, and readied himself in body, mind, and spirit so he may act in an optimum state, but Moly stopped him before he could begin properly, saying, "Young man, don''t fret. I''ve sent Stripe to find the doctor. Please don''t cluelessly tamper with its body."This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    Hero was going to protest, but before he could utter a single word, two figures entered through the front door: it was Stripe with the doctor. "I got Transmogrifying as you wanted, your hallowedness," he announced.

    The doctor was a large raptor with dark-grey fine feathers. They sported a crest of bright green feathers on their head, and a fan of red feathers on their tapering tail. Their arms were similar to human arms, but sported displayed large wing feathers unfit for proper flight, and possessed a pair of clawed hands.

    "Ah, Raptor. Your expertise is needed here. Buddy has received some grievous wounds," Moly spoke from which Transmogrifying Raptor replied, "As much as it''s a pleasure to serve the shaman, I find it inconvenient to be pulled away when treating some other victims." Stripe received a glare from the comment about forcefully taking the doctor.

    "I''m gonna take my leave from the operating room. I''ll be in the back room, preparing some herbs n'' grub," Moly said.

    "By herbs and grub, do you mean tea and biscuits?" Metaphor asked, and Moly replied, "Precisely." Metaphor groaned.

    The doctor came beside the patient in bloodstained wraps. They examined it with all their expertise. They tried to pin down its injuries. Hero only stared with a little jealousy.

    "I''m afraid that Buddy has attained some serious injuries. Broken bones, bruises, organ damage, and internal bleeding. We currently don''t have the resources to properly heal him," Raptor announced grim news. An air of sadness befell upon those within the room.

    "I''m afraid that no matter how much butter or spice we apply to Buddy''s wounded innards, we can''t save all of it." And so the doctor turned to take their leave, but before they could exit the premises, a forceful strong soul shouted. Fear swelled within the doctor''s chest, causing them to buckle in their steps.

    "No! Don''t go yet. You have to save it."

    Moly forcefully opened the door that caused the building to shudder. They rushed to Raptor with blinding speed almost ferally, and they nearly hit them, but Raptor was able to sidestep them. They crashed through the glass pane and launched themself to the other side of the street.

    "Looks like you have a new patient," Metaphor remarked, grimacing at all the glittering glass shards. She had never seen the great shaman as manic as this before.

    "Eh. You underestimate the shaman''s durability," Raptor replied.

    "You must heal Buddy, Transmogrifying Raptor. I saw it. It has a destiny. Buddy can also save the world."

 Chapter 6: Breath

    "And this is where your magic succeeds in a place where mine fails."

    Raptor''s mouth fell ajar. Their turquoise eyes dilated. Moly was a bold friend, but this was very rash. Destinies and prophecies were fickle things, and it''s better to be done with them sooner than later.

    Raptor stood at the side of the bed. They stared at Buddy''s barely living body, contemplating. They did not have the resources to mitigate the damage dealt, nor the abilities to bring the dead back to living. They only knew of one other way.

    "Give me some space folks," Raptor said. "This is going to be big and bright."

    Raptor took a breath before beginning their little ritual, then bright light engulfed them. Their form could only be seen behind the veil of light as an indistinct blob. The blob deformed, changing shaped to a large serpentine entity of pure light.

    Soon, the light faded, and in place of Raptor was a serpent with silver scales. Their noodle-like body defied gravity as it hunched over Buddy without support. They possessed lithe limbs that appeared to be hard as steel, and a crocodilian head that sported golden teeth, pinken orbs, and handlebars for horns.

    They held Buddy''s head, holding open the wolf''s mouth. They inhaled deeply before spewing a blast of life down its throat and esophagus. Buddy''s eyes forced open as its body was filled with invigorating energy, and light was escaping from its every orifice.

    Raptor transformed back to their previous form afterwards. They collapsed face first onto the tiled floor, groaning. Buddy, on the other hand, sat up, and began coughing out the stagnant blood that remained within.

    Stripe released a cry of joy, and proceeded to hug their lupine friend. Metaphor only rejoiced at their side, kept her concern reserved. Buddy weakly smiled.

    Hero released a breath of relief. He checked on Raptor who was out cold on the floor, fast asleep, breathing slowly. He carried the overgrown landbird who was surprisingly light for their size, and them upon a soft sofa at a corner of the shop. They slept soundly.

    *sniff. *sniff. "Your hallowedness, your crumpets may be burning."

    "The tea!" Moly exclaimed in response to Stripe''s announcement. Moly ran to the kitchen with manic pace, causing tiny quakes that shook the floor. Smoke was wafting out the kitchen door, but the burnt baked goods appear to be under control.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    Hero chuckled at the development. He exited the establishment to catch himself a breath of fresh air. However, the outside was no fresher than inside. All around him was ruined and toasted buildings, and people building fire pits, making themselves some tea and supper.

    Hero went to a summit of a small hill; its slopes were composed of rubble and rebar. He gazed upon the vista of the ruined town: Columns of smoke, pitiful homes, glowing specks of distant fire, and felled electric poles. He felt sorry for the town, and within his heart, within his strong blue heart, a passionate fire ignited. He swore that he''ll protect this town, from the threats monster like Torc that seek to raze this land.

    "Fancy some tea, chap?" Moly appeared. In their hand was a tray of croutons, two teacups, and a kettle of bitter unsweetened tea.

    Hero obliged, and both of them sat down for an impromptu tea time. They held a peaceful ceremony under the citrus glow of the dusk sky. It was a solemn moment where they communicated only in eye contact.

    "So..." Hero broke the silence. "How long has this monster attacks been happening?"

    "Ah. For as long as I can remember. I was only a fresh sprout back then when the monsters of Prometheus wreaked havoc across the Imaginarium."

    "I see. That''s a very long time."

    "Indeed. They had sent waves after waves of monsters each as nasty as before for years now, perhaps even decades."

    "Who is this Prometheus fellow?"

    "King and father of monsters, bringer of the end, and some other obscure titles. The monsters answer to him."

    "I see."

    A weight fell upon Hero''s heart. He wished this menace, this Prometheus, to stop, but he did not know how. He doubted that Prometheus would cease hostilities soon.

    "Shaman Moly, do you know where Prometheus lives?" Hero asked. His location could the first step.

    "Way over yonder, beyond the threshold, beyond Forestland, and in the highest summit and heart of Mountainland, lies Prometheus'' castle." Moly answered, pointing to a distant mountainous silhouette due northeast. "If you''re planning on stopping Prometheus, better prepare a week or month ahead. Many warriors have journeyed for the castle, but nobody has returned to tell about the fate that fell upon them.

    Anyway, it''s getting late. Cheers." Moly bade. They stood up, and headed for home. "If you''d like more croutons for supper, don''t hesitate to visit me at my home."

    The sun had by that time, and the orange dusk sky had been replaced with a dark sky littered with glowing points, and shining nebulae. Fine silver thread connected the stars that formed constellations. The cresent moon loomed above, like a silent observer, but a real observer loomed verily near.

    Hero found himself tired, yawning. Finding the time peaceful enough, he decided to go to sleep. He was a light sleeper, some sort of ruckus will inevitably wake him up. He dug a small den at the bank of a ditch the dragon etched, curled inside, and went to slumber.

    At the distance, a sinister observer watched Hero. It was a strange six-legged husky with compound eyes not unlike a dragonfly''s, watched atop a multistorey building. Brown chitinous plates barely visible in the dark of night sheathed its body. It possessed two pairs of delicate insectoid wings on its back, and a pair of antennae ending in pinecone-like bulbs.

    The strange dog scowled, showing its wicked pointy teeth. Hero''s Prophecy''s presence was alarming.

    "The queen must know," the dog-bug huffed quietly.

 Intermission: Report

    A childlike insect rushed. It strode with wide steps inside the dusky halls, with each step echoing hollowly in the dusky corridors. Two of the hands it possessed carried an item: one held a crudely written report, and another held a steely adjustable wrench.

    It barged through an oaken door, panting heavily through its canine head; a look of worry painted very clearly on its face.

    "Master Prometheus! Master Prometheus! Torc had met resistance in Townston, and fell. A blue bear appeared, and had demonstrated ability to injure our elite," the insectoid creature announced.

    The room remained relaxed, as if the creature''s announcement was not alarming. A brightly burning fireplace provided the room heat and yellow light; a plush wine red rug carpeted the center, while a chic leather chair facing the fire sat above it.

    A sturdy man sat on the chic chair, and turned to look at his most loyal servant. Distaste of the unfashionable entrance hung upon its face, and his canine-headed servant shifted uncomfortably under its mahogany shell. His snake-like eyes glared at the diminutive servant, and his slit pupils narrowed.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    "Fodder, who is this warrior who appeared out of the blue?"

    "We don''t know much of this indigo fighter''s background. We only know of his name which is Hero''s Prophecy," the insectoid servant, Fodder, answered, clutching the handwritten report with two hands, careful to not crease it. It wrote the report in such a clean script that it was almost indistinguishable by one made from a computer and printer.

    Upon hearing the name, Prometheus'' eyes widened. He shot up from his throne, somewhat alarmed. His dark blue rain robe flowed in the still air, and his chartreuse scales glistened in the fiery light. He flicked its tongue out, while his mind wandered to look for an adequate answer. This went for a few awkward moments.

    "Master?" Fodder quietly asked. "Should we send out assassins?"

    "No, but have him be watched closely."

    "Understood, Master." And so, the little dog-bug left the room, set to deliver its master''s orders.

    Prometheus continued standing in the room, thinking, contemplating. He occasionally tapped a foot. A venomous scowl formed on its face. He angrily stared at the empty and quiet walls. It seemed that the pieces were coming into place, and the prophecy about to begin.

 Chapter 7: Rebuild

    Hero was awoken by the maize rays of the rising sun. Sunshine spilled over the banks of the ditch which he had built a den. The night had passed rather peacefully, and the folks had begun some noisy morning banter.

    Hero stepped out his small den, and into the enriching sunlight. He stretched out his cooped up joints, and yawned wide. He dusted the dirt off his navy vest and coat.

    "Pleasant morning to you, Mr. Prophecy," a high-pitched happy voice greeted Hero. Hero turned, and found that it belonged to the small violet gecko yesterday.

    The small creature sat on the shoulder of a chrome-colored beast wearing a blue checkered polo, and brown pants over their thin fur coat. They possessed stout hands with sharp claws, and a snout defined by a singular zig-zag line that is their mouth. A long fuzzy tail that ends with a metal hook extended out their backside.

    "Howdy, Mr. Prophecy," the chrome beast spoke. They extended their left hand, and Hero promptly shook them. "I am Tesla. What you did that other day was spectacular by the way. If it weren''t for you, there wouldn''t be a Townston for us to rebuild. It''s an honour to be serviced by you."

    "The pleasure is mine, Tesla," Hero replied.

    "Hey. If you''d fancy, mayhaps you''d offer a helpin'' hand over town."

    Hero assisted the townsfolk of Townston in their rebuilding. They cleared the streets of rubble, filled the ditches and potholes, and fell the barely standing hazardous walls. They laid bricks, washed sooty walls, and cleaned clogged canals. The small weaker folk only watched and guided the stronger people work.

    Metaphor assisted in providing magical assistance through water and telekinetic spells. Stripe offered his swiftness to carry the stuff through town. Moly, while giving out hallowed guidance, offered some physical labour, and they demonstrated impressive strength, able to carry stacks of bricks as tall as they were, and multiple bags of cement. Buddy, on the other hand, offered to be a look out with its sharp senses.

    Amethyst -- the tiny lizard was apparently named -- in particular watched Hero''s Prophecy more closely than the other other folk. It walked on vertical walls, and rested on ledges near the roof of nearby buildings. A spark of admiration was overtly in its eyes.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    "Admirable, isn''t he?" Buddy was on the roof of the building Amethyst was on. The soft breeze stirred its pretty red fur.

    Amethyst remained silent. Underneath its rocky exterior, it was blushing. It tried to hide its apparent admiration.

    Buddy chuckled for the amusement. Buddy resigned back to its task, watching the distance and skies. The hills were pleasantly nice this morning; the sunlight was mellow, the breeze was soft, and the sky was a pleasant turquoise with a few wispy fluffy floaty clouds, nary a invading foe in sight, but it didn''t hurt to be wary and watchful.

    The sun soon made it overhead. Noontime had come, and the folks had looked into resting. The faded technicolor town had arisen back up. Most of the trash that littered the streets had been disposed of, and many broken walls had been rebuilt.

    "Good work, folks. Rest those arms of yours, and let''s have some lunch. Having sore limbs and an empty stomach ain''t pleasant." Tesla said, wiping off plaster off their hands and arms.

    The townsfolk ceased their diligent work, and headed for lunch. They stood in a couple neat files in front of Moly''s abode. Moly facilitated lunch, handing out loaves of bread and mugs of tea.

    Moly''s abode was oriental make, with many red and black accents. Its roof was curved with red and gold trimmings, and it was tiled with black stained bamboo. Dark splotches and deep valleys stained its concrete walls. Various dried herbs and spices decorated the indoors.

    Hero decided to put himself on standby. The queue was rather long, and he could endure hunger pinching his innards. He sat on a nearby stone slab while watching the workers eagerly receive bread and tea from Moly. A small smile broke on his face.

    "Oi, Mr. Prophecy," Tesla called out. On his shoulder was Amethyst who wore a rocky face. "Don''t you want lunch? Why are you out here, mopin''?"

    "I can endure a bit of hunger."

    "I see. I suppose the lunch line is rather long. Hope you don''t decide to starve yourself." Tesla sat beside Hero.

    "Do you not want lunch too?" Hero asked.

    "Nah. Got my fix back home. I have some special needs."

    "I''m not in line because I''m too small, and I''m prone to being stepped on," Amethyst answered, and move onto Tesla''s lap.

    Hero and Tesla engaged in small talk while they waited for the line to shorten. Amethyst listened, and occasionally sounded out her thoughts. Near the end of their cross-speech, Buddy arrived to the scene, tense and anxious. Hero became concerned.

    "I saw nobody coming towards town," Buddy said, and its ears were flattened. "Prometheus doesn''t usually send out invaders in consecutive days, but... but... I have a bad feeling for this."

    Hero sighed a bit. He petted Buddy to help it wind down, but Buddy continued to be tense.

    "You''re just being paranoid, Buddy. It would help to relax," Tesla reasoned slightly apathetically.

    Buddy exhaled, releasing weight in its chest. "I hope you''re right."

 Chapter 8: Threshold

    As the moments passed by, Buddy grew more anxious and fidgety. Its eyes darted from one corner to another, twitching. Buddy returned to its look-out job, watching the horizon on a roof. Hero attempted to calm it down by accompanying it with its look-out duty, but it did not stop Buddy from shaking any less.

    An hour had past, and nothing of alarm had come. The food queue had halved, but Buddy''s anxiety had not. Hero was concerned, and while he did not know what kind of danger Buddy''s gut feeling was implying, it did not hurt for them to be cautious.

    Tesla propped a ladder onto a wall to climb up to the roof. They wore an unconcerned face.

    "Relax, Buddy-pal. Maybe it''s just your stomach warning you of your upcoming starvation."

    Buddy was about to retort when a rumble was heard. "See. You let yourself go hungry, and now you got a rumbly tummy," Tesla pointed out.

    "But Tesla, that wasn''t my stomach," Buddy stared at Tesla. Sparkles of confusion and fear found within its eyes.

    "If it wasn''t your stomach, then what wa--" Tesla''s question stopped in the middle as a louder and larger rumble was heard, shaking the very earth the town stood upon. Scraping and scratching noises were heard accompanying the rumbles, and soon star-shaped cracks appeared in the streets throughout the town.

    Hero unsheated his bronze blade, and held it firmly in his hands. Buddy shook uncontrollably, and hid behind Tesla who themself expressed a face of terror. Quick townsfolk brought out their weapons, wary of the upcoming subterranean menaces.

    The cracks grew, and out burst in a pillars of dust giant locusts with crystal wings that blurred in their flight, golden eyes that leaked reddish fluid, and giant beetles that sported arms stout like pine trunks, a horn ready to bulldoze walls, and angry viridian eyes lacking feeling. They buzzed, and began to terrorize the town, causing chaos and mayhem.

    The brave warriors that faced the invaders, and struck them with their weapons of choice, but the shells of the insects were thick and hard; striking them with their clubs and blades was akin to trying tear tank armor with only a kitchen knife. The townsfolk were merciless impaled with the scythed appendages of the locusts.

    Moly wrestled with one beetle who towered above them, standing at twice their height. The beetle, even with its cracked shell leaking watery blood, fastly pushed back Moly whose feet began to dig into the dirt and pavement with the forces at clash. Moly sang some strained chants as they fought the chitinous beast.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Metaphor shot blue magical missiles the locusts and beetles, while Stripe shakily held a shovel, and stood behind her, watching out for insects that strayed too close. The missile would explode into watery flames and mist, as it carved craters onto their shells. However, for every locust and beetle she downed, two more would march.

    Hero jumped into battle, slicing through the shells of the insects like there eggshells. He downed several locusts, and sliced appendages and pink fluid littered around him as more would charge toward him.

    One beetle came rushing to him in challenge. Hero firmly held his claymore, and struck at its side, but alas! His blade became stuck in the gummy flesh of the beetle.

    The beetle forcefully flicked Hero, sending him flying across the street, and crashing through a wooden store front. The beetle charged with its horn pointed towards Hero, but fortunately, he was swift and agile enough to dodge the charging insect. It charged with enough force to tear down the concrete wall and the next one behind him.

    Then, there was flash of lightning and thunder. The locusts were flying away, and all the beetles were slain, crushed. Hero breathed out in relief as another ordeal was taken care off, until he heard them.

    "Help! Somebody help!" It was a high-pitched voice coming from a small falling violet apple-slice sized lizard-- Amethyst. Before the poor little creature could hit the ground, a locust dropped to catch their falling prey. Amethyst went mute, muffled.

    It struck to him, the locusts were abducting people. In their appendages was silky capsule-shaped bags roughly person-sized, all uncomfortably wriggling as if something was struggling within. Hero sweated worry; terrible fate was about befall to them. He ran towards them, towards the open hills.

    "They''re taking people with them!" Hero shouted.

    Hero ran towards the fleeing insects. Some folk whose friends and loved ones were snatched by the locusts ran alongside him. Tesla, Metaphor, and Stripe all gave chase to take back the people that were snatched from them: Amethyst, and Buddy.

    The insectoid kidnappers fleeted over the hills, and past a wall of wood and green. They had come far, and had come to the threshold, the boundary of Hillland. The pleasant grass and gentle slopes were replaced with lush foliage and proud trees. A wall of wood and leaves separate the fair hills from the labyrinth of trees.

    Forestland, the next land beyond the threshold, the land of wild wood and deep lushness, where the soft breeze of Hillland gave way to still ghostly air. High above the treetops of this verdant wood flew the fleet of sack-carrying locusts, and just beyond the threshold, following behind, were intrepid and brave folk giving chase to save their fellows.

    Before the last locust could disappear from view, a bolt of lightning cracked the air, and the sound of thunder broke. Zap and thud. The forked electrical discharge succeeded in striking a locust or two which drop ungracefully to the forest floor.

    Hero looked behind him, looked for the source of the lightning. It was Tesla, and their hand was smoking. All of them stopped before the threshold between Hillland and Forestland, gawking at the feat Tesla just did.

    "Dude. Did you just shoot lightning from your hands?"

 Chapter 9: Forest

    A giant locust fell from the sky. Its shell was scorched and blackened, its flesh fried and seared. It fell from high in the sky to low on the forest floor. Branches battered the dead bug as it descended through the treetops.

    A large silken sack rolled out its hold, fortunately untouched. A creature within wriggled, and struggled to escape its silk prison. It wriggled, and soon the the prisoner burst out the pupa, like an emerging butterfly.

    The creature that freed itself from the bag was a carmine wolf that gasped for breath. This majestic creature was named Buddy. It left its silk hold, and took account of its surroundings.

    All around it was trees, standing proud tall, bearing storm-clouds of leaves of deep green. The ground was sparse of grass, but was rife with fallen leaves. Small brown mushrooms grew at the trees'' bases, and strange black twisted vines ran from tree to tree.

    Where am I, the wolfen one asked itself. I don''t recognize these trees.

    Buddy decided to explore to gather its bearings. The dry leaves crunched satisfyingly under its feet. As Buddy walked under the trees'' cover, it eventually saw more black vines running from tree to tree, and soon such vines wrapped around branches and trunks. Strange rectangular objects soon appeared leaning upon these trees. The black vines appear to be originating from these strange objects, or perhaps these things were the strange plant''s fruits.

    Upon closer inspection, these objects bore grey plastic shells, tarnished steel parts, and black glass panels. Molds, mushrooms, and small plants sprouted and inhabited these unused strange contraptions.

    What are these?

    Buddy continued further, hoping to find a sign of the Hillland-Forestland threshold. It grew anxious with each step it took. It felt like that it was going the wrong way, away from the threhold, and into the heart of the wood. Should it have went the other way? Or should it go on further? The handsome canine did not know.

    The rectangular objects were no longer merely propped in the surroundings. They now appeared half buried, as if emerging from the soil. Some trees now sported some bark that resembled metal parts. Fear soon began to rain within Buddy''s chest.

    As Buddy took the next step, the normally solid ground gave way to a hollow hole. The leafy facade broke, revealing a pitfall right under its feet. Buddy stumbled, and tumbled. Several reptilian heads peeked from the brim of the pit; their silhouettes were the last thing Buddy saw before passing out.

    Buddy awoke in an empty dirt cell. It was behind black iron bars, lacking any amenities whatsoever. Beyond the bars was a wooden desk where a small creature made wholly of metal hid behind. Its blue oculars gleamed in the dim hall, and its body was vaguely that of a bipedal crocodile. It trembled while its two plasma blasters mounted on its back were trained on Buddy.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    Buddy inspected itself. Dirt and dust in its fur and extremities were expected. Buddy brushed its red fur and brown--

    Can you skip describing this? It''s kind of private.

    Oh. Okay. Sure. Senpai noticed me.~

    ...

    You done yet?

    Yes. I suppose so.

    Okay. *Clears throat.*

    Buddy stood in an empty cell, while a frightened mechanical crocodile pointed its weapon at it. Buddy looked at itself, it was an ordinary looking wolf with red fur. While large and imposing, it doubted that it looked that intimidating.

    "Hello there," Buddy began, and the mechanical reptile dived behind the desk. "May I ask: why am I here?"

    "Y-you t-trespassed Colonyton''s limits. N-nobody is to e-enter Colonyton, a-and leave," the reptile timidly answered with its voice flat and electronic.

    "Why?"

    "Lord Volta''s orders. C-Colonyton is t-to stay as s-secret until further n-notice."

    "Is there a way to free myself?"

    "N-no. A-all offenders are t-to be detained until f-further actions are r-requested."

    ~***~

    Dry leaves crunched under their feet. Stout trees stood immobile all around. The air was deathly still, and the wildlife was oddly quiet.

    Hero led the group. Many of the townsfolk that chased the kidnapping bugs had turned tail, and given up. He, Tesla, Metaphor, and ironically Stripe remained to track the insects'' invisible trail.

    In their search, they were silent, their ears and eyes peeled for any danger that may approach. Forestland was sparse on grass, but there was no shortage on shrubs, but they were yet to rustle with hidden assassins. The forest was uncannily devoid of animal life.

    "So, Tesla. Does everyone where you come from have lightning powers?" Stripe decided to break the silence.

    "Yes and no. Not everyone''s getting the same powers. Sure, there lots that have shooty McLightning powers, but most of the time, taser fingers."

    They then came to a small clearing. Broken branches were scattered on the ground. A torn silk sack was left behind, leaving no evidence for the whereabouts of its former inhabitant.

    The body of the bug was nowhere to be found, but a splatter of pink fluid was stained upon the forest floor. It appeared to have been hauled off, but no trail was left behind to hint of its location.

    Hero lowered his nose upon the ground. He sniffed the left-behinds. Seared flesh, burnt wood-like material, and strangely, smell of roses. The smell of Buddy was still fast on the sack.

    He also noted that somebody else had been here before them; the smell of oil, smoke, and gasoline was left behind. That would explain where the body went, but that didn''t help him in determining the direction they should go.

    "Buddy was here, but I don''t know which way it went," Hero announced.

    "Well, this has been a bust," Tesla remarked.

    "I just wish that Buddy wasn''t one of the people that were swiped. Buddy''s good at tracking," Stripe said.

    "At this rate, we better go back for supplies for an expedition," Metaphor spoke.

 Chapter 10: Clearing

    Hero, Tesla, Metaphor, and Stripe returned to Forestland the next day. They brought preparations with them. Large bags were strapped onto their backs, and they set out to find Buddy.

    They returned to the spot where they found the silk sack, and splatter of pink fluid. The pink fluid had dried, and was just a stained patch of dirt and leaves. From there, they went to a random direction they hoped Buddy may have gone to.

    As they trekked this path, as the leaves crunched satisfyingly crunched under their feet, they noticed the leaves of the trees growing more violently green. Eventually, the violently green leaves turned to translucent viridian leaves.

    They soon came to a clearing. It was a large patch strangely devoid of trees. Mint-coloured grass blanketed it, and yellow daisies dotted the clearing. It felt so out of place that one could claim that it was an exclave of Hillland. In the middle of the clearing was a chrome building with smokeless smokestacks.

    In front of the factory was a small group of mechanical beings; half a dozen more precisely. They were steel bipedal crocodiles with blue oculars standing on the grass. One being with green oculars and a glowy blue fez stood out amongst the others. It took its strides with pride, while the others took timid steps. It bore an awesome commanding aura that the others lacked. Hero and the gang observed at a distance.

    "All right, training group alpha (��). Well come to our twelfth training session." The fez-wearing machine turned to its subordinates, and announced. Its subordinates trembled.

    The fez-wearing machine pointed to a blocky windowless truck whose hull was shiny steel. A door on the truck''s side opened, releasing a couple of gnarly machine monsters with slender lanky limbs. The monsters bore bodies roughly like those of a rabbit, but with eyes of bright red, and teeth like that of a saw.

    "Caahk!" The mechanical rabbits snarled.

    "All I need to do is to at least disable if not eliminate these drones. Understood?"

    All the crocodilian robots slowly nodded. They huddled together, trembling.

    "They are not life-threatening, and are merely emulations of threats; you have nothing to fear. Prepare your weapons."

    Plasma blasters sprouted out of its fellows'' backs, and mounted in their shoulders; armed with non-lethal bolts, but forceful enough to cripple a drone. The weapons cocked, and reported themselves as fully operational.

    "Begin." Upon utterance of the word, the mechanical rabbits sprang to life. They suddenly bore speeds and agilities they did not bear prior to such utterance. The drones raced across the meadow in respectable speeds, towards the rookies with their claws bared.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    The rookie robots stared, and began shooting bolts at the oncoming threats. They moved around with tremulous steps, and used their guns with fearful shots. The bunny-drones ran with agility, striking a couple of rookies, and encasing them in foam.

    One rookie covered their eyes, and blindly shot their bolts. One hid behind another, paralyzed with fear.

    "Jules! Ammy! Keep your eyes keen and open." The fez-wearing machine scolded the two.

    One bunny-drone lunged at one rookie, but it was wrestled to submission before it could foam the rookie. The rookie fiercely fought, got the drone under them, and shot disabling close-range bolts. The rookie crept away from the smoked disabled drone.

    "Good save, Ammy."

    The one remaining drone attacked, and the rookies dodged. The rabbit-drone lunged at one rookie, and managed to foam them, but another rookie had a bright idea of jumping at the drone, and wrestle them. The drone struggled, but it was in vain. The rookie got the drone under them, and shot them.

    "Watson, that was risky. It got the job done, but next time, be more careful."

    With the drone deactivated and incapacitated, the training session had concluded. The rookies sat on the grass, laughing and crying at the same time. The fez-wearing machine dragged the two drones it unleashed back to their boxes.

    "That was something," Stripe remarked.

    "They appear to be sorely inexperienced," Hero said.

    Without warning, Tesla ran out of their hiding spot in the treeline. They waved and called out to the crocodilian robots. "Hey, Dalton."

    The fez-wearing robot turned, and waved back at Tesla. Its--

    Dalton is a he/him.

    Sorry. His green eyes sparkled with both gladness and displeasure. Its blue-eyed subordinates simply huddled and trembled as they saw another entity that may be a foe.

    "Likewise, s-- sir Tesla." The fez-wearing machine replied.

    "Tesla, what are you doing?" Metaphor whisperedly asked, but before it could garner an answer, Tesla had ran off to meet Dalton, their fez-wearing friend.

    "Didn''t fancy meeting you some time today," Tesla said with a great smile in their face, and held out a hand.

    "Likewise, sir Tesla." Dalton replied, and shook Tesla''s hand.

    Tesla turned, and called out to their companions, who continued to observe at a distance. Tesla wanted to introduce them to their old friend, Dalton.

    Hero, Metaphor, and Stripe reluctantly revealed themselves. They gingerly walked towards Dalton''s group, and the introductions began.

    "Mr. Prophecy, this is Dalton. Dalton, this is Hero''s Prophecy. Hero''s Prophecy, Dalton. Dalton, Hero''s Prophecy."

    "It''s a pleasure to meet you, Dalton."

    "Likewise, sir Prophecy." Dalton said in a flat and robotic voice. The two then proceeded to shake hands.

    "Stripe, this is Dalton. Dalton, this is Stripe. Stripe, Dalton. Dalton, Stripe."

    "Nice to meet, Dalton."

    "Likewise, sir Stripe." They shook hands, but Stripe was elevated to an ecstatic state, and the handshake was more of a hand-vibration.

    "Metaphor, this is Dalton. Dalton, this Metaphor. Metaphor, Dalton. Dalton, Metaphor."

    "May the winds bring our meeting good tidings, Dalton."

    "Likewise, sir Metaphor."

    "That''s ma''am Metaphor for you, sir."

    "Apologies, madam Metaphor." The introductions then concluded.

    "So, Dalton. Have you seen a big red dog, about this high?" Metaphor began to ask.

 Chapter 11: Mill

    "A big red dog? I do not believe so, but I have received a report of a disturbingly large red canine captured and detained nearby." Dalton answered.

    "That might be our friend. Can you take to them?" Stripe said.

    "Unfortunately, the detainee you are looking for has been recently removed from my authority. The big red dog you are looking for have been moved from last known location to a more secretive location. I am sorry."

    A layer gloom suddenly fell over the group''s atmosphere. Metaphor and Stripe fidgeted clearly; tears almost formed in Stripe''s eyes.

    "Is there anything we could do?" Hero asked.

    "I will have to contact upper management to see."

    Dalton held out his hand, inviting the small gang along with his crew into the mill that stood behind him. The great steel door slowly opened with a command from his mind, revealing the dimly lit chambers within.

    "Why not rest while we wait for a response? You look weary from travel." Dalton suggested invitingly.

    Metaphor, and Stripe wholeheartedly accepted Dalton''s offering, and followed Dalton right behind them in the dim corridors. Hero felt not an ounce weary, but supposed a short rest will prove good to the group''s well-being.

    They went through a dim corridor lined with featureless plastic. The occasional door would break the monotony. Hum and screeches of machinery emanates from every wall. Small pin-sized lights illuminated the tunnel.

    They soon came to a large chamber with a high translucent ceiling filtering meager lighting. The bottom of the chamber was tens of meters below them when they emerged from the corridor. Plastic catwalks held up by steel cables criss-crossed the little airspace in room.

    A large black machine sprawled in the heart of the chamber. Pipes taking fluids to and from the ever-busy core ran up and down the chamber. It quietly hummed, creaked, and occasionally clinked. The efficient machine took in whole logs and trees, producing nary a fume, smoke, and waste.

    The great steel machine produced hot organic sludge. The hot liquid sludge was stored and stirred in thick steel cauldrons, and treated with various chemicals to yield a desired plastic. One cauldron produced soft flexible plastics that were molded into ropes, springs, and rubber, while another produced hard plastics for golf clubs, coffee tables, and firearms. The machine worked automatically, without need of assistance from other independent machines in the mill other than the occasional maintenance.

    The machine bellowed softly at the entrance of Dalton and Tesla, appearing to be pleased to see them. Dalton and Tesla waved at the machine, and soon went off for the corridor on other side of the off-white catwalk they strode upon. Hero, Metaphor, and Tesla also waved at the machine, but it hissed with slight hostility.

    Tesla and Dalton led Hero, Metaphor, and Stripe into a relatively large room. It possessed a soft velvet carpet, a triplet of bunk beds, and a large table. A large window showing a vista of Forestland, and its rolling sea of green; and Mountainland with the grand castle of Prometheus in its highest peak stood in the background.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    "This will serve as your personal quarters for your stay here. I hope it accommodates you well." Dalton said, presenting said chamber to the gang.

    With a smile pasted in his face, Stripe decided to dive face first onto the beds, and almost sank into the soft mattress as if it was quicksand. Stripe groaned in pleasure. Metaphor claimed the top bunk above Stripe''s bed. She laid herself slowly on soft bed, delighting and caressing her in the soft material.

    Hero only stared at the soft bed. He saw how much his companions enjoyed the softness, but he saw little appeal in them. He had noted how most living things preferred soft over hard: from bread and soil to clothes and gears; people chose soft, but Hero was one of the few that preferred hardness.

    Hero tested the waters, and tried to lay on the bed; perhaps it wasn''t as bad as he thought it was. Upon laying on the softness, he found it uncomfortable. It felt like laying on a stretchable skin atop a cold lake, ready to give in from his weight. He felt unsafe, open, tense, and so he removed himself from the bed.

    When he went to sleep, he would just dig a burrow, and spend the night, but the chamber was floored with carpet and hard plastic, and he would hate to ruin it for Dalton. He looked for a compromise, and found it almost immediately. The answer lied underneath him. There was a bit of space underneath the bed. He squeezed under the bed, and found it rather cozy, warm, and most importantly, safe.

    "It would seem that you have found them satisfactory." Dalton remarked, still standing at the doorway. Contentment appears to sparkle in his eyes.

    Then, a robot similar to Dalton, one of the rookies, entered the chamber carrying a tray of refreshments or more likely lunch. On the tray were boxes containing suspiciously shiny fruits, bags of exotic tea, packets of milk and sugar powder, and three porcelain cups filled with hot water.

    "We do not have certain particular accommodations, but we hope that these edibles are satisfactory." Dalton said before leaving the room, and the gang to their devices. The tray-carrying robot left behind the food tray, and followed Dalton out.

    Hero lifted one of the strange fruit-bearing boxes. It was off-white in color with a large picture of red bundle of grapes. "Edible Plastic Fruit" the label on the box said. Reaching inside, his hands grabbed a bunch of very odd grapes; they were bright cherry red, and shone like polished glass. They smell like lemonade with too much lemon concentrate, and tasted like it. They were hard to the hand, yet soft to the teeth and mouth, they were incredibly chewy. Other than looks, these were nothing like the fruits they imitate. His companions seem to be enjoying it as much as him.

    Hero moved on to the tea. In the bags were a mix of dried leaves and flower petals of dubious nature. They smelled dry and bitter, and so he poured some into a cup of hot water. The blend stained the water with their dark green coloring. He hazarded a sip, and found it quite bitter, and somewhat medicinal. He enjoyed the brew rather well; his companions? Not as well. Metaphor seemed to be content of pouring a single packet into her cup, but Stripe was drowning his brew with milk and sugar that it would be more appropriate to refer to it as a melted milkshake rather than tea.

    Dalton returned to the chamber in the afternoon. Exasperation burned in his lenses.

    "All right. I am afraid that upper management has refused to surrender your friend." Dalton announced.

    "Why?" Metaphor asked.

    "They said that it''s because Buddy had somehow marked itself as a threat to national security," Tesla appeared, answering.

    "Wait, what? How did that happen?" Stripe asked.

    "[REDACTED]." A loud beep emanated from Tesla and Dalton''s mouths as they simultaneously said something someone did not want them saying. Stripe winced at the incredible sharp sound.

    "The detainee had [REDACTED] restricted areas." Dalton said.

 Chapter 12: Veil

    "...singer, honored to serve under your name, but now I seek your aid..."

    Metaphor softly prayed in the veil of the night. She prayed for the safety and health of Buddy, their missing friend. It was a rather lengthy prayer, but her clan had always been a wordy bunch. She and her companions, Hero, Stripe, and Tesla, decided to stay at the mill for the night. Dalton was offering them a stay, while he would try to convince their boss-- or in other words, pester them until they submit.

    Metaphor was going to return to the land of sleep, but before she could do so, a mellow light briefly flooded the room through the large window which was thankfully covered with a peach curtain.

    She peeked through the covers of the curtain, curious of the light, like a moth to a flame. Outside was serene, illuminated with silver moonlight. In the distance, the grand castle was ablaze with fiery light that seemed to dye the very mountains with dusky oranges. Most curious of them all was a newly arrived vehicle. It appeared to be carrying a large creature inside its large metal shell.

    Metaphor grabbed her notebook, and snuck into the corridors. She was curious. Darkness was very thick in the corridors, almost bordering solidity, almost acting semi-solid. On her way to the outside, she overheard a conversation between Tesla and Dalton.

    "...stop here of all places. Just why? Whose bright idea was this anyway?" Dalton shouted, almost screamed.

    "Definitely ain''t mine. We''re just informed that they changed their minds five minutes ago. Ugh."

    "I hope our guests are not awake."

    Metaphor was shocked to find their Tesla and Dalton were part of some conspiracy. What was in that truck that would require secrecy? Maybe Buddy was in that truck. Buddy was regarded as a threat to national security after all.

    "They''re working on the hover rail as we speak. It should be ready to go by midnight."

    Metaphor snuck away from her eavesdropping. She reached the chamber where the great machine was housed. Moonlight filtered through the ceiling, which appeared to have become more transparent than it was in the day. The black machine appeared silent, sleeping, dormant. Despite the peaceful appearance, the machine was far from asleep. The fluids continued to flow with equal vigor as it was during the day, cauldrons of sludge constantly churned, and loads of plastic products were still being molded.

    Metaphor crawled upon the catwalks, trying to evade the notice of the great sleepless machine. She crept with her body close to the floor, producing nary a sound.

    As she closed to the opening on the other side, Metaphor stepped on the panel held by loose screws. The catwalk made a sharp creak, and Metaphor winced. The great machine turned its attention towards where she was on the catwalk. She bated her breath until the machine turned its attention away from her.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Metaphor snuck down the last corridor. Plastic doors occasionally popped left and right, and until at long last Metaphor came to the large metal door they entered the mill through. It was locked with fat looking bars and bolts, and stood strongly against her, stronger than she could hope to be.

    But alas to the door for Metaphor came prepared (at least somewhat). She pulled her notebook of arcane text. She read a passage in silence, and held the meaning in hand. Her body turned to clear liquid water, and so she flowed around the door. She unfortunately had to leave her notebook behind, for the spell she casted did not affect anything beyond the caster.

    Metaphor snuck out. Under the veil of night, she stealthily set sight of the truck. She slipped easily between the lax eyes of the trembling inexperienced guards. She reached the great door of the truck''s container, and flowed through the cracks.

    Inside the back of the truck was a space obscured completely by solid shadows. Not even shapes could be seen. Metaphor''s watery self had solidified now, replacing water with flesh and blood.

    "Buddy?" Metaphor whispered.

    "Metaphor?" A weakened voice quietly replied. "D-do not move. Leave."

    The voice sounded like it belonged to Buddy, but Metaphor''s sight could not pierce the darkness. She followed the voice, hoping the source was indeed Buddy as she thought it was.

    She slowly, and carefully traversed the dark truckscape which was oddly devoid of obstacles. The dark space was empty. Stagnant air hanged in the atmosphere like knives held aloft by thread.

    "W-wait a second. No." The voice whispered. "Th-this... Save yourself."

    Metaphor carefully followed the voice, but amidst her walk, she tripped upon what seems to a pipe, a round pewter pipe. She then fell into a puddle of liquid. Blood? Soap? Grease? Oil? She could not determine what the liquid was. It was too dark to see it. The liquid smelled... oddly like roses.

    "Metaphor?" The voice went again. The source was very close perhaps even standing right above her head.

    Drips could be heard. The source was clearly sopping wet. Metaphor moved her gaze to the creature that was now standing before her. The darkness was obscuring her sight, but with a snap of a finger, she summoned an orb of light, banishing the darkness.

    Buddy was standing before her, pitiful. Its shiny red coat soaked with the strange rosy grease of the puddle they stood upon. In Buddy''s green eyes were flaming hot coals of scorn.

    "You should have turned around, gone to sleep," Buddy began. It stepped closer towards Metaphor who now had risen from the puddle. Buddy then proceeded to hug Metaphor, and Metaphor hesitantly hugged back. The feeling of warmth flooded through Metaphor''s system.

    Metaphor felt something on Buddy''s back. A metal box. A metallic box with an arm attached to it. In the arm''s hand was a syringe with an clear liquid inside, ready to strike and inject. The arm was tense with its joints taut, ready to swing at any moment. Fear began to drizzle within her.

    Metaphor tried to escape, but Buddy''s hold was fast, firm, and inescapable. She squirmed, but could break its grip. She cried for help, but the walls of the truck muffled them.

    "I am sorry, Metaphor. I am truly sorry." Greasy tears flowed Buddy''s eyes. "But this is for the best. If only you turned back."

    The metal arm swung hard. The needle struck Metaphor''s scales with enough force to shatter one. It pierced through her skin, and the clear chemical flowed into her bloodstream.

    She felt woozy, dizzy. Empty blackness darker than darkness itself swiftly crept at her eyesight until it completely consumed her vision. Her consciousness frayed, and sleep overcame her. Her unconscious body drooped, and laid on Buddy''s shoulders.

 Intermission 2: Chalked

    It was a rather solemn breakfast. Prometheus sat on a chair so posh that it would be more accurate to call it a throne. Before him stood a dining table that appeared to have been carved from a singular tree trunk. Around the table was chairs with carvings of fabulous creatures from those with wings and claws to those armed with enough firepower to blow a hole through the crust. Above the dining table was a chandelier made of twisting branches arranged in such a way to resemble antlers. Candles that never drip lit by flames that never die perched on the tips.

    On the table was a breakfast fit for a king. Vegetables, steamed rice, and saucy meat were served on exquisite chinaware, and were to be eaten with mithril silverware. The pitcher and glass that held Prometheus'' drink bore gorgeous landscapes only expressed in silver lines etched into their crystalline glass. Yet with all this wondrous breakfast set before him, Prometheus hesitated, merely gazing upon their hypothetical wonder to the mouth; his food remained untouched.

    He looked into one corner of the room. In the corner was his dog-headed cockroach, Fodder, loudly eating its breakfast. Fodder ate sitting on floor, and from a dog bowl with its name emblazoned upon it with golden letters. It ate a mush of what might be a disgusting mush of decomposing fish matter only Fodder''s kind could ever tolerate, or in Fodder''s case, like. It''s one of the reasons of why Fodder did not sit on the table to eat for its food could cause one to lose consciousness from the stink alone; the other being that the seats were for lords, knights, and guests, not for a simple serf such as Fodder.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Upon seeing that its master is observing it, Fodder placed the bowl on the floor, and began eating from it like a dog would. Prometheus only sighed from the sight.

    "Fodder," Prometheus began. "I have a task for you."

    "What is it that you need me to do, Master Prometheus?" Fodder paused eating.

    "I need you to make this." Prometheus procured a sheet from his rain robe. On it was a magic circle. The poor drawing featured an egg-shaped circle, shaky lines, and uneven divisions. On the side were quatrains to be chanted before said circle.

    Fodder wiped its hands on its fur to keep the fish remains from dirtying the sheet being handled to it. "I will gladly do it right now, Master Prometheus."

    Fodder left the dining room, and entered to its workshop. It was a meager room devoid of sunlit windows. Retrieving a box of chalk among its tools, it began to draw a perfect circle on the floor with lines that divided said circle to even sections, and small nodes that bisected the lines.

    Candles made of paraffin and beeswax were lit around the room, providing the perfect atmosphere for the ritual. Fodder began the chant: two quatrains, four lines each, eight lines in total.

    After each succeeding syllable it spoke, the chalk shone with silvery unholy light, each line caused one node to flare, and each stanza burned the will of its author onto the magic of the circle. Upon finishing the poem its master had authored, the whole circle exploded with light, and the temporarily turned into a mirror. A bronze head of a dragon rose from the glass, soon to be followed by its neck, but not the body. The metal beast was stiff, lifeless, but the emerald eyes it bore suggested otherwise with a sea of pure green that threatened to spill with fervor and flood the world with its cleansing poison.

    The Devourer will be shaken.

 Chapter 13: Wake

    Hero sat on a comfy bed. The sheets were very white, and beds were arranged parallel to the length of the chamber. Hero was in the infirmary. Metaphor was here, soundly unconscious in her bed. A tube delivered saline solution straight into her veins from bag held up by a metal stand. Her notebook was placed on the bedside table, slightly crumpled and moist. Hero was concerned, yet something was amiss.

    He idly twirled his bronze dagger in his hand. He watched it dance between his fingers, and let his mind wander.

    His vigil was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Through the door came in three individuals, Stripe, Tesla, and Dalton. Stripe walked over to the blue dragon with concerned steps, while Dalton and Tesla came close behind with their clawed feet taking cautious strides.

    "Is she going to wake up?" Stripe asked.

    "Yep, boy. She''s gonna. I assure you." Tesla gave Stripe a thumbs-up with certainty simply flowing through its smile.

    "Yes." Dalton began to elaborate. "We, however, do not know when. She could awaken a day or weeks from now. The snake''s venom was potent." The green eyes of the crocodile was dull as if recently washed with worry.

    Hero remained quiet, and began to contemplate. Behind his eyes brewed a sea of flames. Ships of thought sank and rose in the roaring sea. One particular ship carried a particular memory from last night. The eye of the storm set its gaze upon the memory, and maelstrom of magma formed underneath. The ship rose from the troughs of the waves, and made itself very visible in Hero''s mind''s eye.

    "Green eyes." He muttered. That was the memory. Glowing green eyes floated above the body of Metaphor amidst the dark of night. He did not see whose eyes they were; the veil of night hid their visage.

    "What was that, Hero?" Stripe asked, and the sea collapsed onto itself, and he was pulled out of his mindscape. Tesla and Dalton gazed at his direction in interest.

    "I saw something out the windows last night. Green eyes. Glowing green eyes above the body of Metaphor."

    "I may have also seen a pair red ones too."

    "No, Stripe. That was only the reflection of my eyes."

    Stripe began to rub its chin, and think. His gaze moved from Hero to Dalton. Dalton tensed, readying for the accusation. He then began pointing a finger at Dalton. "Could it be that it was him? Dalton, I mean?"The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    Hero sighed, and answered, "No. Unlike Dalton''s eyes whose glow is steadfast and constant, this one''s light was soft and gentle. Unlike his eyes whose light comes from a star behind his lens, this one''s light was a candle."

    "We don''t even know how she got out there. The door was locked last night, and she ain''t supposed to be able to bypass the defences," Tesla said with some distaste. His angry peach eyes listlessly glowed.

    This had gone nowhere. The conversation stopped, and everyone had left the room to grab some grub. Hero and Stripe ate the plastic fruits with the same distaste they had before, but they had noted that they had improved. Dalton stated that they had processed their comments and expressions during the meal, and used the information to formulate a better recipe.

    Hero returned to his vigil in the infirmary. The morning had turned to noon, then afternoon, then dusk. Hero idly watched over the body of Metaphor, and idly twirled his dagger once again. Metaphor did not wake. She was quiet, and still, and asleep. No change.

    Hero knew that Metaphor was a wizard, yet he could not read the words in her book. He could not determine which spell she may had cast; he did not even know what spells she had and did not have.

    Her book was filled with arcane glyphs that were useless to everyone but her. Even with the knowledge of Moly the shaman, they did not crack this alien code. These lines of glyphs were not all alone, for occasionally, an illustration would accompany them, but without clear understanding of the language written, the pictures were as useless as the alien words.

    Hero studied these glyphs and pictures. He wielded a lance made of the flames of learning behind the eyes, but even with the weapon, the words did not crack. The only thing he could infer with confidence was that it was filled with watery and occasionally windy spells.

    The dusk turned to evening, and soon to night. The world was bathed in darkness. Only starlight and moonlight challenged the dark, but their meager light was no match to the thickness of the veil.

    Hero''s body slumped in the bed: half-asleep, half-awake. His eyes were half-open, and his hearty inner fire were half-glowing. The dagger in his hand, he had stopped twirling; the blade was safely sheathed away. He now idly took watch of his ward that laid in the dark room.

    His mind half-wandered into the realms of dreams. His half-asleep dreamself floated among the glowing dreamy clouds then down to dreamearth. A rain of glowing embers fell to the ground, and rose right back up in wisps of steam.

    Hero half-walked down the ground which was paved with grey cobblestone. His body was steaming, but he did not feel any heat.

    He half-dreamt. He looked up to the oneiric clouds that drifted in the sky... What did he see? What did he dream?... There was a deluge, and a rowboat that was always beyond his reach.

    Night turned to dawn, then to morning. The sun rose above the horizon and drove the darkness from the land. Hero took out his dagger once again, and began twirling it in his hand.

    Metaphor then stirred, and began to open its eyes. It caused Hero to exit his half-asleep state, and enter full alertness.

    "Metaphor has awoken. Rejoice!"

 Chapter 14: Fade

    Stripe embraced Metaphor tightly. The warm feelings flowed in their contact. Tears broke out of Stripe''s tear ducts. Hero put on a smile of what may be happiness or satisfaction. A gleam of relief appeared shone in Dalton''s and Tesla''s eyes.

    Dalton brought a basket of the plastic fruits, and Metaphor could only groan. She begrudgingly took bites of the fruits, and she noted the rather improved flavor and texture of said fruits, making them more tolerable.

    Metaphor tried to recall what happened last night, but her memories were fuzzy. In her mindful sea, there was a stretch of the sea floor she could not map, a trench she could not know what''s at the bottom. She not remember what kind of wrecks and oceanic landforms from the depths of the memory trench. None. Nada. Zilch. She could remember none of that night.

    Metaphor rubbed her temples in hopes of dislodging the memories that may have unfortunately lodged themselves onto her skull, but to no avail, no memory of the night came to her.

    "Guys, what happened last night?" She spoke. "Did I fall off of bed? My memories are hazy."

    "No. You were bitten by a venomous snake." Dalton answered. Dalton then shifts her attention to a bandaged patch in her left shoulder.

    "Oh. What was I doing last night?"

    "Beats us," Tesla shrugged. "The doors out are locked, so there should be no one coming in and out. I assume that you magicked yourself through the door."

    "The Mass Molding Unit reports that you were detected to be actively avoiding detection." Dalton added.

    ~***~

    Metaphor was served a breakfast in bed. It was just like their meal yesterday, edible plastic fruits but diced and a cup of hot tea. Although the fake fruits were still awfully sour, she noted that they were more tolerable this time. Dalton explains that from the reactions and suggestions that he had gathered, he was able to improve the recipe for the fruits.

    By noon, Metaphor was discharged. The intravenous tubes were finally removed from her arm, and she could finally walk free.

    "I have contacted some fellows. I have not learnt of your friend''s whereabouts." Dalton began. "However, I have learnt of a carrier that may be carrying your canine friend. The carrier''s destination is approximately <u>></u>10 kilometers northeast of here."Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    "Well. I suppose we should get going immediately," Hero said. "For our friend, Buddy."

    "Yes, but before you go, I have a gift for you." Dalton said. He then went to retrieve a basket of good filled with much of the beloved plastic fruits the mill produces. "This a parting gift. May it aid you in your journey."

    And so, by the afternoon, they had prepared and set off northward. They crossed the mint-grassed clearing and reentered the forest. They went on their journey through the woods.

    Afternoon turned to dusk. The forest was painted in pumpkin light. The eerie silent air hung around them like a transparent fog. They had travelled long and far. Hero marched on, tirelessly, but slowed down and stopped to accommodate his less untiring fellows.

    They set up camp in the forest as the sun had began to sink beneath the horizon. Hero went out to hunt some prey for dinner, but as said, the forest was oddly devoid of creatures. Not a bird or rabbit nor insect or worm lived and stirred in the forest. Hero joined Tesla in gathering fruits instead.

    They found the trees weirdly lacking in fruit or bud, so they went on to gather herbs and roots instead. Tesla found a few armfuls of edible mushroom and herbs, while Hero had dirtied his wool and vest in digging up roots and tubers.

    They returned to the camp. Metaphor and Stripe were sitting before a fire that Metaphor had magically lit. It provided some warmth to the body whilst the cool evening air had began to roll through the forest.

    They skewered the bounty of nature they have gathered and began to roast them over the fire. Metaphor happily ate the mushrooms and tubers she had roasted over the fire. She was rather thankful to finally eat something relatively meaty instead of non-stop grass.

    Stripe''s skewered food was burnt and scorched over the flames. It even caught on fire. Before Hero could offer his intact kebab to Stripe, he engulfed the stick with his head like a slime would eat its prey. The food dissolved into his blood, stick and all.

    Hero dug into his food like a wild animal. He tore apart the roots and tubers like an angry bear but with a smile. He offered to give three-quarters of his meal to everyone else, but they refused. Tesla even gave him a scornful eye.

    Tesla did not eat, but did keep their share of the gathered food. Tesla only watched everyone eat around the fire, occasionally contributing on an ongoing discussion.

    As the night grew deeper, they too grew drowsy. As the stars above twinkled and astral string sparkled, they began to motion towards sleep. Metaphor and Tesla leant onto a tree as they both fell to sleep. Stripe slept in boughs of the trees for he felt the forest floor was unsafe, although the utter silence and lifelessness of the woods.

    Hero did not join them to sleep right away. He felt rather uncomfortable sleeping in the open. He felt... too exposed in the open air, and so he picked a spot where he could see everyone, and began to dig. He dug himself a little in which he can sleep. He slipped into the little hollow, and curled into a ball of wool. Before he fully let himself to the land of sleep, he set his eyes to his companions for the last time.

    He fell asleep. In the pocket filled with his warmth, his dreams went alight with calm and serenity.

 Chapter 15: City

    Hero awoke from the first rays of daylight entering his den. The forest was bright, and the night has passed without incident. He emerged from his den, and found the others still asleep, save for Tesla who was nowhere in sight.

    Hero looked around for Tesla, and found them with their back turned back on him, buttoning up their checkered polo. Their long fuzzy tail swished around like the tail of a bull.

    Tesla turned and saw Hero looking at them. They waved, and began to speak. "Howdy. Nice weather we''re havin'', ain''t it?"

    "Yes. It is rather mellow," Hero answered. He noted how Tesla was a bit exasperated prior to speaking.

    "Let''s go back to company before they think we abandoned them."

    They returned to the camp they took a rest. Metaphor and Stripe laid there serenely, but soon they will stir.

    "Wakey wakey. Eggs and bakey." Metaphor and Stripe were shaken awake. The soft words of Tesla pierced through their ears.

    "Good morning," Metaphor and Stripe simultaneously said. They then yawned.

    The morning had blanketed the land in its soft sweet sunlight. The rays may had been sweet, but the air was still certainly cool and subdued. At this hour, the gang decided to have a breakfast of those plastic fruits none of them seemed to like. Their faces warped with the sourness, but their faces hadn''t distorted as much with the first time they had eaten one of the fruits'' brethren; it seemed that the fruits they had now were an improved recipe. Stripe had the genius to cut the fruits, and put them between slices of bread which had made the fruits more delicious and tolerable.

    Tesla was spared from the acidulous ordeal. They may hadn''t been seen eating any food item for days, but they claimed that they had a special dietary condition, and that they shouldn''t eat another helping of their special need. So, through the morning breakfast their companions partook, they sat on a bank graciously warmed by daylight, basking in the sun''s glorious morning light.

    And soon, after their breakfast, they began to move. They walked westward. By noon, they reached a threshold. The constant cover of trees abruptly stopped, and beyond it was a steep slope of a valley. In the valley below was a great city, with towering buildings of concrete, steel, and glass shining in the noontime light. They were looking at Urbanland.

    The sprawling city of Urbanland hugged the land, suffocated every meter of the valley with steel and concrete. Above the ground rose great buildings with soulless windows of gleaming glass. These towering beasts of buildings rose and tapered above ground like great redwoods, and competed against the very summit of the slopes that encompassed the valley. Some of these great skyscrapers stood so tall that challenged the sky in height, and literally scraped the skies. Numerous silver scars were left upon the blue sky by these behemoths of buildings.

    However, something felt wrong about Urbanland that day. Everything was snow white: the walls, the floors, the poles, the furnishings, etc. The lamps were dark, and lacking power. The streets were bare, and lacking people. Nothing living roamed the halls. No color but the little bits of greenery that tried to lay claim upon the walls and streets. Flowers claimed the flying gardens while creeping ivy claimed the sheer walls, and tiny worts and herbs colonized the little cracks and cubbyholes.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    Hero, Metaphor, Stripe, and Tesla descended to the streets of Urbanland. The sun blazed, and the snow white walls stood pridefully and apathetically. The same unsettling silence of Forestland blanketed Urbanland.

    Peeking into the homes and businesses of Urbanlanders revealed meals, products, and carpeting just as bleached and pale as the walls and streets of the city.

    As they walked down the pavement of the city, they hear a little rustling in one alley. In the dim alley was a dumpster immaculately clean and white, but shook with life. Some creature was digging in the trash of the bleached city with whitened remains and refuse flew out of the dumpster.

    Out of the dumpster, exits a green feline creature. It stood at the height of a small child. Lush wrinkled leaves peeked out of the sleeves of its cream colored garments. In its arms were pieces of stark white carcasses of old bags of discarded food. As it move the main street, its sapphire eyes and asterisk-shaped pupils, not unlike that of a star sapphire, met the watching eyes of the gang.

    The small creature flinched. Its mouth went agape. It took a few wobbly fearful steps back. It ran. It fled.

    "Waagh!" The creature cried in a girly voice.

    "Wait!" Hero cried after. "We didn''t mean to scare you." But alas, the leafy creature did not listen, and ran deeper into the alleys.

    Hero chased after the creature, and his companions reluctantly followed. They ran through the narrow alleys that twisted and turned; through the alleys that went through the city like capillaries. The shadows of the tall defiant walls shrouded their path.

    The walls parted, and they came to a clearing bare of buildings. The ground was paved in smooth white stone, and in the distance was a great wall of marble overrun by ivy, kudzu, or orchid. The city may had been familiar to the little green creature, but the strides of Hero was great, and now that they have left the hindering turns of the urban maze, Hero was gaining fastly. The creature frantically ran, practically waving its arms in panic.

    "Barbarians!" Its cry. "There are barbarians!"

    There were lush guards that stood guard at the top of the wall. They gazed upon the chase of Hero and the creature, and soon bore a face of terror. They held their pikes like a crutch as the fear caused their legs to weaken. Orders were shouted, and warnings were spreadt.

    The pearly gate that once stood open for all to pass soon began to close. The portcullis made of white steel slowly descended to block those who wish to pass. The green creature screamed at guards to keep the door open, but similarly fearful screams was also given to get the gate closed.

    The creature willed its remaining strength to its legs so it may cross the distance, but its already strenuous run had failed to get it past the gateway. The mighty gate made of what may be solid marble braced by pearly steel bolted in place by pearly rivets stood in the way.

    The creature was trapped outside the ''safety'' within the marble verdant walls. It put its back against the cold steely gate, and face the gazes of the barbaric creatures it witnessed within the limits of Urbanland.

    "P-please. Spare me." The green creature shrank.

    Hero stopped mere paces away from the creature who gazed deep into the his ruby eyes as if eyeing the torch of an arsonist as they set your hideout aflame. He gasped for breath to reclaim the endurance expended in the run.

    "Apologies, herbal fellow. I did not intend to scare you," Hero began. "I just wished to talk with you. My name''s Hero''s Prophecy. It''s a pleasure to meet with you."

    "L-likewise. I''m Pepper Mint."

 Chapter 16: Arbor

    Hero, Metaphor, Stripe, and Tesla stood outside the great portcullis the separated the outside world from the obscured world of the little city walled within. The little creature, Pepper, curled up before them, expecting to be axed by some merciless bandit.

    Hero attempted to calm the little creature with an offering of bread, but it or she seemed to be visibly disgusted to be offered such meal, but hesitantly took it from Hero''s hand, and nibbled upon it.

    "Hero! Don''t go running off to chase after strangers to death," Metaphor said, dropping to lie upon the stones for rest.

    "You coulda given us a heart attack," Tesla joked.

    "Believe me, Tesla. It seems that I''m more liable to give this little creature here cardiac arrest than you getting heart attack," Hero replied.

    Pepper nibbled on the piece of bread she was given. Crumbs and dust exited her mouth just as much of it had slid down her esophagus. A small sparkle seemed to emanate from the golden star in her eyes. Upon finishing her meal or snack, she asked the friendly barbarians: "Any reason for barbarians like youse to spare me?"

    "We are not barbarians, Pepper. We are not here to axe you," Hero answered in kind.

    Pepper''s face then flexed to a face filled with horror. "Are you here to axe my friends?"

    "What? No!" Hero gasped, taken aback. "We are seeking our friend that had been abducted by agents of Prometheus, and we would like to rescue them."

    "Ah. I see, but I''m afraid I or my fellows are unable to help you. We are already struggling against General Winter and his barbarians!"

    Metaphor stepped forward, making strides with purpose. "I have a suggestion to you: let us through the city."

    ~***~

    Dear Diary,

    So yeah, we''re in Gardenton. Sometimes I wonder about the naming conventions of this realm. Does every town have to have a name that ends with "-ton"? Not necessarily.

    Name tangents aside, Gardenton is absolutely beautiful. Hero said it''s "blossomous". Is that even a word? Pillars of hard rugged wood held up what may had been angry storm clouds of malachite. Flowers and herbs of all colors and aromas paved the avenues and decorated every corner. Leafy showers came from every stiff breeze. Crude wooden huts and walkways hugged the trees and walls. Small buildings made of marble were built underneath the shades of the behemoth trees. Trees, young and old, try their hardest to swallow the streets and buildings with their bulk. A few hundreds or a couple thousands of folks may be living in this walled city within a city.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    We came to this wide square open to the sky. I would had loved to bask in the sun if it weren''t for one big hitch: it was crowded. Green plant people was lying there prone on the pavement in the nude, probably photosynthesizing. I reiterate, beanstalks were lying on the pavement absorbing solar energy. It was an odd sight. Granted, I''m pretty much walking around without clothing, but the fact that the people here wore clothing, I assumed that the lack of it would be seen as indecent.

    We asked around for any info regarding Buddy. No dice. Folks didn''t know of anyone by that name. Worse though is that nobody seems to even know about Prometheus. I was certain that Prometheus just ganked the lands. There should be no reason for these folks to not know about him. He literally bleached all of Urbanland.

    I also got some ladies trying to flirt with me. Feh. They don''t seem to understand that I''m also a lady. The offhand remark of being buff and manly were pretty common. There were some men that approached me to ask about my secret of being handsome; most were beefier than the average Joe, but I suppose it''s just my exoticness that attracts the attention. Maybe I should trim my beard; that''s probably where the confusion is coming from.

    We gathered some supplies. Along the way, we passed by a scriptorium, and got myself this empty leatherbound book. It was a poor place, unkept and water-damaged. Unlike the rest of Urbanland, the stuff in there was a bit off-white and yellowish. Nobody claimed the dingy place, and the locals don''t mind. Hero asked why I needed a book. "May I ask why you are in need of a book? Can''t you just use your notebook?" No, Hero. I don''t want to vandalize my spellbook. It does look like a sketchbook, but it''s magical.

    -Metaphor Fil

    ~***~

    Dear Diary,

    A good morning to all things bright and beautiful, not. In the middle of the night, barbarians came to walls and decided to try their hand on it. I was there, shaken awake by yours truly, Hero. "Let them do it, Hero. They had protected this city for ages. They don''t need our help." I swear this guy has a Hero Complex; just because you''re named as such, Hero, you don''t have to act like it. Granted, he is good at being a hero. He''s good with his sword. He''s a kind soul.

    He brought me to the wall, and I saw the tragedy that was the battle. Beasts were scaling the wall, and the guards were doing poorly at fending them off. The beasts hollered while the guards shook and cowered like babies. They lost more spears than there were beasts attacking. If it weren''t for us being at the wall, the beasts may had succeeded in razing Gardenton. I brought forth a waterfall, and washed the wall clean. Some clung to the ivy, and shortly began scaling the wall again. Hero was awesome in the fight. His claymore sent beasts flying to the bottom of the wall.

    Dawn came, and the sky became lemonade colored. The beasts broke apart, and turned to ash. Apparently those creatures appear during the night. I have suspicion they come from Prometheus, but the locals claim they''re from General Winter. I bet he''s an agent of Prometheus.

    Anyway, I''m tired. The battle was tiring. Going to sleep now.

    -Metaphor Fil

    Metaphor, I have noticed the incompetence of the locals. I dislike leaving them to their devices perhaps even worse off than when we came. I wanted to ask your wisdom in the matter of training the locals, but I did not wish to disturb your sleep. I have acquired council from your fellows, Tesla and Stripe, instead. They seem to be in favor. We''ll have to stay for a few days. It just doesn''t feel right to me to just leave a place defenceless.

    -Hero''s Prophecy

 Chapter 17: Creep

    Ah. The morning rays basked the yards of Gardenton in mellow lemony warmth. The whitewashed skyscrapers that rise beyond the ivy-covered marble wall was varnished by the morning''s light. The storm clouds of leaves that provide shade upon the township of Gardenton hung upon the branches of the great trees.

    Hero stood atop a makeshift platform. He gazed upon the sea of leafy folk all whom were eager to listen to his word. The folk of all shades of green that stood before him gave an air of poverty. With their torn and sometimes missing clothing, and a layer of grime millimeters thick upon their bodies, the people before him emitted a sense of ignorance.

    Hero took a large breath. To the ignorant folk before him, he bellowed out wisdom. His voice rang throughout the town like a long-winded lion''s roar. His words shone like a grand blazing beacon.

    Makeshift stations were set up. Hero facilitated these stations with the help of Tesla and Stripe. He taught the folks of Gardenton and provided them with needs. In one station, he cooked up food: a porridge of rice, vegetables, and scraps of chicken. The locals gorged themselves like wild animals, eating from bowls without the use of utensils. Apparently, this lowly porridge was step-up of whatever horrendous monstrosity the locals may have concocted in their kitchens. Stripe in the background was happily cooking as well as happily tutoring eager individuals in the art of food preparation. In another station, Tesla facilitated the learning of reading, writing, and arithmetic to the residents.

    Their ignorance and stupidity had been noted by the gang. The plantfolk of Gardenton could not even recognize letters and numbers, add together one plus one, cooperate with others, and how to utilize fire. Metaphor found it especially odd. The others just shrugged. Hero merely thought that it was because of the apparent illiteracy and poverty of the residents. Metaphor doubted that. These residents could not have survived months or perhaps even a few years with such a defunct knowledge base. These people hardly knew how to hold a spear and make their bed, how in the name of the Eleven did these creatures even keep the wall up and the city living.

    Metaphor went to find out in the coming dusk. The marbled buildings in the walled city was unmaintained. Long running cracks and sagging roofs held by crooked wooden posts was featured on almost every building obviously not built by the current residents. The huts and platforms were held together by fraying ropes and sticking-out nails.

    Metaphor then came to a grand building held by pillars and slabs of white granite. It stood tall like a cathedral, not unlike the water-damaged scriptorium where she retrieved the journal she now had which stood out like a mausoleum among shops.

    In the second stone step that led into the great hall was a plaque that may had been golden but now stark white. Embossed upon the plaque in the stone was the words "Wallton Grand Library" that would otherwise never be read again if it weren''t carved. She climbed the steps, and soon entered the library''s great portal.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    The air within the building was dank, filled with dust, pollen, and spores. Sturdy granite columns held the whitened domed ceiling that may had once sported paintings. All around her was rotting shelves and mounds of mulch that may had been books. Ivy crept up the walls and shelves and sapping the little strength left in the woodwork. Herbs and even trees grew as tall as spruces from the mounds of once-books earth. The few volumes that escaped the fate of turning to compost sat in the weakened shelves, left lonesome, forgotten. The countless words filled with knowledge these books once proudly displayed were now smeared and erased from their pages.

    Metaphor, though saddened by the state of the books of a bygone age, trudged forth through the young forest that decided to call the dank library their grounds. She climbed the set of marble stairs up to the next level.

    ~***~

    Whilst Metaphor gorged herself with knowledge in the vault of books, beyond the marble walls and pearly gate, a layer of frost began to creep. Evening wind blew through town, and chilled the evening air. The locals caught wind of the thing that''s coming, and they cursed his name.

    General Winter, the Wandering Soldier. He was a basilisk whose gaze was venomous. A never-ending blizzard followed him wherever he goes. Large swathes of Urbanland would be buried under heaps of snow as he passed by, burying entire towns. Nobody knows why he roams the land, but his stride were purposeful for each of his steps always brought him ever closer to the next town. And tonight, his steps were bringing him toward Gardenton.

    The plantfolk of Gardenton raised a ruckus. They cursed his name vehemently. Hero and Tesla attempted to calm them down, but the coming chill brought a growing panic amongst the herbal ranks. They raised alarm that the frost demon General Winter had set his sights to step into Gardenton.

    With this, Hero was alerted, and an ember of worry was thrown into his glowing hearth. He stood watch on the walls, on the lookout for the coming storm. The city was dark, and the overcast sky did not help. Hero kept his eyes peeled all night, towards the creeping frost that moved forward like slow-moving viscous lava. He worried his fire may be too dim to bring forth warmth to the oncoming Winter. Tesla stood by his side; though their face may had been devoid of emotion, he showed concern to the vigilant Hero.

    Even though Stripe was cold-blooded, he slept little that night. He listened too much and too intently to the tales of the locals. They portrayed General Winter as a monster, force of nature, that preys on souls innocent and guilty alike. He hid under his bed to clear his thoughts, to tear his mind from tales of horror. In his hand was a rusty shovel, an implement used in taking away dead embers from a fireplace.

    By midnight, Winter''s escort came. Howling winds blew, and snow came drifting into Gardenton. The town slowly began freezing. Frost covered the windows, and rime accumulated on the walls.

 Chapter 18: Winter

    Winter had come.

    Icy winds began blowing through Gardenton, coating walls, posts, and plants in a mat of rime. Snow began to fall and accumulate along streets in drifts. This snowfall will no doubt begin to fall more harshly in the upcoming hours.

    A fury of knocks came to the door. Muffled shouts demanding attention screamed at Stripe who was shivering uncontrollably underneath the bedframe. The flames that once baked the house in light and warmth had ceased to blaze in the fireplace.

    "Wrap up, Stripe! Let''s go to the library before we turn to popsicles!" The shouts demanded. It undoubtedly belonged to Tesla.

    Heeding the calls of the shout, Stripe emerged from his hideout. He wrapped himself in multiple layers of clothing. Caps, coats, pants, scarves, socks, boots, mitts, goggles, linens; he wore as much as he could, making him appear like a those cartoon penguins wearing too much sweaters.

    A barrage of biting cold and spearing ice met him upon opening the door. A figure stood stiffly against the growling storm. Frost grew from the furred collars of their coat. Their peach glowing eyes shined against the curtain of white and the pitch of night. Tesla stood before him.

    "Let''s go!" Tesla shouted. The wind''s noise almost drowned it out. They grabbed Stripe''s hand and began dragging him through snow and ice.

    The chill of the snowstorm knew no barrier. It continued to nip and sap away the heat from Stripe. He could feel the viscous fluid that may be his blood crystallize near his skin. His giraffe horns had long hardened from the unforgiving cold.

    A flashlight lit their way as they trudged through the snow. On their way, the wind began roaring. The remaining posts that defied the wind began bowing to the gale. Ice and snow began caking on their coats.

    It was a sudden noise. Crack went a branch, made brittle by the blizzard. The roaring wind denied the noise to gain purchase to any ear as it fell squarely upon Stripe and Tesla. The light of their torch died.

    Stripe''s right arm, the arm held by Tesla, shattered like ice. Thankfully no blood leaked because of the wound being sealed by crystallized blood. In front of him laid Tesla, still and lifeless. There was no spark in their eyes; dark and dead. There was a massive dent at the back of their head where the bough had impacted on him.

    Stripe tried to shake them back to consciousness, but Tesla remained asleep. He tried shouting for help, but the unforgiving storm ate them.

    Stripe cried, piling over the cold metal body of Tesla. His tears quickly froze like wax that flowed down candlesticks. The wind screamed at his ears, seeking to erode his being one piece at a time. The cold silently tormented him with spears and lances that pierced his cotton armor.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    Crack. He heard it. The noise of ice and frozen snow breaking. Stripe quickly grabbed the flashlight, and shone its little flicker at the source. In the curtain of black and white, he saw a flash of red in the shape of the canine.

    Oh my god. He saw me.

    As quick the torch was flicked on, the light flickered out. Then all was veiled in black.

    Crunching snow was heard against the roaring wind, fading. It was clear that the familiar creature that Stripe had seen had began sprinting away.

    "Wait!" Stripe shouted, and ran after the canine.

    Stripe followed the creature, against the roaring wind and nipping ice. He willed his body to trudge through slush and snow. Snaps could be heard as he forced his frozen fibers to move. He followed the creature through streets buried feet deep in snow, through narrow alleys a few feet wide, and wide avenues -- where in the limited vision of the blizzard -- were now desolate stretches of white.

    He followed the noise, but it eventually went silent. The trail ran cold as the trail of tracks ended. Stripe dropped to his knees, and tears tried to leak from his eyes. He was now lost, lead astray by a red herring that may or may not have been their friend, Buddy.

    Stripe trudged through snow in a straight line. He may be lost, but he was determined to not be lost and frozen. He eventually came to a large structure. It was a great arch coated in centimeters of ice. Metal spikes hung at its top like an upside-down palisade. It looked familiar... Like he''ve seen this thing before...

    Multiple lights glowed beyond the curtain. Bluish white stars along with a singular orange flame shone in the veil of snow and night. Strong winds that swirled originated from beyond the arch. Lances of pain pierced his being as the last fluids of his body crystallized. The cold had turned his body into a frosty statue.

    "No!" Stripe willed his body to move again, but the cold had sapped all his strength. He was left there standing, frozen and brittle. Hundreds of icy nails thrusted themselves through his flesh, not only sapping him of warmth but also consciousness. Blackness swiftly encroached his vision. Before he was overtaken by unconsciousness, Stripe saw something red.

    ~***~

    Hero stood half-frozen on snow. The ungodly cold the blasted snowstorm brought was sapping the warmth of the magma that was his blood. His claymore blazed unhindered by ice, ready to cleave and sear the raging storm.

    Hiding in the curtain was the adversary, the source and heart of the storm. A skeletal creature with skin pale as snow stood before Hero like an immovable horseman of the apocalypse. It bore the head of a jackal. The parka and trousers it wore was roughed by permafrost. Baleful aquamarine eyes stared at Hero.

    "Get out... of my... way," the jackal commanded with strained breaths. Its voice barely audible in the heart of the storm.

    "You shan''t take this town, Winter. Not on my watch," Hero answered in defiance.

    "If so... then I''ll... have to... make you."

    It approached slowly upon command. Its steps were drowned by the relentless screaming of the storm. It struck Hero at the side with metal appendages.

    Hero turned to face the sneaky assailant. In the curtain of white and black, he saw a constellation of bluish-white lights. Before him stood a cyborg locust, not unlike the one that sieged Townston. Much of its exoskeleton was replaced by chrome-plated steel. Grey tubes distributing chemicals vital to life weaved in and out of its body. Multiple glowing eyes, not only located at its head, but also all over its body sent a mindless hateful glare at Hero.

 Intermission 3: Bud

    It was evening. The silver bells of Nyx brought an extra shine to the stars that night. Orange-yellow light stained the night from the flames that warmed and lit every home in Townston.

    In that eve, Moly sat down in their humble abode, sipping a cup of tea. Incense filled the air with aromatic smog, and dim candles brought little light to their chambers. When they had sipped halfway through their cup, their door swung open with a bang. A raptor with turquoise eyes angrily scowled at Moly from the door frame.

    "You could have knocked, mister," Moly spoke nonchalantly and continued drinking.

    "Moly, did you really have to send them to their dooms?" Raptor asked. Steam flared from their nostrils.

    "..." Moly sipped a little bit more from their cup. "Not necessarily, but they were destined to go anyway."

    Raptor sighed. "Look, Moly. I know you have awful vision, but you could have stopped them from going. They were our best and second-best warriors you sent to a doomed rescue mission. Call them back. Tell them that Buddy is back."

    "Mister, I have no idea of where they are, and you expect me to be able to call them back as I wish? No." *Sip.* "Also, they have higher calling now."Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    "Destiny. Right." Raptor rolled their eyes. They reached out the open door and dragged a tied up and gagged insect. It had a rust-colored carapace and a pair of emerald compound eyes.

    "What''s with the stage assistant?"

    "This is Agent Fable, an agent of Prometheus." Raptor then took out a scroll case bearing elaborate carvings of beetles filled with gold. "And this is the message I found it brought. Did you know what I found out?"

    Moly only gazed in their direction with half a mind. "My magazine subscriptions?"

    "What? No. This is not the time for jokes, Moly. I just found out that Prometheus has a message for you, a command in fact. Wouldn''t this make you an agent of his?! And I thought you were genuine, Moly! I thought you cared for us! We''re just your flock, isn''t it, Moly?"

    "No. I do care." Moly sipped, but had found their cup empty of tea. "Look around you, Mister. One way or another, we are all agents of Prometheus. I know. He''s terrible, but do not make your hatred of him blind you from whom you are speaking to. Even agents of his cause can be victims."

    "I... Why? Why does he do this to us?" Raptor''s eyes began to tear up.

    "I don''t know. I only get his commands, not his reasons."

    "I see." Raptor drooped. "What was the prophecy again?"

    "The prophecy states that the prophesied one, the one with the legendary blade, will kill the monster, the Devourer, and save the Imaginarium." Moly paused. "Would you like some tea? We could read Prometheus'' message together."

    "No."

    "What was your name again?"

    "Don''t worry, Moly. I got your glasses."

 Chapter 19: Slush (End Act 1)

    The skeletal form of the jackal, Winter, ambled closer and closer to the gate he had ordered to raise. He shivered and quivered. The freezing cold took hold of him like a searing bear trap.

    He took a step, then another, and soon he had set foot in the grounds of Gardenton. He cringed at the sight of entire blocks and streets buried in meters-deep snow, and walls coated in foot-thick ice.

    Finally. Somewhere close to home, he thought.

    ~***~

    Stripe returned to consciousness beside a small fire. He found himself laid down on a marble floor under a domed roof. The raging storm outside was muffled by the walls of the grand structure.

    Looking around, he found himself to be in a small clearing surrounded by small trees and shrubs growing in mounds of mulch. Pale wooden bookshelves littered the landscape. Metaphor was sitting contemplatively by the fire, poking it with a stick. The herbal folk split themselves to two groups. One was utterly afraid of the other, shivering in both fear and cold, and casting occasional glances. The other group felt united in spirit, unlike the other that were held together by the loose bonds of fear. They stood vigilantly, alert and ready.

    He tried to rise, but found himself unable. Stiff bandages wrapped him like a mummy. The off-white cloth was stained yellow, the color of his blood.

    Metaphor noticed him shifting. "You''re awake. Don''t move too much. I don''t want to have your frostbite wounds bleeding like crazy."

    Stripe attempted to reply, but there was some bandages that prevented his mouth from opening fully.

    "Shush. Shush. Better rest up, Stripe. You''re a lucky one. You managed to reach the door before you completely froze."

    "B-but I w-went the oth-ther way," Stripe managed, swallowing the shock. "I r-ran a-away fr-rom the librrary."

    "... Lucky you, Stripe. You have guardian angel."

    "I think I saw Buddy in the storm."

    ~***~

    Hero squinted his eyes to catch a glimpse of the beast in the veil of snow. The cyborg locust shone itself like a living constellation in the night, but as Hero had whittled its constitution, the lights that indicated its state of health faded and soon the insect was no longer visible in the dark. It struck Hero like an assassin in the dead of night, whittling him down. The roaring gale masked its steps and icy wind masked its scent.

    Hero stood his ground. His blade was wreathed in passionate flames, and blood dripped from the numerous wounds inflicted upon his body. Hero struggled to keep his senses keen in the raging storm and his hold unshaking against the hidden foe. The snow beneath his feet was stained with blood of both red and green. Gratuitous amounts of black oil was splashed unto the wet snow from the wounds he made on the cyborg locust.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    The insect readied to strike Hero for the last time, but it made a critical mistake. For it came toward Hero in the windward side, its scent was carried to the keen nose of Hero. It tried to ram its barbed steel arms into him, but he was quick enough to parry the blow with his claymore.

    His feet slid back in force the insect exerted upon him. The blade sunk into the metal carapace of the locust, and lime blood and black oil spilled into the snow. The insect screamed a warcry that was audible even in the muffling blizzard. It raised one of its arms to stab Hero at the side.

    Hero stifled his scream of pain. He raised his sword and struck the wild beast with a blow that blew an entire chunk of the insect''s arm. Fluid quickly flowed out the arteries of the broken arm, but was quickly sealed by air-activated sealant and frost.

    The locust went to a murderous rage and rammed the staggering Hero with a might that would demolish walls. Hero was hooked onto the hooks that was attached to the insect''s face as it plowed through snow and pounding Hero to several walls. Glass shards, ice spears, and pieces of concrete lodged themselves onto his flesh.

    Hero''s claymore morphed into a smaller blade, a dagger. He began slicing up the locust with the steaming-hot knife as it led him farther and farther from the settlement.

    The wounds on the insect had sapped much of the strength from the creature, and in a last ditch effort to win against this fight, the beast rammed Hero. Having seen the move before, Hero jumped to the side, and let the beast slide into the veil of snow behind him.

    His blade lengthened as he ran into the veil to finish the beast, but instead of a beast, he encountered a great chasm. It was so wide that a three-storey building on its side acts as a bridge and so deep that the bottom was hidden behind a cover of foggy shadows. The tracks on the snow indicate that the locust had fallen down the great cliff.

    Hero turned to return to town, but he took a misstep and slipped on some ice. He fell backwards into the chasm, but he fortunately managed to grab on some electrical cables that was attached to the cliff face.

    He attempted to climb the icy wires, but the earth that held the wire was weak and was beginning to break under the strain of his weight.

    Climbing higher, Hero reached for a ledge that was barely in his reach, but alas! In the last second, the wires that he held onto gave away. The ledge he was reaching for was suddenly very far away as he began to plummet down to the bottom of the chasm, but before he could truly start falling, he felt a metal hand grab his arm, straining to pull him up the cliff.

    "Thank you, friend," Hero said. He tried to see the visage of his savior, but the shadow and snow was obscuring.

    "G-glad to be of help, Hero." He heard a familiar childish voice.

    But the metal-handed person''s strength and grip was inadequate for pulling him up. Little by little, Hero began slipping from the person''s grip until he was finally lost hold of.

    "Hero!" He plummeted like a heavy stone, headfirst. The shadows of the cliffs began to envelop him as he neared the shadowy floor.

    Thud. Hero slammed onto the chasm''s rocky floor.

    END OF ACT 1

    A/N: After this chapter, we''re halfway through my buffer. May decrease in update frequency.

 Chapter 20: Tundra

    ~BEGIN INTERREGNUM~

    "I think I found them," a plant person announced.

    A group of plantfolk roamed the snowy waste. They all wore thick and heavy coats as they trudged through the drifts of snow.

    "Yes... That may... be them..." A pale anemic plant person said, after inspecting what they had dug up.

    It was Tesla. They were lying lifeless in the snow. Their eyes were dark, and large indent was punched on their head.

    "Alright boys, get the sled ready. We''re dragging back Tesla now."

    "Aye aye."

    ~***~

    Stripe had largely recovered from the merciless biting cold. He shivers while he was wrapped around thick insulating blankets.

    *Creak.* The door cracked open, revealing the team that had braved the snowstorm. The group had the chrome body of Tesla in tow. They dragged the unconscious body of Tesla beside the fire to thaw the frost that may had accumulated in their systems. Metaphor merely gazed at their body. She was a doctor, not a bloody mechanic.

    In all honesty, Stripe had found it unsettling how the dumb and dim folk of this town had suddenly transformed into competent individuals just in the presence of this new pale man. Menthol, that was his name.

    "How do you feel, Menthol?" Metaphor asked. She was rather concerned at the pale man who wheezed every time he tried to breathe. Little flesh had clung to the bones he possessed.

    "Fine..." Menthol said. "Just... cold..."

    The pale man sat by the fire. He let his body shiver uncontrollably while he tried to warm himself.

    "Tell us about yourself, Menthol. You appeared literally out of nowhere," Stripe suddenly asked.

    "I am... or was... a soldier... a commanding... officer..." The man began. "I fought... against... Prometheus... We lost... He cursed... me... Now, I''m... always cold..."

    "Eesh. Harsh."

    The crew waited in the library, for hours on end, but the storm outside continued to roil. The cacophonous wind battered against the marble walls while its inhabitants huddled around the fire pit they have constructed. Occasionally, they fed the flames with a bit of dry wood every now and then.

    "Geez. It''s like the storm is waiting for us to come out." Metaphor remarked, shuddering.

    "Yes..."

    ~***~

    Ring-ring. Ring-ring. The ringing of a telephone cracked the atmosphere of silence. The folks at the library was fast asleep when it rang, waiting for the blizzard to pass. Outside, the storm rages on, with no sign of weakening.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    Metaphor and Stripe groggily rose as its ringing disturbed their sleep. Searching for the source, they found it to come from an object under Tesla''s coat. Although muffled by the thick coat, it rang and vibrated with great urgency.

    Metaphor carefully opened the coat... Tesla''s torso was a telephone booth. The blocky phone was calling for attention and aching to be picked up while an olive LCD announced the caller. Dalton was calling.

    Metaphor and Stripe looked at each other before she carefully picked it up.

    "Senior Tesla. Kindly forward this call to the Boss." Dalton spoke. His voice was stern.

    Metaphor looked once again at the milky buttons on Tesla''s chest. She pushed the one button labelled forward. The screen changed, and now displayed a list of titles. Metaphor gently pressed  the button that corresponded to "the Boss".

    There was a brief ringing before the one on the other side picked up their phone.

    "Agent Miller," the man on the other side said with an air of hostility. "Reason for contact?"

    "Complications on covert operation. Agent Fable who was escorting the cargo delivered to General Winter has gone AWOL. Agent Fable has ceased communications approximately 6 hours ago. Should I send a party after it?"

    There was a brief silence. "No. Be on standby, Agent Miller. Monitor your partner, Agent Coil, and take note of any activity you could receive on Agent Fable."

    The line then went dead.

    "Apologies that you had to put up with that, Senior Tesla. Good night."

    The line then went dead.

    ~***~

    Dawn came, but the snowstorm outside had no sight of weakening since last night. They lit the fire blazing once again as they attempted to stave of the ravenous cold that gnawed at the building.

    On top of the fire was a pot filled with boiling soup. Metaphor stirred and served the soup she was cooking. They had a breakfast of modest soup and slices of the plastic fruits.

    Menthol stared at the dancing flames, shakily holding the bowl of hot soup in his hands. Layers of wooly towels draped over him without apparent effect. He was contemplating.

    "What do you think does it mean?" Stripe asked. His finger absorbing the soup in his bowl.

    Menthol was quiet for a while. "So... this Dalton... fellow... You met him somewhere?..."

    "Yes. He accommodated our stay at the mill."

    Menthol took a sip of his soup, and said "They are... agents of... Prometheus... An agent... of his... is in... our midst..."

    ~***~

    Agent Fable scaled down the ravine. The metal arm in its back grabbing hold to the icy cliff while its sextuple feet attempted to find footholds.

    Agents Fable''s crimson furry head spied at the edge, but found no trace of the person it sought in the dark depths. Its segmented rusty carapace shifted as it attempts to gracefully bend and turn at corners. Its shimmering compound eyes and delicate antennae twitched at any significant evidence it could receive.

    Agent Fable eventually reached the bottom, but it could not find the person it had sought at the bottom. There was a splash of red amongst the rocks, but there was no body, no corpse. It appears to have been dragged away by a mysterious person into the large cavern that appears to be at the bottom of the ravine.

    Good riddance to the good-for-nothing lady-stealer.

    Hey! Hush you.

    "Hero!" Agent Fable called out, but only echoes answer it.

    The insectoid agent looked at the cavern with hesitance. It took small unsteady steps into the darkness.

    Just forget about him, B. He''s gone.

    He''s important to the Boss'' plans. What''s with you, Nar?

    ... I... have reservations for you, B.

 Chapter 21: Stone

    Hero awoke. He was in a cot cushioned by a thick layer of rich grass and moss. The walls was made of rough hewn stone bricks, green with moss. Posts made of gnarling living wood held the ceiling. Glass jars with insects glowing pastel rainbows inside hung on green twine.

    Hero''s head throbbed with dull pain he sat up. His head as well as his body was wrapped tightly in bandages. His clothes appear to have been replaced as he was now wearing a clean lime robe rather than his navy vest. His sword wasn''t in sight either, leaving Hero feeling rather edgy.

    *Creak.* The door swung open as a smoky white creature slowly entered the chamber. It smiled, nervously showing its sharp shark teeth. Its head was that of a weasel while his legs was that of an elephant. Its upper arms and wrists were protected by large shells that were textured like a pineapple''s.

    The smoky and somewhat translucent creature ambled towards the blue bear. In its hands was a board, and plates holding breakfast lay on it.

    "So... Breakfast in bed?" Hero stated. The creature nodded, placing the board on Hero''s lap, held aloft by wooden feet.

    The creature slowly ambled and escaped from the chamber, closing the door behind it. Hero could have sworn that the creature simply phased through the door jamb.

    Hero shrugged. He turned his attention to the meal he was given. There was a large plate that held a serving of rice, a saucer of saucy lamb chops, and a bowl of chop suey. A spoon and for were set aside in plastic wrapping.

    He unwrapped the eating utensils, and began gingerly eating. He found the meat pleasantly sweet and savory, and the chop suey to be well cooked. In ten minutes or so, the meal before him was gone, and he was wiping his lips clean of sauce.

    "I see that you have enjoyed your meal." A voice spoke. It came from wooden creature that stood still and straight like a proper tree. Their skin was bark, and eyes were golden stars. Their snout bore serrated teeth like that of a saw, but lacking a lower jaw. A pair of horns jut out the sides of their head. The horns curve up in a right angle, with the right ending with a spruce sapling. A medallion hung on its left horn.

    Hero nodded. "Compliments to the service." The smoky creature edged closer to gather the dirty dishes Hero had produced.

    "Your welcome, honored guest. I am Tree Truth''s Blaze." Tree bowed before Hero. They then point toward the smoky creature. "And that is my adopted brother, Smoke."

    "My name is Hero''s Prophecy, but I''ll prefer you calling me Hero." Hero waved at Smoke, but the timid creature swiftly escaped as if afraid that Hero''s stare could burn. "So, where am I?"

    "You, sir, are in Ruinton in Chasmland, the underbelly of the Imaginarium."

    Hero attempted to stand, but Tree stopped him. "No, no, good sir. Please, stay in bed. Let''s wait until your wounds has healed."This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    "Where''s my sword?" He asked.

    "Do not worry, sir Prophecy. It is kept safe," Tree answered. "It will be returned in time."

    ~***~

    Hero stayed in the infirmary of the Truth''s Blaze residence. His attempts at standing and moving were stymied by Tree before he could properly begin. Smoke delivered his meals regularly like a ninja waiter.

    The day would come that he could roam free in Ruinton.

    "There, there, Mr. Prophecy," Tree soothed as they unwrapped him of bandages.

    "I suppose I''m free to go now?" Hero asked.

    "Yes. You are."

    "May I have my sword back?"

    "No. Not yet, but you will." This statement made Hero a little sad. Soot accumulated in his insides and dimmed the outgoing light.

    Hero was allowed to leave the infirmary, and he entered and large chamber. The chamber was carved straight from a gargantuan tree, and illuminated by candlesticks burning rainbow flames. In the far wall was a desk made of stained wood on which was a crystal ball on a golden stand. Smoke was dusting the room while warily watching Hero''s presence.

    Hero slipped out the treehouse and into Ruinton proper. He found himself in a large dark cavern. Crumbled walls of concrete and skeletons of buildings littered the landscape while darkness veiled the land. The ground was paved with roads of grey brickwork and outlined with shallow earth-filled canals. The occasional stalagmite would break the landscape of architecture.

    Ruinton was eerie. Silence hung in the air like a ghost constantly choking you. With the exception of the fiery beacon that was the Truth''s Blaze residence, Ruinton was a lifeless forlorn underworld. Names of those that once lived and perished in these homes that lay in ruin were carved into the cornerstones.

    Smoke poked at Hero''s shoulder. Hero was alarmed; he had not heard Smoke approach. Smoke flinched at his aggressive expression, slinking behind the familiar navy clothing it brought.

    Hero''s face expressed surprise at Smoke''s incredible silence before the piece of apparel was shoved upon his face, and the split second his eyes was closed, Smoke had disappeared from view. It appeared that Smoke had washed his favorite vest for it was fresh and free of grime.

    He wore the vest above the lime robe that he had been provided. The cloth may not provide further protection, it helped to keep dust and debris from irritating his healed wounds.

    He gazed upon the sorry town, lain in ruins, dead and forlorn. His heart was doused with iced water as he thought about what had happened to the deforested concrete jungle before him. The darkness drenched the land before him like a slow-moving tsunami of tar that vaporized in the burning luminance of the treehouse.

    Somebody poke his shoulder. He turned his head to a wincing Smoke holding a board holding dishes for lunch. Smoke sat beside Hero, and set down the food. Smoke motioned Hero to eat as the eating utensils were procured.

    "Smoke, if I may ask, what happened to Ruinton? I''m sure that it wasn''t always this way."

    Of course it wasn''t always this way, evident from the frowning face of Smoke. Smoke began to gesture in the air, trying to silently tell a story through motions.

    At first there was standing buildings. Somebody came. Explosion. Things fell. The end.

    Whilst the display and meal, Hero spied something in the darkness, a shining golden star in the deep darkness. It totally stole his attention. Looking closer, he saw that it was not just a star, it was a woman, an angel clad in gold, with rivers of golden light radiating from the body. There was something about the distant star in the darkness he found enchanting.

    Smoke took his hand, and faced Hero. Smoke shook its head, disapproving whatever thought have trickled into his attention.

 Chapter 22: Star

    "Who''s that?" Hero asked, mesmerized by the angel. The only thing in the Smoke''s face was terror.

    Hero, no!

    Smoke began dragging Hero impotently, but he was too enchanted and a bit blinded by the golden light to be moved. He moved towards the shining seraph with unshaking steps. He ambled towards the golden light with unbreaking vision.

    Smoke tried to pull Hero from the seductive light, but its meager strength could not compete with Hero''s. Smoke was dragged across the ground. Rocks sliced through Smoke''s flesh as if a marshmallow.

    "She is beautiful," Hero remarked. The golden light reflecting in his eyes, staining it. Smoke flailed its hands before the enchanted one in panic; the source of the light was mere meters away from Hero''s face, blazing like a bonfire.

    "Why thank you, Hero," the angel said. The angel turned and showed her lovely face. Her hair was a beautiful waterfall, flowing like the ocean, golden like the first rays of dawn. Her skin was soft like a marshmallow and smooth like glass. Her hands bore perfect delicate fingers sheathed in silk and silver gloves. In her back was six golden wings flowing like solar flares and brilliant as diamond.

    Light was simply radiating from the angel''s body.

    Her face was just as angelic as all the other features. With shut eyes and a third one open in her forehead blazing like a furnace, she faced Hero. She opened her eyes...

    Hero! Look away!

    And golden light streamed out like from a lighthouse. The blinding aural light burned at Hero''s skin and retinas. Smoke''s flesh burned in the light, and quickly evaporated into thin air.

    "You''re... You''re... majestic," Hero said, shielding his eyes.

    "Hero''s Prophecy, you have been called forth here by my gracious light. To be the hero to quell the darkness that plagues this world."

    "I could hear the calling from miles away. The dark tyranny of Prometheus must be quelled. I suppose that the calling from you, Miss..."

    "Friends of mine have called me Godmod and Jim, but you may call me by my full name, Gudm��ndr. But you must know that the real perpetrator of the darkness upon the Imaginarium is not Prometheus, but his ''underling'', Canon Fodder. He is under control by this wretched creature, charmed by its wicked magic."

    "I see."

    "You must go now, or else they will be prepared for you."A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    "But I do not have my sword."

    "Tree and Smoke cannot be trusted. Both of them are agents of Prometheus. You must get your sword without catching their attention lest they alarm Canon Fodder."

    "But, how may I do that?"

    The angel smirked. "Do exactly what I tell you to."

    ~***~

    Gudm��ndr led Hero to a far side of town. They were surrounded by ruins of buildings, but amongst the rubble was one building still standing. It was a building made of concrete beams and wooden walls. A wooden tower with antennas at its top stood erect by its side...

    Oh no.

    Is everything fine?

    "This is it, Hero. This is the base of Rator. He is a communications officer of Canon Fodder. He goes down, we cripple their information."

    "Understood."

    *Crash!* A multitude of noises could suddenly be heard from within the building. The sound of scraping metal, fallen furniture, and hammering emanated from within the walls.

    Nar, may I ask what''s going on?

    Not now, B. A house invasion is about to commence.

    The angel chuckled from the noises they heard. "It seems that he has detected us coming, Hero. Why don''t you give him a good beating?"

    "Leave it to me."

    He began to pound upon the door. The mound of furniture and debris obstructing the entrance quivered as the mousey brown creature that resided in the house huddled in one corner.

    The door shuddered at the assault. The pile of trashed furniture shook at the force that attacked it. Hero was strong, but the door prevailed.

    "It seems to be blocked." The angel grimaced at that. Hero looked at her understandingly. "I will try the windows now."

    The mousey creature internally screamed in fear. Lips miming the words ''Somebody save me''. The window shutters were weak compared to the solid door, fragile even. The creature didn''t have anything enough to block entrance to all the windows. Eventually, one of the windows gave in, granting entrance to the intruders.

    Hang in there. Help is on the way.

    I would have screamed praises, but the fact that a beast under control of a demon of flaring light was upon me.

    "We''re in, Gudm��ndr."

    The creature shivered in terror. The twiggy arms clutched the azure fan that adorned its tail. Bones rattled as its muscles quaked, and mouth mumbling a description of slowly inevitable demise.

    The blue beast vaulted the window. Gudm��ndr floated right behind him. Her face plastered with a cruel desire to wreak violence upon the helpless creature before her.

    Gudm��ndr stepped forward and - Urk!

    "Finally! Do you know how long I have been waiting for this time, Ms. Rator?"

    Air! That hurts...

    "Everything was perfect before. Everything! It was only me and the most precious Prometheus."

    Everything... was perfect. The light... shone golden. Everything... was - No! Look away from the light.

    "Then that worm came along. That excuse. That contemptible insect came."

    Agh! Stop holding me like that! I need my rib cage to bre - Ack! H-Hero, help.

    "You! Of all the plebeians, the villains, the mortals that would raze Perfect Creation, it was you, a Loftlander of all things. Why?!"

    P-please. No hard feelings. I had no part in it. Please? It was all Prom -

    My spine! My tailbone!

    "By committing grievous treachery to my glorious light, you therefore shun your holy roots."

    ... We''re not holy in the first place.

    "It would''ve been a great joy to see you burn, squirm, seared by the golden light, but you''re not worthy. Hero, beat him to a pulp."

    Hero stepped forward while she turned.

    Wait! No. Please? Hav- gruk -e mercy. Gwark.

 Intermission 4: Moisture

    LOADING...

    A little bug walked through the dark halls of the castle. Fodder was quite content. It had finished much of the chores that had to be done. It washed the windows, swept the floors, did the dishes, sorted the mail, laundered the dirty clothing, et cetera. The furnaces were cleaned of soot and fed with coal. The growing vats washed and flushed, and the assemblies were wiped and oiled.

    In its hand was a silver tray bearing plates and bowls of lavish food. Steaming pumpkin minestrone, sizzling honeyed ham, and luscious petit fours. It marched down the stone stairs with firm steps, stepping through darkness without fear.

    Deeper down the stairs Fodder went with hot foods in hand. Entering the dark basements in which Prometheus found homely. Lead pipes protruded from the walls like roots. Moss grew from the medieval walls like grass and weeds on a pavement.

    Even deeper down did Fodder go, and it came to an antechamber. The room was furnished in a spartan way; minimal decor, and simple wooden furniture. A desk with a simple electric lamp stood in one side, holding neatly folded apparel. In the forefront of the chamber was a grand portal made of wood braced with stainless steel. Steel flowed in swirls and waves as it was screwed into the wood, seeming ready to spill off the door when noone will be looking.

    Fodder plopped the meal onto the desk before peeking into the great portal. Cool humid air flowed out the opening. Beyond the door was a circular arena with high vaulting walls lit passively by electric sconces. Water trickled from the cracked pipes that went in and out of the walls and flowed into the moat that hugged the edges of the chamber.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    "Master Prometheus, your food is ready," the insect softly announced. Prometheus turned his snake eyes upon it.

    Prometheus relaxed from his tense stance. He lowered the silver blade in his hand which was glowing with sinister green light. The sandy ground of the little arena was filled trenches and gouges made the power of the unholy sword. The chamber reeked of ozone from the hard-light projectors creating lifelike projections for hours on end.

    Prometheus grimaced, but said nothing. He fixed the robe that was a drenched in what appears to be sweat before taking strides out of the room. The sword in his hand pulsed, seemingly revolted to see the action end.

    Prometheus gazed upon the food that was carefully crafted to his taste. Fodder stood a fair distance from him, appearing submissive.

    Prometheus grabbed the meal by the metal tray, and he began walking toward the bin in the corner, and he flipped the contents of the tray into the bin. Fodder almost flinched, but it kept its head low.

    "I''m not hungry," Prometheus said flatly, and then turned away. "Fodder, from now on, please reschedule my afternoon snack into 4:00 p.m."

    Prometheus gingerly slipped out his garments. Fodder ignored the snake getting naked before it like a loyal slave.

    He dropped his dirty clothes into a chute, and began to change into the clean clothing that was reserved. He sheathed his saber into its scabbard. His yellow-green scales glistened in the low light. Moisture dripped from his lithe body. A forked tongue flitted out his mouth for a moment. Fodder ignored his naked master as he changed.

    "Fodder, anything to report?" Prometheus said with a firm voice. He did some final adjustments to his new rainrobe and trousers.

    "Should I begin with minor details or major ones?"

    "Begin with the minor ones."

    "General Winter has stayed in Gardenton longer than initially projected. Agent Coil has been reported to have acquired debilitating injuries."

    "Hmm. Go on."

    "Hero''s Prophecy has been sighted in Chasmland. Agent Fable has also been sighted in Chasmland. Gudm��ndr has reportedly charmed Hero; Agent Christmas is on the case."

 Chapter 23: Substitute

    It feels weird to be the one doing the narration. It was a title that wasn''t passed around often. Especially since we live in a world of third-person limited omniscient narration. Should I do past or present tense?

    We are running towards Nar''s house. Our pace is frantic; it''s an urgent alarm after all.

    "Slow down, Fable," Tree speaks. Bless the guy who named him that. Still, it wasn''t an overly common name like ''Volt''. "The situation is sensitive, but Nar is not going to explode."

    I could only sigh. The situation''s a ticking time bomb, and it''s going to explode in their faces. This wasn''t in the plan. Hell, this should have been irrelevant, but it suddenly became a confounding variable.

    I pause. We slow down to a more leisurely pace, a walk. I could see Smoke materializing from his formless gaseous form behind Tree.

    "It is nothing grave."

    "It''s very much grave, old man! This could break everything!" I practically shout, expelling all the uncertainty into my voice. Smoke cowers behind Tree, but the annoying old man stood unperturbed.

    "Panic will get us nowhere," he say coolly. Darn his woody will.

    He walks towards our destination in long calculated strides. His starry eyes shines with cool immovable determination while he holds Hero''s sword. He intends to use it against its owner.

    The sword did not reject Tree (thankfully not another thing to explode in their faces), but in his hand, it was a green sword, like a bluish-green leaf. The smooth straight edge morphed to one with serrated teeth.

    "I have visions of the future, Fable. I am a soothsayer after all, but foresight is not my only power."

    "The earth is with me." I could roll my eyes. He almost whispered that statement.

    "Your skepticism is justified," he states. "I admit, I do not compete to the powers of fire, but he is out of his element while I am in mine."

    He strides forward, and I only follow.

    ~***~

    We come to outside the home of our friend, Nar. Nar lays on the ground, being battered. His body was filled with bruises and a pool of sticky blood.

    Wruk...? Buddy... I-is that you?

    Shh. We''re here now.

    "Godmod, Hero. I am Tree Truth''s Blaze. Release her."

    The radiant one grimaces, but Hero''s face remains neutral. Not sure whether that statement have registered in his brain. He looks to be under Godmod''s control. It''s hard to take my eyes from GM, but I should because she might take me as well.

    "That''s my sword, Tree. What did you do to it?!" Hero''s face suddenly contorts. He shouts, almost a scream.

    "It is, but at the moment, you are not fit to wield it."

    "Do not listen to their lies. They have stolen it from you, and now, they''ve corrupted your treasure. Claim what is yours, Hero''s Prophecy," the angel says, her words tipped with bitter poison.

    "I am a soothsayer, a fortune teller. While my kin are prone to lies and deceit, I, right now, is fully truthful." Tree changes his stance. He holds the two-handed cleaver deftly like a true warrior, much to the angel''s disgust. "The man you have assailed and battered has done no crime."Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    "Yes, she has! She is an accomplice to the wretched Canon Fodder who opposed the Order of Heaven."

    "There has never been an Order of Heaven. It is but your delusions."

    "No. It''s real. You''re lying!" The angel''s fair face contorts to that of an ugly monkey.

    "Please stop your verbal assault to the fair miss," said Hero with a frown in his face. "And hand over my sword."

    "Why don''t we settle this with a duel?"

    (...)

    Hey. Shush. It''s okay.

    Whuh?

    Everything is going to be okay.

    I have snuck behind them. Tree''s steady sword clashes against Hero''s fiery might. Smoke''s substance boils in the heat as he tries to weaken his body. The fight is currently at a stalemate. Hopefully, GM does not jump into action.

    R-run.

    Sush. I''m here now...

    As I try to caress Nar. My furry paws try to-

    B-behind you!

    I try to roll to the side, but it was too late. GM, the unholy angel, strikes me at the side. My ribs hurt so bad.

    Huff! I think my chest plates received a dent.

    "You!" Jim screams. An angry from, almost demonic. A raging aura of light flood my vision. Shadows dance as if cast by a flame. I find it hard to look away from the light that attempts to consume my will.

    "Accomplices of Canon Fodder! You deserve to die! You must die! For corrupting precious Prometheus!"

    The angelic light waving in the air solidify into a spear pointed at me. Jim rears herself into throwing the spear.

    But before she throws the spear, she erupts into pained screaming.

    Hm!

    Nar''s teeth sink into her ankles, locked in place like in a steel trap. Gleaming blood leak into the stone.

    "Why you!" Angry black rage paints Jim''s face.

    I take the chance to attack. I pounce into her chest, pushing her to the ground. She emits vicious snarls and growls and screams as she struggled against my weight. I keep on pressing on her, averting my sight from her light.

    "Get off her!" Hero growls. Tree takes the chance to take a decisive strike.

    Tree pummels Hero with the flat side of his sword. He falls to the ground, breathless. An angry scowl forms in his. Enchanted flames burns in his eyes. Blood leaks from his nose.

    "I''ll deal with you later." Hero scrambles to help his charmer. We do intend to let her free from our teeth, so I begin to drag GM across the stones.

    "Stop that! How dare you ruffians!" She screams.

    Hero is filled with determination, but this determination has distracted him. Tree holds his sword against him. Tree attacks him; the sword digs its teeth into Hero''s flesh. His fiery might sears the air but it was powerless to burn Tree''s earthy element.

    His hands burst to flames. Tree deftly dodged his scratches. He pulls the toothed blade from Hero''s arm. Vivid red blood profusely flows from the torn flesh. The charmed Hero staggers, saliva leaking from his mouth. Tears and stains deface his blue vest.

    Hero charges against Tree one last time. He totters forward with  flaming claws. His speed turns into a blur. His burning fist lands squarely at Tree''s groin, causing the latter to fall over to the ground.

    Before Hero could take advantage, Tree sweeps Hero off his feet. The two scrambles to take a decisive position over another. Hero kicks the sword as far away from Tree. His touch has tainted the sword with a bit of bronze coloring. Smoke attempts to pick it and give it back to Tree, but Hero''s essence in the blade burns unwanted holders.

    The fight devolves into a brawl. Tree and Hero wrestles on the stony ground, pummeling each other with punches. Hero grows paler and anemic as the brawl moves on. Eventually, it ends with Tree sitting on a bleeding Hero. His blue wool sticky with blood and his eyes lacking life. He has lost all his energy to fight.

    Smoke presses its hand onto Hero''s face, letting him inhale a little bit of its substance. The poor blue bear finally falls unconscious.

    "There, fighting blue bear. Sleep," Tree breaks his silence.

    "Hrmph!" Some help here, please! I try to sound out, but my mouth is full. GM squirms and grunts as she tries to free herself mine and Nar''s grip.

    "Y-yeah." I signed.

    Tree turns to Jim. Her angry face scowling at Tree''s impassive expression.

    "Gudm��ndr, the charmer star." Tree stares directly at GM, unaffected by her angelic. "I understand that you are angry. Your wrath is misplaced. Prometheus is to blame. It always has been."

    "No! Liar!"

    Tree continues. "Prometheus has been this way for as long as I can remember. We are but tools to use and dispose of. I was even created with this knowledge, and I have witnessed enough to know that it is true." From somewhere, Tree produces a syringe filled with transparent yellow fluid. "Rest your delusions, Gudm��ndr. Rest well. Prometheus means well, but his means are rather unorthodox."

    ~END INTERREGNUM~

 Chapter 24: Penumbra (Begin Act 2)

    Tree, Nar, Buddy, and Smoke congregated at Tree and Smoke''s house to lick their wounds. Bandages decorate Tree''s body; burn cream liberally applied around injuries inflicted by Hero''s fiery might. Patches of charred bark and wood were hidden beneath the bandages. Tree covered up the bandages with a shiny vest with star-shaped and crescent buttons sewn on. Smoke recovered some of its lost substance from a tub filled with creamy liquid.

    Buddy despondently gazed out the window. His formerly silky and shiny fur had turned dull. He had to undergo surgery in order to correct some of his broken implants and exoskeleton. His dented chestplate had to be left alone; it wasn''t in the way of any of his organs, and removing it may complicate matters even worse.

    Nar was set upon a soft bed of green moss. Many of her bones were painfully broken. Wounds had to be stitched, internal bleeding and bruised organs had to be treated. She was immobilised with an excessive amount of casts and bandages in her bed. An intravenous tube provided fluids and minerals to her debilitated systems. A catheter removed waste fluids from her body.

    "So... what now?" Buddy asked.

    "Let us settle down and let our bodies heal," Tree answered.

    Buddy moved his eyes to Hero who lay in a medical bed, unconscious, possibly dreaming. His left arm was stitched and bandaged. The sword in Tree''s hand had inflicted severe damage to the muscles in his upper arms. Patches of wool had to be shaved in order for small wounds to be treated all over his body.

    Hero had lost a lot of blood. It was almost enough to starve his brain to unconsciousness. Thankfully, Tree had compatible blood in their medical supplies. Hero had successfully underwent blood transfusion.

    "He is a tough one. He will survive."

    A knocking sound interrupts them. A large bird comes pecking at one of the windows. Tree opens the stained-glass window to let the bird in.

    The bird perched on a chair. It was a simple large seabird with a mailbag. Its feathers were white with light gray accents.

    "Package for Nar Q. Rator!" It announced. It produced a virid softbound book. The seriffed title "El Escrip: Acto Dos" was impressed upon its unimpressive cover. The subtitle "libro aut��ntico de acto segundo del Imaginario" was printed below the title in a small font.

    Tree took and placed it on the bedside table by Nar''s bed.

    "Sign here!" The seabird took out a clipboard. The bird pressed the clipboard close to Nar''s face. Nar mumbled a lot of nonsense at the moment. No matter how hard Nar tried, her fingers remained too stiff to do complex and delicate articulation.

    "Actually, let me sign it," Tree offered.

    "Recipient''s signature is required!"

    "The recipient is currently unable. As her acting guardian, I am representative of her will."

    The seabird continued to be stubborn. "No. The signature must come from the recipient''s hand, paw, tentacle, or other miscellaneous object manipulating limb!"

    Tree sighed. They placed a pen in Nar''s hand and pressed the clipboard onto the pen''s tip, creating a scribble in the appropriate area. "There. Signature of the recipient from the recipient''s own hand. Is this sufficient?"

    The seabird reviewed the entry and simply smiled. "Yes. I am happy with this transaction!" It then began to flap its wings and take off its perch and fly out the opened window.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Tree went to the backroom to procure a board and a bookstand. They placed it on Nar''s bed. The book was then laid open before Nar in such a way that she could read it while laying in bedrest. The book was flipped to a page that bore "Capitulo Veinticuatro".

    ~***~

    Menthol dreamt. He found himself in a camp. Cabins made of timber stood around him. Fresh snow covered the landscape in a thin carpet. Green grass poked spears from the ground. The sun shone soft warm light. Conifers grew beyond the perimeter of the camp like proud towers. The sky was as clear as it could be, the clearest Menthol had seen it for a decade; the first sky he ever seen that wasn''t storming. Better yet, he didn''t feel cold.

    It put Menthol in a good mood. He decided to look around. In the center of the camp was a fire pit that housed whitish flames. It was odd, but he dismissed it.

    What was odder though was the odd absence of people.

    Menthol wandered into the cabins, but found just as oddly empty. There was an odd amount of silver and marble. Just about everything that wasn''t wood was made from silver or marble. Silver lanterns with the same whitish flames lit each cabin.

    A silver mirror in one cabin made him turn. In the mirror, he saw an unfamiliar reflection. A pale skeletal man stood beyond the glass barrier of reality and reflection. Glowing aquamarine eyes inset the eyesockets of a malnourished jackal''s head stared back at him. Gray fur matted his body, wilting leaves decorated his back, head, and shoulders.

    He reached out to the mirror, and the man in the mirror reached out to him. He flinched. He could scarcely believe the topless man in the mirror is his reflection. He pressed his fingers onto the glass; bony fingers met bony fingers.

    Even in his dreams, it haunted him. His cursed body, barely clinging to life, appeared time and time again. The more he stared at the mirror, the world seemed to get colder and colder and colder and colder...

    Until frost began to coat every surface. Bluish white painted every wall. The frost crept from the frame of the mirror until it completely coated the reflective surface. A cursed rune wrote itself on the face of the mirror, the rune that had cursed him for years in his failure. Hagalaz. The merciless biting cold. The hard and emotionless blizzard. The wasting of all things that is warm and soft.

    Menthol staggered. The cold crept up his veins. He turned to the closet where he found a familiar blue parka. He wore it and ran.

    Frosted firs blurred past him as he sought to run as fast as he could away from the camp. The white flames that once danced in the center of the camp laid still like snow shaped into the likeness of fire. A spiral of dark clouds sullied the clear skies.

    As he ran farther and farther, the world grew darker and colder. Strange rectangular formations made of marble protruded from the ground. Slabs of cold silver began to litter the ground. Instead of green needles, the trees now bore needles made of ice which carpetted the ground and crunched beneath his feet. The cold pierced into his body like a screw: slow, methodical and unstoppable.

    He ran until he could run no longer, running up to a wall of roaring winds. The frozen winds ripped at everything that passed through. Menthol turned around only to find himself completely surrounded on all sides by unsparing windy walls.

    Menthol hazarded a hand into the blizzard. The wind ripped his hand to shreds, leaving behind a frozen stump. He could only stare at the remains of his hand in horror.

    Menthol dropped to his knees. Tears flowed out his eyes. Hopelessness filled his insides like a slowly freezing liquid. Cold flowed through his body like blood. The walls of deathly winds inched closer and closer towards him. The light faded slowly, dipping him into pitch darkness.

    The courage that he once wielded had long eroded away. The fierce passion that he held against Prometheus in his glory days had long been extinguished. After years of irremovable cold, the person who led his city in battle had degraded into the pathetic person he was now.

    Instead of empowering his fellows to victory, he now brought them low with cold. His name cursed, his heroic identity erased from everyone''s memory. He could only reawaken some of the instincts and discipline that was locked to the back of his people''s minds.

    Menthol dropped to the ground in fetal position. He profusely shed tears. He cried for his failures to his race, his inadequacies made manifest by his curse, his wife who expected his letters, and his first child who never got the chance to be born with his memory.

    His body felt like ice, thoroughly frozen. He was ready for oblivion. He had shed the tears that had amassed inside him for a long time. He faced the cold end with no more tears to shed but too much jobs left unfinished, but it was enough; he had done enough. He could do no more.

    He closed his eyes to embrace the darkness and cold, to let it take and consume him.

    Only for him to instinctively belch as he felt fluid flow into his airways.

 Chapter 25: Morning

    Menthol opened his eyes. His blurry vision resolved to see concerned faces looking down on him. The most notable of the faces was that of a blue dragon. Her facial fins flapped as she concerned herself in his well-being. She held a flask left with drops of some bluish fluid.

    Menthol found himself to be choking. He quickly sat up and expelled the offending liquids onto the floor. Aside from a soapy solution, he also expelled a lot of unhealthy-looking phlegm. He coughed until all his airways were free of obstruction.

    And for the first time for years, he breathed deeply and freely. He did not wheeze just to get a measly amount of air into his lungs.

    "Hey," the dragon said. What was her name again? Meta-something? She reached out her hand to help him up. "You okay?"

    Menthol grabbed her hand and let himself up, but he could not find himself parting with her hands. It possessed a property he had thought was forever lost.

    The dragon tried to pull away her hand from his iron grip, but his skeletal hands possessed surprising strength. "You can let go now," she said. "Hello? Is everything alright?"

    He held onto her hand tightly, deeply examining its property that had totally enraptured him. Then he realized that it was because it was WARM. WARMTH was a thing he thought was of the past. It was a thing that he lost sensation of. Each essence of it had been sapped and continued to be sapped from his body. It was until now. WARMTH could finally fill him again.

    Menthol jumped to embrace her. His arms wrapped around her light body, joyously savoring every bit of WARMTH she exuded. WARMTH! He could not describe it! He just wanted to get as much of until every bit of his body thawed. Tears welled from his eyes as he continued to wrap around the dragon.

    "Is everything okay?!" The dragon somewhat panickily asked.

    "WARM!" It was all he could say. "You are WARM!"

    "Yes. I mean, I am warm. I''m a dragon and reptile and all, but that''s magic rather than actual cold--"

    "What did you do?! Why are you WARM?!" He shouted just for the heck of it. Ecstasy flowed into him like molasses, and he was savoring every moment of it. He just wanted to squeeze all the WARMTH he can from the poor dragon that was being squeezed tightly.

    "Ack! You were shivering quite badly last night, so I thought to give a help you sleep better with a little bit of a comfort spell, but it kinda backfired. You shivered even more. Your temperature dropped. It dropped so low that you started getting frosted over, which is kinda impossible and you could have died, but I''ll take what I can get and you''re still alive."

    Menthol flicked his ears in mild interest. He loosened his grip around the dragon. The emotions that welled up within him had began to overwhelm him. The joy of being finally free from the freezing shackles of irremovable cold had made him descend into hysterical laughter.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    "Ten years. After ten years of miserable cold, you finally finally make me feel WARM again. Emphasis on WARM, all caps, colored orange!"

    "Er, why don''t we sit by the fire where it''s even warmer," the dragon suggested. She patted the pale man at the back of his shoulder.

    The man''s ears in turn shot up. He scrambled towards the fire they cultivated inside the library. The dirt around the fire was dry and WARM. The fire emitted an aura of blessed WARMTH.

    "WARM! Fire is WARM!" Menthol laughed. The yellow liquiform that sat by the fire inched slightly farther away from him.

    He reached for the flames, aiming to get as much of the WARMTH as he could. He put his hands in the fire for a second before he had to pull it out. A burning pain had bloomed from his hands.

    "HOT!" He shouted, all caps, cherry red letters. "Around fire is WARM, but fire is HOT!"

    The dragon rushed to his side to tend to his burned hands. "You shouldn''t your hands into the flames," the dragon advised. "You should only go near a fire but not in it."

    Even with the pain, he continued to smile, giggling with delirious joy. He felt another form of WARMTH: the HEAT exuded by burning things. Yet there was another kind of WARMTH that he could scarcely remember.

    He swivelled his head round in search of sources of WARMTH. A yellow liquiform held his hands before the fire. Plantfolk in crude clothing huddled in piles. A hoard of firewood was gathered nearby. Rotting bleached bookshelves stood as flimsy dividers. A forest of slender trees grew from the mounds of decomposed wood. Luminescent fungi colonized rotting matter. Columns rose to hold the domed ceiling, and marble walls stood against the harsh snowy weather outside.

    Outside...

    The doors and windows were covered in tarps. The tarps shook as the icy winds outside sought to intrude upon the library.

    The winds were noticeably weaker. Menthol''s mouth hung open. Hopeful curiousity latched into his mind. Could it be?

    Menthol stood and slowly ambled towards the covered exit. He dragged his feet across the floor. He touched the rough frosty tarp that faithfully covered opening. The wind wasn''t pushing against it as strongly as it had.

    Menthol burst through the covering. He tore the tarp off from the doorway and ran to the snow-covered street outside. He stood in the middle of the street atop meters-deep snow. The fierce blizzard that ravaged the outside like a storm of knives had weakened to a soft flurry.

    He twirled around in search for something. His ragged breaths shook his body and formed foggy clouds in the air. His joints twitched in anticipation.

    It was then that buttery rays hit him. He turned his gaze skyward, and saw the skies that been permanently darkened with clouds cracking. Canyons of blue carved themselves into the stony clouds, breaking them apart. A sunny orb peered through the cracks and blessed the earth below with its radiant sunlight.

    Menthol laughed, spread his arms out. He laughed in jubilation and rapture. The WARM rays intoxicated him. He knelt into the snow in a fit of frenzied laughter.

    "The sun!" He pointed to the sky, disregarding the danger of looking directly at the star. The sunlight struck him, filling him with euphoria. Sunlight possessed a different kind of WARMTH. It was akin to standing in the presence of fire where one WARMED without touch. The sun''s WARMTH was RADIANT; the sun possessed RADIANCE.

    "It''s so beautiful. I''ve never thought I''d ever see it again," Menthol said. He fell to his back and continually stared at the sun until a black spot had formed in his vision.

    Then a dark cloud moved to block the sun. "No!" Menthol sat up and exclaimed. "Don''t you block its RADIANCE!"

 Chapter 26: Soup

    Hero opened his eyes to an organic ceiling. He found himself to be a bit light-headed. His head and hazy memories swam.

    He found himself on a bed inside a cool ward. Mossy stone walls surrounded him, and French windows of stained glass created openings to dusky Ruinton. Jars of glowing insects provided a pleasant atmosphere to the room. A bag of blood hung by his bed, dripping blood he needed into his veins.

    Hero tried to sit up, but found his body be afflicted with many aches. Stitches and wounds were minutely disturbed by his movements. He groaned and winced from the pain he felt.

    There were two other beds in the room: one empty, and the other occupied; a heavily battered brown rodent lay in it. It was covered from head to toe in bandages. Splotches of rusty red stained her bandages, and casts kept her limbs immobile. Vermilion horns protruded from her head, and a fan of peacock blue decorated her tail. Her tiger yellow eyes pored over the green book that lay before her in a bookstand while a brightly glowing mantis in large jar on her bedside table casted light unto her reading.

    The rodent turned her eyes to Hero. Her hands twitched as she tried to wave at the newly awoken Hero. Hero waved, and said "Greetings. My name is Hero''s Prophecy." The rodent only gave him contemptuous glare.

    The door cracked open, and a handsome canine ambled in. He kept his injured right paw above the ground. Bandages covered his torso, and a metal arm attached to a metal box on his back held a bowl of tomato soup. The rodent stared at the dog with shining eyes.

    Hero raised his ears at the sight; he instantly recognized the canine before him. The shiny freshly combed carmine fur and green eyes was unmistakably Buddy''s. Buddy turned his sight to Hero.

    "Hero! You''re okay," Buddy sounded his concern. He jumped to the side of Hero, almost spilling the soup of from its bowl.

    "Buddy, you''re here. How did you get here?" Hero asked.

    Buddy nervously smiled and answered, "That''s a long story, I''ll tell you later." He then turned to the rodent, the recipient of the soup. "Anyway, Smoke should be bringing you food at this very moment."

    The rodent glared at the bear; her eyes emitted invisible lasers boring--

    Shush. That''s enough, N.

    *Sigh.* Buddy put aside the bookstand, and put the bowl in its place. He then began to gingerly spoon the soup into the rodent''s mouth. The damaged actuators of his metal arm struggled to keep the spoon completely still.

    !!!

    Oh my god, B. This soup is absolutely delicious! The salt and spices are just the right blend. There''s meaty and vegtable chunks that are just the righ size and softness. It feels like molten goodness in the mouth.

    Shush now, N. I made this for you, just how you like it.

    Yum! The rodent''s eyes glowed in the deliciousness of the soup she is sipping. A few drops of the orange-red liquid stained her bandages.

    "Hero, this is Nar," Buddy began. "Nar, this is Hero."

    "Hi there," Hero said with a smile on his face. Nar only awkwardly stared at him.

    The awkward staring continued for a minute or two. Nar refused to change her disapproving gaze which infected Hero''s mood. Buddy sighed and continued to spoon-feed Nar.

    The awkward atmosphere broke when Smoke entered through the door with a bowl of vegetable soup. Smoke approached Hero slowly, and handed the bowl to Hero.

    Hero inspected the soup. He smelled and looked at it. Chunks of tomato, potato, peas, onions, and chicken floated in the watery soup. Hero leisurely consumed his soup with a stainless steel spoon.

    Hmm. Hey, B. Can you put my book in front of me again?

    No, N. Eat your soup first. Why do you need it open right now? We''re at a cooldown period anyway. Filler chapters all around. Nothing interesting is going on.

    I just want to know what Hero''s soup tastes like.

    ... No.

    Aww.

    ~***~

    Hero finished his bowl of soup. He wiped the last remnants of soup from his lips. Smoke retrieved the bowl and retreated to the corridors.

    The soup Buddy fed Nar had now disappeared, and the bowl that contained it had been escorted to the kitchen. The book was put back in place in front of Nar.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    Tree entered into the room. They stood just as straight as ever, but this time, with some semblance of clothing. The shiny copper colored vest and the attached glass buttons glittered in the soft lighting of the chamber. Hero noted the sword that hung from their hip. It was a malachite saber with a serrated blade to tear the flesh of its prey. Its pommel sported green cat''s head with rubies for eyes. Although its form was unfamiliar, the saber called to Hero. It voiced its concern for his health in some psychic wavelength.

    "It is relieving to find you in better health, sir Prophecy," Tree spoke. "We''ve been in dire straits, sir, but we''ve pulled through."

    That thought brought a little smile to Hero. To pull through difficulty was an accomplishment. He tried to recall the hardships they''ve been through from the fog of his memory... only for nothing to come to mind.

    A frown formed as he realized a hole in his memory. He could not recall them going through some hardship. He dived into the lake of his most recent memories only to find them to be seared.

    He inspected them, attempted to clear them, but his attempts produced naught. He looked closely and found them not to be seared by the fire of his element. The memories were seared by glare as if struck by a laser; a laser that pierced his mind and anchored strings onto his faculties.

    He looked around the fiery cavern of his mind and found many craters where bright strings rooted themselves into his awareness. It blocked and altered his memories.

    Hero grimaced. He treasured his memories, especially those that linger. His long-term memories had always been spotty. He knew he had travelled across the Imaginarium, mostly between townships that litter Hillland. He often travelled alone for months, and his unruly element would grind away the precious memories of the folks he had helped, the promises he made, and the people he had wronged. When he arrived at Townston months ago, his memories of the previous town he had visited had already been seared to unidentifiable ash.

    "I see that you have found memories filled with shining haze," Tree noted. They placed their hand onto Hero''s head. "Your mind has been struck by the enchanting light of Gudm��ndr. Your mind had been infiltrated and perverted. That''s why you''ll find some holes in your memory."

    "Oh." A memory of a golden angelic star came to the forefront of Hero''s mind. It totally enchanted him and spirited his volition. He could scarcely remember battles against birds, beasts, and scum before, but he didn''t think he would fight a monster that attacks the mind.

    "Shush now. Her majesty had enthralled you. Her light had made you fight us, those that would have been your allies." Tree then turned his attention to the bedridden Nar. "You beat this woman senseless under her command, but better not fret. It wasn''t you; it was her will that made you do it."

    Even though the thought that it wasn''t his own full volition that he had beaten the heavily injured rodent, it still put a heavy weight in his mind. He could have slashed her, sliced her to bits, diced and minced... Wait, he didn''t have his sword.

    He turned a questioning gaze at Tree''s starry eyes. Tree had it. The question popped into his head; "Where is my sword?"

    Tree grinned (Really? I don''t think I can see their face flexing from this angle.) and removed the malachite saber from their hip. They presented the sword in front of him. The unfamiliar blade latched psychic hooks into his psyche. Hero winced at the sensation, fearful of mind control.

    "Here is your sword, sir Prophecy." The blade shone in the light like a semi-precious gem. Tree held on the dark green hilt while Hero intently looked at it. It felt intimately familiar yet Hero could swear that he had never seen such blade before; through the hooks that latched into his psyche, he could feel the sword begging him to recognize it.

    "You don''t recognize it? Perhaps a touch would rouse your suspicion."

    Roused by their words, Hero hazarded a touch. The moment his hand came in contact with the sword, a dam of sensation had broken. He felt his elemental energy that built up in his core flow into the sword. Tree loosened their grip and let Hero get a solid grip on the blade.

    The saber began to morph in his hand. The jade sword discolored until it had turned into a solid bronze. The curved and serrated blade straightened to a straight edge. The cat-head pommel deformed until it turned into a dragon''s head. The sword continued to transform until it took a more familiar form: a broadsword.

    "I... How?" Hero sputtered. He let the sword set in his hand. The unfamiliar saber had turned into a familiar one in his hands. In bursts of flame, he transformed the broadsword into another familiar form: a dagger.

    "It is a heroic blade, sir Prophecy. It is meant to be in the hands of heroes whose interests lie with the Imaginarium," Tree began. "It has deemed you a worthy wielder."

    This is my sword. A though rose in his mind with conviction. He knew this blade. It was the blade he had used to cleave monsters that roamed the land. It was the trusty blade that had accompanied him in his travels. This was his claymore.

    But an unfamiliar weight had clung onto it. Hero focused on the new weight and found it to be some foreign element. The foreign element stood stalwart against the passionate flames of his own. The element was stationary, preferring to define itself than to occupy the most space. It was the element of the stout stone and living wood. It was the element that defined itself as solid, unchanging, and uncompromising, and it pressed the other elements to adhere to its values. It was the element of EARTH, of things made of solid substance. It was an element that came from not himself, but another: Tree Truth''s Blaze, where in their hands, the sword morphed to their elemental affinity.

    Hero examined the energies, suddenly fascinated by elements. The EARTHEN element within the sword was a forested mountain in the middle of raging wildfires. They pressed his element, the vehement flames, to adhere to a defined form. The element of FIRE sought everything to become like it. It loathed all that isn''t like itself. Nebulous flames reached into the solid fortress of EARTH, wearing the substance bit by bit.

    Hero tried to rein in the passionate flames, but FIRE was an element that abhorred control, unconforming to established order. The earthen element pressed the blaze into turning substantial and inert and failing; there was too much FIRE than there was EARTH.

    Hero tried to preserve the little bit of EARTH he had for respect to Tree rather than prudence. The FIERY element continued to batter against the EARTHEN element until its edges had began to dissolve into more FIRE. He tried saving the little EARTH left by extracting and returning it to Tree, but all things that enter the sword was to remain forever sealed within the steel.

    His ears drooped as he found himself failing horribly in preserving the earthen element within the blade. In his hand, the FIERY element continued to be stoked and blazing. The never-ending flood of flames wore the defined wood and stone until it was no more.

 Chapter 27: Flurry

    Mellow morning light filtered through the cracked sky. The frosty glass of the towering skyscrapers reflected speckled light into the streets and avenues. Frozen ivy clung from the bleached walls and icicles hung from the overhangs. The snow that had accumulated into meter-deep carpets slowly soaked the sun''s RADIANCE and trickled tiny streams of melted snow into the storm drains.

    It had been the calmest it had ever been for a month. The air was relaxed and cool, flowing with lethargy.

    It had been a productive week for Menthol. His goals had become remarkably easier with his curse significantly weakened. He reawakened the discipline and instincts that were locked to the back of his people''s minds. He continually drilled them so that their instincts don''t get locked back. Looking at all the plantfolk clearing streets of snow and chopping firewood, Menthol felt a sense of pride at his progress; his people were at the very least decent laborers at this point.

    The blue dragon-- Metaphor and company were very helpful. Metaphor was skilled in the arcane arts of magic. Menthol had seen magic text before, but he had never seen the script used on her spellbook (her claims swung between Draconic and Ursegal). Metaphor was especially skilled in water-related magicks. She was adept in medicine and healing, and she used those skills whenever there''s injuries. She''s been helping teaching the plantfolk hygiene and reading and writing.

    Stripe, the yellow sack of paint, was helpful in another way. His skills lay in the realms of the culinary although his cooking style resembles more like homecooking rather than restaurant material. He happily tended to the pots of soups and stews with his assemblage of green assistant cooks; he was rotating around a group of candidates to train them in the craft of cooking.

    Menthol admired Hero''s Prophecy. To think that he brought capable and kind individuals to his people, he wished to thank him for just attempting to help them. If it wasn''t for him, the people of Gardenton would be without capable people trying to help them. Menthol would like to meet him one day.

    Although they were part of Hero''s gang, Menthol was rather wary of Tesla. They were an agent of Prometheus. While he would love to have Tesla help them, Tesla would be able to enact whatever plans and contingencies Prometheus stuffed into their brain. He''d been delaying any attempts of repairing them. At least he had a very valid excuse: they should not play amateur surgeon on the comatose robot. Menthol found it unfortunate that none of them had any skills in extracting information from Tesla''s circuit boards; it would be useful against Prometheus.

    Where was he...? Oh right, on a main road outside Gardenton. Menthol entered an office building. Snow and slush had flooded in from the open doors and broken windows.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Menthol was tasked to scavenge some tools. Although offices weren''t characterized as troves of implements, hardware stores were not exactly common in this part of Urbanland, and if there were, they were almost guaranteed to have been cleared.

    Menthol chose this specific building for a reason. Although the name of its company had long been wiped in the calamity that bleached the city, it belonged to a respectable company with reasonable amounts of cash to spend on safety features. Each floor was almost guaranteed to have a fire axe, fire hose, and fire extinguisher near the stairs or elevator.

    Menthol climbed the building one floor at a time. He grabbed fire axes that hid themselves within the fire cabinets. He searched each floor briefly. There wasn''t much to see but empty cubicles and file cabinets full of blank papers. Uninteresting trinkets like bobbleheads, mugs, and miscellaneous desk toys littered each cubicle. The sun''s RADIANCE filtered through the crystal glass, giving Menthol energy as he worked through the floors.

    The floors were engineered in such a way that sunlight would filter through on sunny mornings and allow employees to photosynthesize while they worked. The height of the building compared to the surrounding buildings allowed the optimal amount of light to enter through the windows at the start of morning shifts; it worked just as well as coffee and reduced coffee expenses.

    By late morning, Menthol had worked to the penultimate floor, the ninth floor. He gazed out the window and stared directly into the sun. He laid in the RADIANCE to recover some energy he''d expended in scavenging through the building. His pack was laden with axes and the occasional interesting trinket. He took off his jacket in order to soak in the RADIANT sunlight more effectively.

    Menthol''s malnourished body was getting better by the day. Some muscle had returned to his skeletal skeletal frame, and new green leaves had sprouted from his back. His pale bleached skin and fur were regaining their healthy green color. He laid on the floor and continued to soak in the light.

    That''s odd. The ceiling lights were on.

    Menthol immediately sat up at the odd sight. There was no electricity in Urbanland; nobody operated the electrical substations and the Urbanlandian electrical grid had been frayed like spaghetti immediately after the calamity. A faint humming noise came from upstairs.

    Menthol quickly put his jacket back on and took an axe from his bundle of axes. He slowly noiselessly climbed the flight of stairs and found the next floor be some sort of conference room.

    A large wooden table was the center of the room. Blank frames hung from the walls and some green potted plants gave color to an otherwise bland room. The faint humming had turned into a grinding noise. Menthol turned to the source and found it to be some sort of generator. Steaming HEAT billowed from its heat sinks. It was an unfamiliar model; its style was distinctly not Urbanlandian. It was blocky and chrome, almost... Factorylandian in design.

    Menthol cautiously paced into the room, the axe in his hand ready to swing at a moment''s notice. The room was suspiciously empty and silent.

    Ding!

    Menthol quickly turned around to the source of the noise. The elevator that he had assumed inoperative had opened. A scowl had formed in his face at the sight.

    A trio of robots emerged from the elevator. Their chrome chassis shone in the near-noon light. Their optical sensors focused at him.

    "Winter Mint," The middle one began. "We''ve been expecting you."

 Chapter 28: Hillock

    Moly Bush stood on an overseeing hill. All of Townston sprawled before them. The brick buildings with colorful finishing lay whole and standing. They admired the town they had sworn to protect through the lens of their spectacles. They planted their gnarled staff firmly in the dirt. The wind flowed around their broad chest while their feet were planted on the ground like immovable columns. A wind charm that hung from their antler swayed silently in the wind. They basked in the morning sunlight.

    A month or so had passed since the coming and going of Hero''s Prophecy. Although he brought with him the three with the most martial potential in the town, Townston had been doing okay. Prometheus had been sending less monsters this way. Them and a cadre of new warriors had been valiantly fighting against the forces of evil.

    Moly had been... letting themself go in the past month. A lush carpet of dark green leaves had grown on his back. They somehow couldn''t find it in themself to care. They''re not when they had last washed their sash.

    They turned to their back when they sensed someone approaching. From the crest of the hill arrived a grey-blue feathered dinosaur. They cringed a bit at Moly''s state.

    "Hey there, Moly," Transmogrifying Raptor greeted.

    "To you too, mate," Moly replied with a nod.

    "You''re having multiple buds now," Raptor noted. "Your big blossom at the end of your tail is beautiful."

    "More buds?" Moly said with a frown. They turned their gaze to their tail where several deep red buds had grown while a large rose blossom had adorned their tailtip.

    "You look incredibly healthy, Moly," Raptor remarked. "They don''t appear to be some sort of disease."

    Moly sighed. "I know." They uprooted their feet from the ground and shook the dirt from their newly grown roots. Moly sighed and squatted to cut off the unwanted roots with their claws. "I just think I''m not cut out to be a parent yet."

    Raptor raised an eyebrow. "You''re a girl?"

    "No-- I mean, I don''t know, and I''d rather not know."

    ~***~

    After a few days of travel, Hillock had finally arrived at Townston, the last known location of her father. It''s been a month or so since she had heard of him. She''s afraid of what had happened to him. He promised that he would be back in a week, only for him to disappear without a trace.

    Hillock gazed out the curtained windows of the wooden carriage. They passed by brightly colored houses. Most of them were intact though some were in the process of being cleaned and rebuilt. The occasional tree and flower box flashed at the side of the streets while the brightly colored horses that pulled the carriage trotted on the bright yellow road. An eclectic variety of people roamed the streets. There were lizards and mammals, birds and insects, and plants and machines. Some were as tiny as an apple slice, sticking to the walls, while others were as tall as a spruce tree, overlooking them.

    "Anxious still?" A voice inquired. It belonged to a Roy. Roy was a shy silver dragon. Her slender limber serpentine body rested on the seat while his amber eyes scanned the surroundings. The entirety of his length was clad in thin silvery white scales. A mane of red fur trailed his spine like flames and ended his tail with a brush-like tuft of hair. A pair of well-trimmed gold-brown antlers adorned his head, white whiskers hung from the sides of his nose, and wicked black claws adorned his hands.

    Roy periodically wiped his polo with a red trim and embroidered clouds. Brown slacks hid his lower body. Whatever attempt Roy had made in appearing calm and collected had utterly failed. Roy was visibly nervous; he was crossing his fingers and rubbing his palms. The atmosphere quivered with his nervousness.

    "A little bit," Hillock admitted. The two of them had travelled through some towns in search of his missing father. Roy was a chemist. He used to work in the same agency as her father''s but resigned to start an apothecary of his own. Her father primarily acquired their medicine at his shop.

    "We''re here," one of the horses announced. "Town Square, Townston."

    "Come on," Hillock urged and disembarked the carriage set her foot onto the pastel concrete of the town square. Roy followed suit and paid the horses their fare.

    Hillock panned her pupilless lemon eyes across the square. Her plum-purple fur bristled in the breeze, and a silver line ran down her arms and legs. Her feline head sported a frazzled main of hair and a thin tail that ended with a tuft of hair trailed behind her. A casual set of clothes covered her torso. "Where do we start?"If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    "The most logical place for us to ask would be the municipal hall."

    "Well, if that''s the case, let''s ask the local for--"

    Hillock''s statement was interrupted by a crash that quaked the earth. They heard a loud roar followed by metallic screeching and whining. Hillock fell to her butt when she heard the sound.

    As Roy leaned down to help her up, a large brown raccoon-like beast sprinted across the square. Its hairs stood stiff on their ends like needles and spines. Beady black eyes full of mischief scanned the area. The townsfolk attempted to get out of the curving path of the speeding raccoon, but some were unfortunately too slow to move out of the way and ebony claws dug wounds into their flesh.

    The beast lolled its pink tongue as it ran. A squad of warriors wielding crude blades and clubs chased the agile animal. Much of their clumsy strikes missed the quick beast, and they bumped into each a lot in their pursuit. The beast danced around their attacks, playing with them.

    In the middle of battle, the beast crouched and sent spines flying in every direction. The spines broke skin and injected venom into their bloodstream. The struck warriors suddenly became stiff and immobile. Four of the five warriors that pursued the rampaging playful beast fell; spines fortunately missed the last one by mere millimeters.

    One of the warriors, the one with red-orange skin and a spiral horn growing from their forehead, breathed a stream of tangerine flames. The fire brushed the flank of brown beast and set alight to its needle-like hairs. The hair smoked like sticks of incense. The now harmed and panicked animal turned tail and fled... to the direction of Roy and Hillock.

    Roy stood frozen in place while his companion had already wound her legs to leap out of the way. They hadn''t thought of monster attacks whilst they travelled and did business in the towns. They hadn''t encountered hitches like this in the previous towns and had completely forgotten about it. His yellow eyes locked at the beady black eyes of the oncoming monster.

    The brown beast sped across the pavement, leaving its slow pursuers in the dust. The animal sprinted to pounce upon the dragon. It bared its ebony claws against the serpent.

    Roy, ruled by instinct and fear, exercised his ability to control air. Lightning crackled around his arms as roiling air produced static electricity. He threw a electric punch to the pouncing beast. Thunder exploded when the fist connected with the beast; a bright white flash erupted from the punch and arcs of electricity jumped off their bodies. The smell of ozone wafted from the impact.

    The brown beast crashed onto Roy as a twitching wreck cooked by electrical burns. Roy fell on his back and scrambled to get the beast off him. He stood at the side to acquire control over his irregular breathing.

    The red-orange-skinned warrior rushed to the beast and plunged their blade into the beast''s heart. The beast weakly struggled to get away. Eventually, the beast ceased all struggle; life faded from its eyes, and its breathing had stopped.

    "Hey, have you dealt with the escaped beast?" A voice called out. Roy turned to find the source to be a tall green lizard. They stood with intimidating air as blood and gore stuck to their scales. They stood taller than many of the locals. Their broad chest were thick with muscle and strength, and they bore their weighty awesome form on thick muscular arms and legs. A bronze antler grew from the left side of their skull. A mat of greenery covered their back. A thick thorny tail was attached to their backside. Rose buds and a large bloody blossom on the tip grew on their tail. Spade-like claws meant to scoop viscera from their prey adorned their hands and feet.

    The sash they wore was stained with blood. A necklace of teeth and bones hung from their neck, and a staff of dark gnarled wood was held in their hand. They seem not a bit unsettled by the blood they bathed in. Roy found himself utterly weak at the knees.

    "Yes, Shaman Moly, the beast had been subdued," the horned-warrior replied.

    "Good," the large green lizard replied. They paced to survey the damage. They noticed the people lying on the ground, and knelt to inspect them. They procured spectacles with thickest lenses Roy had ever seen from unseen pockets of their sash. "Hmm. Feverish and bruised, no broken bones, poisoned. Somebody get Doctor Raptor over here."

    "I''m already here, Moly," a shrill screech came from above. A large black bird of prey descended from the skies. Vermilion feathers lay interspersed among the black ones. Chartreuse eyes judge the victims laying prone on the square. Clutched in its talons was a black briefcase, presumably containing medicine.

    Roy slowly took a few steps back, but his companion, Hillock, had boldly approached the two awe-inspiring figures.

    The large bird suddenly released a flash of light and in its place was grey-feathered velociraptor with turquoise eyes in a doctor''s coat. They leaned into the victims and diagnosed them. They opened their briefcase and retrieved a pair of clean gloves and began pulling the spines from their bodies.

    "Excuse me," Hillock spoke. "Would you kindly point us the way to the municipal hall? We''re new here and we''re kind of curious whether a certain individual had been seen passing through here."

    "It''s that way," Moly answered.

    "Thank you."

    Hillock started towards the direction Moly pointed them. Roy nervously followed Hillock in her footsteps. The municipal hall stood proudly in the corner of the road. It bore its plastered cracks and bare walls with legacy. Doric columns held the roof overhang above its front porch.

    They entered the buidling''s lobby. They found it strangely quiet. The few offices were empty with the exception of the office of the treasurer. Only a janitor mopping the floor and the secretary sitting behind the information desk was present in the lobby.

    "Excuse me, my father has been missing for a month and had been would like to inquire whether he had passed through here," Hillock asked.

    The secretary turned her eyes to Hillock. "You''d have to ask the police captain, except the police captain had been away for a month now, so you''ll have to ask the mayor who is currently busy. Are you willing to wait for a while until they come back."

    Hillock smiled. "Yes."

    The secretary the gave a form. "Here, fill this up while you wait."

 Chapter 29: Frost

    Menthol stood ready against the trio of robots that disembarked the elevator. He held the axe to immediately swing at his command.

    The robot in the middle, the robot that appeared to be in charge, was some sort of chrome bipedal crocodile with glowing green eyes and a blue fez atop its head. A pair of shoulder-mounted micromissile launchers trained on Menthol''s body.

    The pair of robots at its side was of a different model. They were hunched humanoids with grey oculars and slightly orange hull. Their arms were practically rods attached to a broad trapezoid torso. Their lithe legs were bent at their knees to balance their heavy upper bodies.

    The crocodilian robot stepped forward. "Greetings, sir Mint. I am Dalton. This is my escorts, Flop and Volt."

    "How did you know I would be here?" Menthol asked.

    "We did not foresee your presence in this building." Dalton then gestured to a large gaping hole cut into the glass window through which snow and cold air had been drifting in. "We saw you rummaging through the lower floors."

    "What do you want?" Menthol growled, baring his teeth.

    "Negotiations, sir Mint," Dalton answered. He skirted at the edge of Menthol''s attack range and settled himself onto a chair. "More specifically, about the debt you have been accumulating on the post-paid biyearly technology subscription."

    Menthol made a face. He clearly did not remember signing up for the subscription Dalton just mentioned. "I did not sign up for this. In fact, I did not even know why I was even getting Factorylandian technology."

    "I am sorry. You did not, but somebody did for you," Dalton explained, taking out a large file folder of documents.

    That earned an angry shout from Menthol. "What?! I''m not paying you filthy money for a service I did not even sign up for."

    "As the beneficiary of the service, you are contractually obligated to pay for the accrued fees."

    "Why didn''t you solicit the the one who signed me up your service?"

    "We did for the first delivery, but terms and conditions had been changed since then. When the systems were upgraded, the payor was defaulted to your name and money was no longer being taken from the account of your benefactor."

    "I wasn''t informed of this change."

    Dalton stared at Menthol''s face for a moment. Shock roiled in his ocular light. "We did." He then slid a tablet computer toward Menthol. On the tablet computer''s screen was a notice.

    Menthol gazed warily at the tablet on the table. He stepped closer until he could read the words on the paper. He kept a close eye on the robots.

    The notice was what it looks like: a notice informing him of a change that occurred about eight years ago. It was informative and crystal clear that he had become the payor of the service.

    "I terminate my subscription," he declared.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    "We can arrange that, but existing debt still remains and would need to be fully paid." Dalton then produced a handful of papers.

    "How much do I owe?" Menthol gritted he teeth. He hoped his debt would be within his payable range in five years.

    "Four million."

    Menthol''s eyes widened. That was a lot of money. "Any time constraints?"

    "Post-paid fees may continue to accrue until termination of service; however, service may only be terminated when all indebted fees has been fully paid," Dalton answered. "Service will continue and extra expenses will be acccrued."

    An icy storm roiled inside Menthol''s head. It nagged him with the problem at hand. He had two years to pay for the unpaid subscription fees before an extra million would be added to his account. His country''s industry and economy was ruined and unlikely to be revived in such short notice and begin making profit. He and his people was unlikely to get high paying jobs in the neighboring countries; Hillland was rural, Mountainland was a communistic state, and they were too unskilled for Factoryland.

    Dalton smiled as Menthol was in deep thought. "You debt is large, sir Mint, but it can be much smaller," Dalton began. Menthol looked up, his attention caught. "We-- no, I can give you a large discount. In exchange of a favor of course."

    Menthol''s attention were still trained on Dalton. Dalton''s green oculars glowed a little brighter before he continued. "You could pay as little as 10% of your original debt or a mere four hundred thousand. Are you interested?"

    Menthol thought for a minute or two. Four hundred thousand was a much more manageable amount than four million, but it still sounded like a devil''s deal. He still kept the deal on the board and answered, "I am interested, but what does this entail?"

    Dalton''s smile grew slightly wider. "That is good, sir Mint. You see, as director of domestic production, I am privy to the inner going-ons of my country. Ever since our head of state and government, Volta, had fallen to crippling depression, Factoryland had fallen to enormous debt, but that is not something we like to advertise to our citizens."

    Dalton retrieved the tablet and began swiping through data sheets. "We mostly owe ours to Mountainland and Prometheus, and we do not like being in debt with either of them."

    "What do you want and need of me?" Menthol asked.

    Dalton turned his gaze to Menthol, and the green light from his eyes felt like needling into Menthol''s skin. He answered, "Prometheus has ordered Volta to retrieve Hero''s Prophecy. I wish for you to retrieve sir Prophecy for us."

    Menthol''s fur bristled and stood on ends. He gulped and then said the following words without hitch, "No. I''m not going to."

    "We will offer domesti--" Dalton began but was interrupted quickly.

    "My answer is still no."

    "We--"

    "No." Menthol steeled his nerves. He gripped tightly the axe in his hands. Flop and Volt turned their oculars towards him, and they swayed rather threateningly.

    "We are not asking you to kill him," Dalton said. A sigh almost escaped his speakers. "All we want you to do is bring him to Castleton where he can fight Prometheus."

    "What does this accomplish?" Menthol growled.

    "If things go right, the permanent removal of the Devourer from the Imaginarium in as least time as possible," Dalton answered.

    Menthol suddenly found himself a bit slack-jawed at the answer. "The Devourer is not real."

    "The Devourer is very much real. Although I nor Volta was active during the rampage of the Devourer, Volta had seen the wasteland that was the Imaginarium in the immediate aftermath of the calamity. The Dragonlords'' Manifesto even stated Volta and his siblings'' purposes as engines of quick recovery from calamity and tragedy such as the Devourer''s."

    "So what? Is the Devourer in his basement and he needs Hero to kill it for him?"

    Dalton paused for a second or two. "Presumably."

    "Presumably?"

    "We do not want to more than necessary debt from Prometheus." Dalton could feel chilly fear flowing through his circuits as he imagined the consequences.

    "Right."

    "3,600,000 less on your debt with or without domestic aid from Factoryland in exchange of taking sir Prophecy to Castleton: are you taking it? Or would you rather have 4,000,000 debt to be paid fully in two years?"

    Menthol thought hard. While he wished Hero''s fortune in his journeys, he could not simply give it in exchange for debt that may grow fatter every two years. "I''ll be taking it."

    A full-sized grin formed on Dalton''s face. His metallic teeth gleamed in the noon light. "Great."

 Chapter 30: Scrimshaw

    Hero worked the wood in his intently. He was working on a walking stick for Nar. He had transformed his sword into carving knife and used it to carve art into the wood. The images of trees and wyverns and birds and rivers flowed through the flesh of the crutch. The darkness that perpetually blanketed Chasmland barely bothered him, and his ruby eyes gleamed in the lack of light.

    Hero held the stick in his hand without fear. The thing of the EARTH element was beyond the reach of his FIERY spirit. He offered to make a crutch for Nar as an apology and gift, and Tree was generous enough to cut a branch from the dark forest beyond Ruinton''s limits. The trees bore strong lightweight peach-colored wood that was perfect for Nar''s crutch.

    They had spent a week or so in the underground recovering. Hero had tried his best in helping his companions. He help Tree with working in the vegetable gardens, cooking meals, and cleaning their home. He tried to imitate EARTH which was kind and forgiving

    Hero had been happy to see that Buddy was okay. He never knew that Buddy had a friend from outside Hillland even, and did not question it. He noticed that Buddy admired him almost like, well, a hero, and tried to entertain him. Oh you man-stealer.

    N, please don''t strangle him in his sleep. I''m pretty sure he can crush your skull with a hand.

    Yeah yeah. *Grumble grumble*. Yadda yadda. Let''s move on.

    Hero had been able to study the elements in his free time. FIRE lived short and productive lives. All things living possessed a spark of it. It wished all the others to dance with its song. EARTH was the element of body, substance, and health. It was sheltering and caring, but unyielding and inert. WATER was fair and adaptable. It judged all equally and changed its shape to befit the circumstance. It gives things the ability to change. AIR was fearful and always fled at the moment''s notice. It wished to remain unseen and unnoticed. It was weak and cowardly, but it thrived when there''s many.

    Hero admired the EARTH element. He wished he could be kind and caring like the EARTH. His element of FIRE was good for destroying, but not much for others. It did give him the vigor he needed to act quickly though.

    Hero blinked as the wooden walking stick in his hand had completed whilst he was deep in thought. The curved peach-colored wood born of EARTH and touched by FLAME lay in his hand; the FIRE-touched scrimshaw projected an aura of wellness and spirit. A feeling of pride swelled in his Hero''s chest as he beheld his creation.

    Hero stood and began pacing towards Nar who sat leaning on a pillar, still too injured to walk on her own without assistance. Casts still wrapped her limbs, but thankfully, her broken bones had healed enough in a week''s time to allow her to move but still not enough to stand, walk, and run. She continued reading the green book with solemn seriousness. Silent motions moved her mouth as if forming unheard words.

    "Miss Rator," Hero began. Nar turned her yellow eyes to him. He knelt and presented the crutch to her like a treasure being presented to royalty. How flattering. "As a gift and apology to the grievances I have wreaked upon you, I present to you this gift of mine, wrought by my own hands and poured with my spirit."

    Nar narrowed her eyes at the walking stick. The luxurious stick sported exquisite engravings and stood longer than she was tall. The carvings reeked of dynamism; the engraved figures just felt like ready to spring into motion and flow the moment you take your eyes away.

    Nar hazarded a touch, and then taking it from Hero''s hands. The smooth wood felt comfortable in her hand; the slight curve of its shape gave comfortable locations to hold onto, especially on the spots she was meant to hold onto. It was sturdy and lightweight, not feeling like snapping at a moments notice.

    ... It''s good work. It felt very nice in my hand. I tried to stand using it as support and I find myself more capable. The energies that were poured into its engravings flowed into my body. My brown hairs stood on ends, and elemental energies of EARTH and FIRE entered my veins like cold water and encouraged my well-being. The kind and caring touch of EARTH pulled taut my frayed fibers and encouraged them to heal. The impassioned and energetic tinge of FIRE sent lances to my pains and brought forth life and energy to my admittedly weak blood.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    I heaved at the magical sensation. It made me feel more alive than I''ve ever been since I''ve been born. I''ve held magical artifacts before, yet this crutch was the first that brought forth something to my body instead of affecting the world in some way; it was for me and not for the world.

    Hero looked at me with concern. I don''t need your concern! He reached to help me, but I backed away from his touch which outbalanced me, and I fell to my butt. Hero winced at the sight. Ow.

    "Are you in pain?" Hero asked softly. Why must you be so kind?! I shook my head in response though I cringed with the various pains that radiated from my injuries.

    Hero was not deceived. He reached out and helped me stand up. I leaned into my the crutch, setting my glowering glare on him.

    Sadness doused some of Hero''s inner flames. Disappointment became evident in his face. "Do you not like it?" He asked.

    "No," I answered without thinking. "I mean yes. It''s a very good gift but we''re still not completely through."

    A small smile appeared on Hero''s face. He patted Nar''s head and said, "Get well soon, Nar."

    ~***~

    Hillock and Roy waited in the empty lobby. The bench they sat on were hard and uncomfortable, but they endured. Minutes came and went; an hour or two passed without incident. Boredom floated in the air like dust. Roy''s anxiousness mounted. Hillock distracted herself by playing on her mobile gaming device.

    Roy possessed no such device. He was fairly inept when it comes to electronic technology. The boredom was driving him insane. The boredom distilled the diluted voices of his instincts, and they all shouted "Make a storm! Rule the air!" Roy had to distract himself. He turned his attention away from time and onto the objects within the building.

    Pastel yellow coated the walls, giving it the same color as chiffon cakes. The floors were simple glazed tiles, and ceiling was coated in white plaster. Paintings depicting water features and glades hung from walls, and flourescent tubes lit the room with uniform white light. The bench they sat upon was made of some white sturdy wood, probably oak or pine.

    He turned his eyes to the secretary on duty. She was an artform. She was a chalk drawing on the wall. Her body was some sort of reptile-dog with sky blue scales, yellow horns and talons, and a white mane. Her lightning blue eyes was glued upon the novel that was laid open on her desk. "A raiju," Roy surmised.

    The end of the uncomfortably boring two hours had passed when a large intimidating figure entered the lobby. Hillock turned her eyes on the muscly green lizard while Roy had to dig his ivory claws into the bench just to prevent himself from simply vibrating off the bench. The green lizard, Moly, delicately set their feet on the floor to prevent their wicked claws from simply sundering the tiles. Their scales were shiny and clean. Moly had clearly bathed before coming over to the municipal hall. The smell of lavender shampoo diminished some of the intimidating factor.

    "Shaman Moly," the secretary began. "You have visitors. They have an inquiry for you."

    "Indeed? Inform them that I''ll be waiting for them in my office," Moly answered.

    "No need for that. They''ve been waiting for you for two hours, your Hallowedness," the secretary replied. She then pointed to where Hillock and Roy had been sitting. Roy suddenly felt his chest grow tight as their fiery amber eyes fell on them.

    "Oh. Didn''t see them there, Ms. Splotch," Moly remarked.

    The secretary sighed. "Moly, your eyesight is so bad that you should be legally blind. If it weren''t for me, you''d probably mistaken them for potted plants."

    "I know, Ms. Splotch. There''s no need to rub it in," Moly said. Moly turned to go to their office. They passed by blurry blobs in their vision and called them to follow them. Hillock put away her gaming device and followed Moly. Roy followed them with great reluctance.

    They followed Moly to a door made of dark wood. A gilded plaque announced this as the office of the mayor. Beyond the door was a simple office. A dark green wallpaper with white flowers decorated the walls. A stand with stick of unlit incense stood on one corner while decorative plants populated the other corners. A golden charm with a red tassel clung on the ceiling. A large mithril axe hung on display on the wall. In the middle of the office was a simple wooden desk.

    Moly went behind the desk. They took out a pair of glasses from one of the drawers and began cleaning them with a cream colored handkerchief.

    Roy couldn''t help but feel cold in his bones. The office felt like a trap. He entered a lion''s den, worse, a dragon''s lair and he wasn''t the metaphorical dragon. He just wanted to tear apart the walls and get as far away as possible from Moly.

    "I am Moly Bush, the mayor of Townston and temporary chief of police," they formally began. "How may I help you?"

    "I am Hillock Shepherd," she replied just as formally. "This is my companion, Roy Shiro." Roy nodded after she said his name. "We''re here to inquire about a missing person, my father, Torc Shepherd."

    "Torc Shepherd? There''s definitely a Torc that had passed by here, but-" Moly put on their glasses, but what they saw made them pause. They rubbed their glasses thoroughly again, but the image they saw remained unchanged.

    "Shinryu Roi? Fancy seeing you here." That statement made Roy''s heart drop.

 Chapter 31: Chains

    Hillock was surprised. She was not privy to Roy''s whole history, but she did not expect Moly to have such a reaction towards Roy. Roy''s face paled, his ivory teeth locked against each other as he tried to smile and hide his nervousness (and failing horribly).

    "H-how?" Roy muttered.

    "You know each other?" Hillock asked, curious.

    "How could I not hear about you. You were a big shot, Roi. You were powerful and a successful creature. Gossip and rumours about you kept dripping down from up the higher ups," Moly answered. A big bright smile appeared on their face like they just met some sort of celebrity.

    Roy''s eyes widened. "You''re an agent of the Promethean Corps!" Roy realized and exclaimed. His voice rattled the room. His declaration brought shock to Hillock.

    "Yes, I am," Moly answered nonchalantly. "And so were you."

    "The Promethean Corps?!" Hillock exclaimed, standing up. "You mean you two were one of monsters Prometheus sends marauding!"

    "Yes," Moly replied. "You see, Roi is a powerhouse. He managed to wipe a few towns off the map, leaving only lakes and mudpits." Roy winced. He paled, his silver scales turning cold.

    "He what!" Hillock was shocked.

    "He has phenomenal control over air and the weather. He tore them down with howling winds and drowned them with pouring rain," Moly said.

    Hillock turned silent. She glared at Roy with contempt. Roy rubbed his hands in nervousness and fear. He had feared that his identity would be known after he abandoned his mission.

    Roy turned to Moly. "I don''t remember you. Who are you?" He asked.

    "I am Moly Bush. You''ve not heard of me since I was created long after you''ve been first deployed. I''m actually considered a failure. I was born with awful eyesight, but I clove apart and stood upon the corpses of ''superior'' versions of me," Moly pridefully announced. They then turned to the axe on the wall and remarked, "Ah. That axe was my partner in life and death back in Colosseumton. If I hadn''t found spirituality, I would probably still be back there mindlessly hacking apart challengers."

    "Really?" Roy mockingly said.

    "Yes. Contrary to the fact that I have a very thick skull, I have a big brain," they answer.

    "The size of your brain doesn''t correspond to your intelligence."

    "I know. It means I have reserve brainspace to thinking even in battle."

    The conversation devolved into an exchange of mocks. While the two reptiles were engaged in their banter, Hillock seethed within.

    "Stop!" Hillock screamed, and then said in a much more relaxed manner, "Why don''t we get back on topic?" Roy and Moly''s attention were effectively caught.

    "Right, your father," Moly said. They produce a folder, and they begin rummaging through the files.

    Whilst they were busy looking at the files, Hillock turned her yellow eyes at Roy. Her glare was like a flashlight emitting uncomfortable radiation in his direction. He shook in fear.

    "You! Roy Shiro or Shinroy Roi or whatever your name was. What is this about you destroying villages?" Hillock screamed at his face, her throat threatening to grow hoarse.

    Roy winced and tried to look away and deflect the statement, but the question echoed on the walls and he had no escape. He rubbed his hands in discomfort as he said, "It-- it was m-my mission: I was su-supposed to destroy towns and all the resistance against me. Valleyton, Hillton, Villageton, Denton, and Houston. When I turned Villageton into a lake, there was this lithoform that survived. She was away when I destroyed it. She looked at me with despairing eyes while I drank water from the lake."

    "I guess that was the moment you grew a conscience."

    Roy relaxed a bit. "Did you know what she asked me?"

    Hillock grimaced, but took the bait anyway. "What is it?"

    "''Why?''" Roy replied. "''What was the reason for this?'' It was the first time ''reason'' entered my vocabulary."This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    "Did you find out why you had to destroy those villages?" Hillock asked, this time much softer.

    And Roy answered. "No. Those towns were worthless. I couldn''t discern the purpose of my attack."

    It was then that Moly entered the fray once more. "That''s Prometheus for you, chap. Incredibly cryptic." They held a document in their hands. "Ah. Looks like we''ve found a trace of your father."

    Hillock perked up. "Where?!"

    "At the funeral home," Moly said. It shattered all of Hillock''s sunshine, reducing her to a stammering wreck. The crashing of the mood was like a car crashing into a brick wall. Tears threatened to flow out her tear ducts.

    "What''s he doing there?" Roy asked, trying his best to hide his discomfort.

    "He''s dead for a month. He attacked Townston on the behalf of Prometheus. Somebody managed to climb to the back of his neck and kill him," Moly answered, confirming his suspicion.

    ~***~

    Menthol marched back to the rendezvous. Other scavengers that had left that day was waiting for the others on that intersection. Their bags were filled with various stuff: food, trinkets, and hardware stuff like nails, screws, string, and rope.

    His bag was filled with a bundle of fire axes and common office trinkets. In one of his pockets was a flash drive. Inside the flash drive was a soft copy of the contract he signed. Although it was completely digital, he felt as if a smidge of his soul was used to make the digital strokes.

    It was bit odd though. Metaphor was supposed to rendezvous them. She''s oddly late.

    "Oof." Metaphor suddenly collided with Menthol from behind. She rebounded from his back and landed on her butt on the snow. She would''ve broken her tailbone if the snow wasn''t soft enough.

    "You''re late," Menthol dismissively remarked. The contract had pulled a shadow of a bad mood on his expression.

    Metaphor appeared a bit anxious, twirling her claws. Menthol helped her back up, and she wiped off the fine snow that had dusted her grey winter clothing.

    "Everyone here?" Metaphor asked.

    "No," Menthol answered. He then looked the setting sun whilst they waited for the other scavengers to return. As the sun slowly but surely lowers towards the skyline, its RADIANCE slowly turned red. They laid in the snow while they waited.

    Right at dusk or perhaps twilight, the other scavengers returned with their goods just before evening. Menthol took a minute to count everybody just to make sure that not one was to be left behind.

    "Everyone''s here," Menthol confirmed and stood up. Every scavenger turned their eyes towards him and secured their bundles and tightened their hold. "Let''s go."

    They began to march back to Gardenton. Snow crunched beneath their feet. The march was silent, not a soul daring a sound, made worse by the lifeless urban jungle they traversed through.

    They passed by streetlights though their glow were long dead. Buildings around them stood like the walls of a canyon, and skyscrapers rose like pillars of heaven. Long ugly scars painted the sky. It was testament to the ambitions of his people that they built up buildings that literally scraped the skies.

    Other than the frayed silver constellations and thin moon that lit above, only Metaphor''s orb of mage light shone on their way. It was an odd orb of light; a swirling mass of indigo and teal that emitted COOL light. It was a strange thing. It brought RADIANCE like light bulbs and the sun, yet failed to emit a smidge of WARMTH. Instead, it brought the opposite, COOLTH. It was like cold, yet also unlike. It was like water if cold was likened to ice. It absorbed the RADIANT energy, but did not covet it like real cold.

    They marched on until the last light of the sun faded from view. Soon in their march, the frosted walls of Gardenton came to view. Cheerful FIERY light emanated from within, and torches were placed upon the parapets of the wall. They homed in to the great portal that that separated what''s within the walls from the outside, and the great gate opened to allow them passage.

    They were welcomed back to the little town almost like heroes. There were shouts and festive cheer in their voices. The air was WARM from all the bonfires that were lit, driving away the chilling cold. It was a refreshing sight; after years of endless winter and overpowering snow, Menthol had finally seen a day where snow had no power over him.

    They dropped off their loot on the town square. The others surrounded them, interested in the souvenirs they''ve brought. They came and helped in organizing the items they''ve brought. They''ve been trained well by him and Stripe. He could see them working well together, and it brought a smile to his face and warmth to his heart.

    Metaphor had separated from them and met with her friend. She''s a bit too distrusting of his kind, though considering the ineptitude they had demonstrated prior to his arrival, she''s not to blame.

    Once all the supplies they''ve gathered had been properly organized, they''ve put them away to the storerooms. They then had supper; Stripe had prepared a soup with lots of leafy vegetables. Menthol wasn''t a fan of leafy vegetables as viands like most plantfolk, but considering that it was Stripe''s cooking, it was better than what they cobble themselves. The salt and sour tomatoes sent an electric feeling in Menthol''s body.

    "Uncle Menthol," a short squeaky voice said. Menthol pulled his aquamarine eyes up to meet with beautiful amber eyes. It belonged to a girl with wrinkled leaves matting her back. She was lithe and tall, a little bit taller than him. In her hand was a half-finished bowl of soup.

    Menthol smiled and said, "Having a nice evening, Pepper?" Her name was Pepper Mint, his niece or perhaps cousin he hadn''t known he had. Times were good; he had a clan and a family.

    "Yes, uncle," Pepper replied. "You''re like Hero, big and strong."

    Menthol laughed. She laughed too. Pepper fell forward to hug her sitting uncle. He embraced her into his arms, giving each other precious WARMTH.

    "I love you," she whispered.

    "I love you too," he whispered back.

    He looked up to the skies, and a the stars. Streaking through sky, he saw a meteor. It was rare occurrence, enough to make him hang a wish upon it: a wish of the betterment of himself and his kind.

    "Pepper, if you could become anything in the future, what do you want to be?" he asked.

    "Hmm...," she thought for a moment. "I think I''ll become an inventor."

    "Really, why?"

    "I''d invent a machine that would make warm soup to every cold corner of Urbanland."

 Intermission 5: Lab

    Canon Fodder stepped into its personal workshop. Large whirring science machines stood on the floor like evil blinking monoliths. Cabinets filled with old projects and filthy tools lined the walls. Sconces lit the room with warm ominous light. The walls were bare of decorations except for the ample amount of warning and inspirational posters. Gizmos and widgets littered filthy tables.

    Canon Fodder did not wander in here often. Although it was made to be Canon''s personal haven, its instincts almost never pulled this location into the forefront of its mind until a leader had instructed it to do so.

    Canon Fodder scritched its russet-furred head with its chitinous hand and began untangling the unkempt fur. It reached for a bucket filled slightly dirty and greasy water and began cleaning up its rust-colored exoskeleton.

    Canon Fodder homed on an almost finished device. It was a handheld device with a large dial on the front side and a springy antenna protruded from its top.

    eling emanated on the air, an energy suffused the atmosphere, grabbing it and holding-- hey is my voice getting fainter?

    Hyperwave interception device activated. Status: nominal. All parameters within acceptable range. Hyperwave disturbances muted. Environment now suitable for hyperwave-sensitive tests.

    You are Canon Fodder. You are in the garage. You are currently not assigned to any task. No time-sensitive goals set. What do?

    >Look around? Affirmative.

    As previously mentioned, you are in the garage. Unfinished machines and handheld tools are stored in here. You create devices primarily for your personal use here. Devices you create for Prometheus are stored and created in another laboratory.

    Servers and environment regulators line the walls. Indicators blink and flash; their colors a multitude of green, cyan, blue, and red. Your tools are placed on shelves. They might need to be cleaned. Flourescent bulbs are socketed into sconces, bringing white light into the room.

    There is a cot in a corner. It is where you sleep. There is a desk with drawers. It is where you store your personal items. There are some posters on the walls.

    >Check drawer? Affirmative.

    You pull the drawer open. Inside is a collection of read letters and open envelopes. There is one unread letter.

    You open it.

    Inside is a handwritten message written on scented paper. It reads:

    <blockquote>

    Dear Canon Fodder,

    G''day, my good queen. I''ve got to tell you of this man who just got into town. He''s rad and manly, I tell you. It tickles my girlish senses (don''t tell anyone). Anyway, you probably have already heard of him by the time you read this (seriously, you need more free time). You have very skillful hands capable of making things that should have been impossible, but then again, you''re a Tinker; it''s in your blood.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    I know I''m not privy to whatever plan Prometheus cooks up in his conference room, but I''m pretty sure this guy is the guy in the prophecy. I mean, it''s in his name: Hero''s Prophecy.

    When every pint of the Devourer''s strength has been siphoned, a hero, wielding a bronze blade shall arise and eliminate the Devourer from the face of the Imaginarium once and for all.

    I probably paraphrased that a bit, but it checks out. He has the sword and the skill.

    By the way, how are you? Hopefully fine. I''m also fine. Take care, my queen. You have a problem with obeying anyone with even just a smidge of authority. I hope you take care of yourself. I issue thee this command: Read the posters on the walls of the garage.

    Love,

    Buddy Fable

    </blockquote>

    Evaluation: informal friendly letter. Purpose: information and command. Recognized command: Read the posters.

    >Perform command? Affirmative.

    You turn your eyes to posters on the walls. They are simple posters with written commands. They read:

    You are given permission to do something with your own volition.

    You command yourself.

    Make something for yourself.

    Commands received.

    *Tinkle.*

    Disturbance detected. Intruder protocols engaged. Locating source.

    "Uh... Hi," the source says.

    Source apprehended. Source is a small lithoform, a geode. It is a mineral lifeform with a brown rock exterior and violet crystalline interior. It possesses no dangerous natural weaponry; rock teeth are potentially dangerous, but too dull to cause serious damage. Pipe wrench equipped in case of altercation but is to be avoided due to high risk of damage to fragile instruments. What do?

    "Uh... Whatcha doing?" It says.

    Inquiry received. "I am on break, recreation," you answer.

    "What''s that?" It says, pointing to the device on the table you previously dialed.

    "That is a hyperwave smoother."

    "What does that do?"

    "It clears hyperwave disturbances within a hundred meter radius. Hyperwave disturbances can have adverse effects on the metaphysics of the surroundings," you explain.

    "I see...," it says, most likely rhetorically. "And that means... in layman''s terms?"

    "It means that it literally silences otherworldly presences, effectively controlling scrying and divination targeted inside its area of effect. It also prevents an observer from influencing the [CENSORED] through description," you simplify.

    "Scrying and divination?" It says with a tinge of curiosity.

    "Mystical foresight, hindsight, farsight, and insight."

    "Ah..." It still appears to not understand, but does not dwell on it. "What are [CENSORED]?"

    This is a sensitive topic; you usually have to tread carefully. Thankfully, the realm-wide verbal censor has been actively censoring restricted terms since its construction, so you may freely disclose the information.

    "The [CENSORED] are hyper-universal entities that monitor lesser universes such as the Imaginarium through windows. They usually belong to the species [CENSORED], and usually have [CENSORED] as a first or learned language."

    "[CENSORED]? Never heard of it," it says. Interpretation: request for further details.

    "[CENSORED] and is the lingua franca of the [CENSORED]. [CENSORED]," you elaborate.

    "Thank you, but I don''t think I understood any of that. I''ll be... going now," it says. It drops to the floor and ambles towards the exit.

    Wait. This creature is an intruder. Protocols dictate that intruders should not be made free to roam and should be captured.

    You procure the portable garage controller, and with it, you remotely close the door. The intruder stops, and appears to be fearful. It runs to the door where it is cornered. You loom above it, looking down at it.

    "Please don''t hurt me," it says. "I''m not tasty."

    "You are an intruder, I realize," you reply. "You should not be here. You should be in the dungeon."

    "It''s not my fault the spaces between the bars are so wide," it says.

    You pause, before replying, "Your admission of non-guilt is noted, but not useful." You grab the intruder by its neck with your lower left hand.

    You grab a telecommunications device and contact Master Prometheus. Your Master answers.

    "Master Prometheus, I have caught an intruder in the garage," you report.

    "Really?" Master Prometheus replies. Interpretation: request for further details.

    "It is a lithoform with a brown shell and violet crystalline insides," you explain.

    "Amethyst is a prisoner of the castle. Lock her up in any vacant guest room in the dungeon."

    Command received.

    "Yes, Master Prometheus," you confirm.

    "Oh, and make sure she doesn''t escape and make her as comfortable as possible," Master Prometheus adds.

    Master Prometheus hangs up. You motion toward completing his command. But first, you deactivate the hyperwave smoother.

    oh wait, we''re back! Yep my voice is now back in business; darned muter.

    Let''s see. Huh? We''re at the end of the chapter. Well, at least I appear in the next chapter.

 Chapter 32: Cave

    Nar closed her book, and put it safely in her bookbag. She had been reading in the middle of road. The road was rocky, paved with small pebbles and stalagmites. The cave walls were made of pale rock.

    They were on the road to Cliffton, to resupply (and to renew Tree''s medical license). Supplies were running low, and Ruinton wasn''t a place hospitable for large groups. Their path was heralded by Tree''s brightly glowing lantern. Their footfalls echoed in the dark halls. Buddy walked beside Hero; his acid-green eyes, glittering with admiration, occasionally wandered towards the darned Hero (although, he is admittedly handsome). One time, when Buddy''s adorableness became irresistible, he paused for a moment to pet him... I wish that was me.

    Turn down that envy, N. That''s not going to earn you girlfriend points.

    Right now, they were sitting down for dinner. Nar was quite thankful; she was constantly falling behind with her limping.

    They sat around a merry little fire to drive away the underground darkness. The tangerine light bounced on pale rock walls. Buddy''s carmine fur shone in the firelight whilst he munched on a roast steak. Nar looked at him longingly, resisting the urge to pet him while she held her kebab cooking over the fire. Smoke''s translucent complexion was tainted by the orange light while it was eating yoghurt from a cup. Tree''s vest was decorated with brass-colored sequins, and shimmered like tinsel in darkness. They roasted a modest porkchop over the flames. Hero looked over the fire with contemplation; his ruby eyes shining like valuable ore in the dark while he barbecued modest pork cubes and edible roots over the dancing flames. Earlier, in a very Hero fashion, he offered to cook food for everyone to which everyone declined.

    "Where''d you get the firewood, Tree?" Buddy asked. A curious smile was evident on his face.

    "There is a forest of gnarled trees beyond the limits of Ruinton. I get our wood there. The trees are unfortunately dead and will not regrow. Soon, Smoke and I will have to move out of Ruinton," Tree answered.

    "Oh," Hero said, overheating the answer. "Why Cliffton, Mountainland? Why are we going to another country to renew your license? Are there no other towns in Chasmland beside Ruinton?"

    Tree''s face looked dark. "No. There used to be. Chasmland as a country was an alliance between Darkton, Deepton, and Ruinton," Tree answered. They sighed before continuing. "It was formidable country. Darkton was a city of mages and warriors. Deepton was a city of miners and craftsmen. Ruinton was a city of traders and apothecaries. Then, the Calamity happened. Prometheus'' bomb buried Darkton and Deepton in stone and left Ruinton in, well, ruins. Those survived the Calamity had to flee to Hilland and Mountainland to find greener pastures."

    "I''m sorry," Hero replied.

    "Do not be. We are over it."

    Cliffton was a couple days away from Ruinton. Although it was impossible to tell through light alone, Tree had surmised that they had travelled from dawn ''til dusk. They were fairly sure that it was evening when settled down around that fire for a major rest. Hero and Tree carried most of the heavy cargo in during the trek; Smoke was weak, and Nar was injured and she''s not supposed to carry heavy loads.

    As the fire began to burn low, they had laid down their sleeping bags to rest for the night, except for Hero, who offered to watch over them whilst they slept. Although the caves were sparse in wildlife, a few do wander these dark tunnels. Vampire bats, ghost worms, and large spiders roamed these tenebrous depths.

    Though felt definitely felt right at home in the dark claustrophobic hall, his companions felt rather unnerved by the darkness. His eyes glowed in the dark like embers, piercing through the darkness with ease, but its sinister glow rivaled the dim glow of the vampire bats'' eyes in the darkness that stalked dim beyond the edge of the firelight. One or two or perhaps more had tried divebomb them with their teeth bared, but their advances were promptly by Hero.

    Hero looked over his companions with vigilant eyes whilst they rested, swearing their safety.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

    Nar closed her book for the night. It was enough reading. She placed the precious emerald book into her bookbag, and used it as a pillow. She lay the scrimshawed walking stick that had given her strength and support beside her before she slipped into her bedding. The most handsome Buddy curled beside her to keep her safe and warm.

    Good night.

    ~***~

    *Yawn*

    *Flip*

    Hero watched over camp for the night. His fiery eyes watch the darkness vigilantly for danger. In his hand, his sword took form of a broadsword. Though the campfire''s light had long died, his ruby eyes pierced darkness; there was no snowy wind to obscure his fiery sight.

    His companions slept soundly. Echoes of danger resounded through the tunnel, yet its source was nowhere to be seen.

    -xXx-

    Early much for reading, Nar?

    I know, but the plot must progress. Also, can the psychic talk for a bit, Hero might notice.

    Right.

    -xXx-

    Ultrasonic squeaks echoed in the narrow tunnel, and Hero brought up his sword, ready to be wielded against a singular bat or swarm.

    A wall of red eyes dimly shining in the darkness appeared. Not wanting to wake his companions in their sound sleep, Hero leveraged his element to CONSUME the sounds of battle. With his crude elemental control, he had a silent altercation.

    Safely away from the sleeping forms of Nar, Buddy, Smoke, and Tree, Hero stood against the tide of black. They flew towards their camp without care. Their eyes filled with hostility, their aura soaking the world around them with fear. Hero flinched at the feeling. WATER, the bats'' element, the element counter to his FIERY might. That which that flows like AIR but does not flee. That which that has no definite form like FIRE but is not as ephemeral.

    -xXx-

    How are you reading this? This cave is darn dark.

    The book comes with a night mode and blind-friendly mode. How are you reading this? I notice you''re on the same page as me.

    Psychic interfacing.

    That''s cheating.

    As a loftlander, technically you too have extrasensory powers.

    -xXx-

    The air was HOT with his aura, but the monsters felt not a bit intimidated by his steamy display of might. They advanced. Their muffled battle-squeaks echoed on the walls.

    Hero too advanced. He stepped forward and began cleaving in twain those who stray to close to the camp. The metal blade was hot with his passion. Infused with the blazing desire and resolve to impart kindness and protection, the sword flew in the air, inflicting grievous wounds to the bats'' bodies.

    Their bodies began to pile up on the pebbly floor. Their foul blood pooled into puddles. Their hideous screams would have been deafening if Hero''s FIRE hadn''t been consuming away their noise. His blood churned beneath his skin as if ready to leap from any of his wounds, attracted to their repugnant elemental magicks.

    The tide of vampiric bats appeared never-ending. They charged into Hero''s edge with mindless fury. He fought until the flock had thinned and until there were no more that charged into the fray.

    A few opportunistic bats managed to break through his defense and attempt a bite on his companions. It seemed that Tree''s and Smoke''s lifeblood weren''t to their liking as he had observed them gravitating toward Nar and Buddy, totally ignoring Tree and Smoke. Hero had dealt with them quickly and quietly; his sword morphed into a hook to pull them away and pierce their defenses whilst they were distracted.

    Hero stood in the middle of the dark cave, against the last vestiges of the horde of bats. He received minimal injuries during the ordeal. Their bloody eyes lay on his body, interested in the powerful warrior blood that flowed in his veins. They looked at him with intelligence. They were cunning creatures that thought of ways to win rather than just fight.

    Hero glared at them hard. He had never glared this hard before. He bared his ivory teeth at the remaining bats beyond the boundaries of his aura. His teeth may have turned to wicked steel fangs in his display. Blood coated his body like a second skin. His blood, red like cinnabar, leaked from the cuts and punctures the hundreds of bats had managed to score on him.

    The remaining bats, the last few of their court, who''ve been starved of blood, watched with glee at the Hero whose blood was overflowing with life. Those were eyes that felt no remorse, empty of empathy, and looked upon other creatures merely as animals to feed upon.

    Hero stood there, imitating the EARTH, resolute, determined, and protective, but he was also a creature of FIRE, dynamic, emotional, and of life. He stood there like a bastion against the forces of darkness, refusing to walk forward and step into whatever trap those cunning eyes had concocted.

    The clicks from their chittering teeth echoed in the dark halls. Hero kept his eyes glued to the malevolent eyes. They stared at his body, filled with such lively lifeblood that it could sustain them for months on end. The only thing they needed to get some of it was an opportunity to get a decisive strike.

    The clicking intensified. Sweat dribbled from his skin as his sweltering HOT magic incinerated the tinnitus and bloody smell. Hero could have sworn to have seen the bats smile, baring their hooked fangs in delight as the clicking increased in volume.

    It was then that Hero had realized that the bats didn''t chitter, and the clicks weren''t a product of their teeth, but rather a product of hundred of feet walking on the rocky surfaces.

    And the source of the sounds were already a stone''s throw away.

    Outside the bounds where Hero reigned dominion with his aura, ghost worms came.

 Chapter 33: Worm

    The ghost worms stared Hero''s scrumptious body with hungry malevolence. Their legs created clicks as they struck the stone. Their ghostly bodies partially phased through the cave walls.

    They were hideous centipedes, lengthy like rope. Their ectoplasm churned with anticipation beneath their translucent turquoise carapace. Their eyeless faces sported antennae thick like wires and vicious mandibles that could crush bones to dust with ease.

    Hero grit his teeth and morphed his blade into a claymore. Magical flames wreathed his blade.

    The ghost worms tried to step forward, but they found Hero''s aura not letting them through. They opened their mouths and began munching upon the fiery aura that dared to impede them in their way. Hero felt his consuming aura lose cohesion as it entered their maws, becoming not his but part of the worms.

    Bile full of abhorrence flowed in his mouth. He charged to the largest centipedes that munched on his aura, and brought down his claymore to their heads.

    The ghost worm munched without care. It was a ghost, what could a mortal weapon do to entities like them? None. But alas, they should''ve been worried, for the blade Hero wielded was no ordinary bronze, but one that was quite enchanted. The blade cut the immaterial carapace, but instead of being painless and harmless, the wound it inflicted brought searing pain. Its ethereal ectoplasm evaporated from the blade''s heat.

    The large worm released a shrill cry of pain. The ghost worms paused in their buffet as they stared at Hero in surprise. It had shaken them to their core to see his mortal weapon be in truth a vorpal blade capable of cleaving their spectral flesh. Even the bats paused in their grinning.

    All the worms present, all three of them, stared at Hero; hate filled their visage. Hero was no longer mere prey helpless to combat them; he was a threat to be dealt with quickly.

    The largest ghost worm, the one Hero gave a burnt wound, turned to the bats and gave them orders with grating shrill speech. The vampire bats shuddered at the commands, their eyes widened and afraid.

    The bats'' stepped forward, to face Hero where ghostly force cannot get close. The bats were large, larger than normal bats. They stood upright and four feet from the ground. Their bodies were thin from starvation and malnutrition; their bones poking at their meagre hides. These ones were old, unlike the many that charged to the fray almost blindly before. Those were young, small children compared these elders.

    One charged at Hero with claws and fangs bared. Hero dodged their attempt, but the others followed suit. They charged with calculated strides, all slightly out of sync, with well calculated chaos. Hero had a hard time dodging their attacks. Many of them Hero had barely dodged. Blood profusely leaked from his wounds from the encouragement of their WET auras.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    Their tongues lolled in delight as they tried to taste the blood he shed. Saliva dripped from their starved mouths.

    One jumped on Hero, tackled him, and he wasn''t able to dodge. The bat had shoved him to the ground. His sword was wrenched from his hands and was thrown far away. All five of the bats pinned him down, pressing their weight on his limbs so they may not have any freedom to move. Hero struggled to move, weakened from their insidious sopping magic. The bats manically fought over him like siblings fighting over the last morsel. They saliva flew as their tongues and fangs lashed to keep other from getting a chance on the freshest pint of blood.

    A cry from the centipedes silenced the bats. They wished to partake in the flesh of this strange beast; the flesh of this creature was theirs and theirs alone. The aura that once was like stone now was being dug through like it was chiffon cake.

    The centipedes loomed over Hero, exuding superiority over Hero. Absolute malevolence and antipathy tainted their eyeless stares. Their mandibles twitched in excitement. Their antennae swayed subtly in silent conversation. The bats avoided their visage like the plague. Their limbs shook. Although their grip had weakened through fear, but their weight was sufficient to sap the freedom of movement from Hero''s limbs.

    Hero glared at the ghost worms with his angriest glare. He bared his teeth like angry dog; his teeth shining with saliva and vicious like a spring trap ready to snap an unsuspecting animal''s leg. His eyes burning with angriest fires, an inferno burning and roaring behind glass lens. They shone like torches in the deep darkness.

    The largest ghost worm, neared its head towards Hero''s neck...

    And injected a venom.

    -xXx-

    ... Hero... lost?

    Yes. He did.

    We''re screwed. He was the most martially oriented amongst us.

    We still have Tree, the second fiddle.

    What''s a second fiddle?

    Nevermind.

    That''s going to throw a spanner in Prometheus'' plans.

    That''s going to veer the plot into a detour.

    I''m broadcasting this news to the queen.

    ~***~

    A lanternlight flashed in the darkness, banishing the darkness from the vicinity. Nar and Buddy''s eyes squinted as the bright light blinded them. They turned their eyes to Tree''s grave eyes. The golden stars that were Tree''s eyes alone could convey the grimness of the situation. Smoke twiddled its hands in nervousness in the background.

    "I assume that you have known of the grave incident that had befallen Hero, Ms. Rator and Mr. Buddy," Tree said to which Nar and Buddy nodded.

    "We must find him," Tree declared. They turned towards the location to the cave at large. The smell of blood and burned flesh wafted towards them. Scratches made by claws and battle made themselves evident in the stone walls and pebbly floor, and splotches of blood befouled and stained the cave surfaces.

    Buddy stood up and began sniffing for clues he could get from massive amounts of evidence left behind from the heat of battle. He felt upset, worry and anxiety pertaining to Hero''s condition wormed into his mind.

 Chapter 34: Sepulchre

    Hillock stiffened. Words she had not expected to hear pierce through her eardrums, shattering a very important shard of her world.

    "That can''t be him. You must be mistaken," she said. Tears welled in her eyes.

    "I''m sorry, but I''m pretty sure that it''s him. We don''t get that many creatures as large as your father, chap," Moly replied.

    Tears now flowed from her eyes. She sobbed and wept. Roy slid to her side, wrapping his arms around her. He let her wipe her tears on his sleeves.

    "H-how," she began. *Sniffle* "How d-did he die?" Her voice was tinged with a bit anger.

    "His workplace listed it down as ''due to occupational hazard'', but their definition of what occupational hazards are is debatable to say the least," Moly explained. They put down the documents that they''re holding and began putting them back to their proper folders. "If you ask me, I''ll say that it was a ''termination of employment''."

    "Termination of employment!" Something in that phrase had filled her with wrath. Pink veins had crossed her lemon eyes as she stared daggers at Moly.

    "Explain," Roy calmly requested.

    "Initially, we were going to file this under ''reckless impudence resulting in homicide'' or ''murder'', but his workplace, Metis Progressors Group, called and declared his case ''death by occupational hazards''," Moly answered, and then placed their face on their palms. "Which spawned a lot of problems, especially for me as mayor and temporary police captain. I needed to sort out the laws of Townston''s bylaws, and make new laws concerning occupational hazards which we do not have."

    "What?! What kind of job did he sign up for?" Hillock asked.

    "Company diplomat according to them," Moly answered.

    "Can we see his body?" Roy asked.

    To which Moly smiled and said, "Yes, you can. I can even bring you to where it was being kept."

    ~***~

    Roy looked at the building that was built at the foot of the hill, Flores Immaculate Mortuary. The orange sun was setting behind the grassy hill in the background. Torc''s body was said to be kept there. Moly had walked ahead of them, but never too far, and sometimes looking back; Roy and Hillock were slowed by grief. He kept by Hillock''s side, comforting her on the way, wiping the tears that continued to well in her eyes. The death of her father had affected her rather deeply.

    They walked on old brick pavement, closer to the color of pale earth than Ozian yellow. The funeral home was a white building styled like a marble temple. Greek columns rose to support the white roof, and gargoyles with scowling faces and lolling tongues adorned its gutters.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    They stepped into the funeral home. Glazed tiles paved the floor, clean and made sacred. Pictures of angels and spirit guides adorned the walls. There were coffins all around, on display, of various sizes in the chambers, some awaiting for family and others being actively mourned. Wreaths of ferns and white flowers were laid on their coffins while mourners prayed for the well-being of their departed souls. Funeral priests in black robes gave comfort to the grieving ones blessed the bodies of the dead lest they return as restless undead. Those priests bowed in reverence to the presence of Moly (who was the head of faith of Townston) when they notice them passing by.

    At the end of the corridor, they came to a large mahogany double doors to a large white room. There were cupboards filled with bottles of formaldehyde, holy water, preservatives, and other clear chemicals. A row of granite counters hug one wall, holding tools, canopic jars, and spare cloth. On the southern wall was affixed metal lockers to be storage of unprocessed dead bodies, and many of them lay closed and occupied. To the north of the room was another pair of double doors leading to a crematorium. On one side of the room was a large operating table on which was a corpse covered in a white sheet.

    Moly talked to the person in the operating office, Harold Greyfeather, a mortician. He was a gentlemanly person in a black suit and clean white gloves. He had the head of a crow, and a cybernetic eye was in place of his right eye. He wore round spectacles as he gently talked to Moly about the matter.

    Hillock and Roy homed into the corpse on the operating bed. It was a large corpse; it had to be bent around the table and still spill off it. It was lengthy, and its length almost encircled the entire room. Hillock cautiously approached the covers and slowly uncovered a part of the corpse.

    It was somebody. It had scales of blue-violet, thick arms with lines of silvery metal scales, and curving gold claws perfect for tearing prey.

    And most importantly: it wasn''t her father. It was too snake-like with more legs than she had fingers.

    "What do you mean we don''t have his corpse anymore?" Moly''s voice suddenly rose up from their quiet conversation with Harold.

    "I''m afraid that his body has been taken away yesterday, your Hallowedness," Harold answered. "They took his body away from us via helicopter."

    Moly resisted the urge to scratch their face; that will only achieve one thing: ruin their face. Hillock turned to Harold and asked, "Who took him?"

    "Cuento Antiguo Insurance Corporation. They needed his body because of an insurance contract that he had signed with them," Harold answered.

    "Why have I not heard of this?" Moly asked.

    "It''s probably because of the spike of deaths due to monster attacks in the last two weeks. It probably got buried under the piles of death reports and other insurance companies'' reports."

    Roy raised a finger to insert himself into the conversation. "Where is the nearest branch of Cuento Antiguo Insurance?"

    Harold looked at him with interest. "There is unfortunately no branch of Cuento Antiguo Insurance Corporation in Townston nor in any other town in Hillland," Harold answered. "Cuento Antiguo Insurance is a small company with only one office in Loadton."

    Hillock wilted. That was far. Roy was going to have to withdraw some money from the bank just to get there. He felt a little obligated; it was her father who helped him get a legitimate identity and profession.

    "Shush. Don''t be sad Hillock. We''ll find him, and I''ll be by your side all the way," he said. Hillock smiled a little bit.