《Horsey Ashes》


 Premonition (Prologue)

    No one plans to overdose on their horse. These things just happen.


    "Kyle! Can you hear me!? Focus on my voice!" I screamed at the unresponsive man passed out on the grass. I''d wager he couldn''t hear me.


    By this point Kyle''s face had turned a spooky shade of white. His chest shook with ghastly tremors. I slapped him in the face. Hard. Not sure why, but I saw doctors do it on TV so it couldn''t hurt.


    "Jeff, did you get the AED!?" The round form of Jeff jogged panting towards us, the device held firmly in his sweaty hands.


    "I had to look everywhere for this! They don''t even have fire extinguishers here, man!" Jeff paused to catch his breath, "This is the last time I''m following you anywhere. How''ll this help at all? Shouldn''t we just call 911?"


    "Are you fucking insane?? Those bastards will shoot us dead! Hand it over!" Guns are outlawed in Canada, but I don''t trust those tricky pricks. Jeff had a point. I brought the two to this park in Chinatown because that''s where I hid the ash, but the lack of basic safety equipment here really made me rethink my decision.


    "Alright Kyle you obstinate fucker, this''ll wake you up good." I slapped the sticky black things on Kyle''s naked chest, slammed the power on.


    "AAAUGH!!" Kyle jumped six feet in the air and fell five. There he levitated, one foot off the grass, emanating an ethereal aura.


    "Kyle, can you hear me!? Can you feel the spirits of the dead!?"


    When Kyle looked at me, he looked through eyes which were not his own. "I AM NOT KYLE. I AM BRUTUS, RED HANDED KINGKILLER," he said in a tongue much deeper and more sinister than his tiny frame would suggest.


    "Dude, what did he take??", screamed Jeff, "Alright, I''m calling 911."


    "No don''t-" I was interrupted by a weak slap in the face. "Ow, stop hitting me Kyle!"


    "KYLE IS DEAD. I AM BRUTUS KINGKILLER. FUCK YOU." If Kyle wasn''t five feet tall and seventy pounds wide his slaps might''ve done some serious damage, but as it were they felt more like strong gusts of wind. I gave him a tiny push and he careened off like a one-winged harpy.


    "HOW DARE YOU!" he boomed. "EMPIRES HAVE BENT UNDER MY KNEE. GODS HAVE KNELT TO KISS MY FEET." Kyle or Brutus flew towards me like a large, awkward bird, knocking me off balance and wrestling the AED from my grasp. "INFINITE POWEER!", he screeched in horrific reference to pop culture. Strands of electricity lanced off the wires from the defibrillator to the black stickies on his nipples, further fueling this demonic rage. Behind him I could see Jeff frantically scrambling with his flip-phone.


    I''ve had enough of this. I won''t let this freak ruin my picnic. "Alright you fucker, you wanna go!? I can take you any day!" Fully charged with electrical energy, Brutus Kingkiller now levitated three feet off the ground, enshrouded in a terrific cloak of lightning. His eyes glowed red with inhuman power. I got the feeling that I, in fact, could not take him any day.


    "YOU ARE NOTHING," Brutus shouted, firing a bolt of lightning straight to my chest. If not for the ashes it would''ve made me a dead man, but it still stung and flung me some good ways off anyhow. "BOOM. HEADSHOT."


    "That wasn''t a headshot, you oaf," I stammered through the blood filling my lungs. Immediately I felt the pain begin to abate, courtesy of the horsey ashes flowing through my veins. Shit, I''d need another hit to take this guy, and I was running dangerously low on ash. In the background, Jeff hid his rotund form behind a tiny park bench, where he sobbed quietly.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    "HATERS GONNA HATE," boomed Brutus as he levelled me with another lightning bolt, this time actually to my head. It cleared up my sinuses real good, but probably killed what brain cells I had left. I looked up at the demon that was Kyle only to see a sea of infinite darkness. Then I looked at Jeff, who had transcended to a quietly weeping sea of infinite darkness. I tried to look at my hands but couldn''t because they''d also melted into a sea of infinite darkness. Shit, the blast must''ve burned my eyeballs right off. Quickly, I distracted him with a witty one-liner while my face regenerated. "Ou ick a aug aah!" That sounded better in my head, but I blamed the delivery on my mostly-missing tongue.


    "WHAT''S THAT? YOU''RE NOT MAKING ALICKOF SENSE!"


    "Oow haag uogh!" I retorted, which roughly translated to ''that pun is horrible and also go fuck yourself.''


    "EYE''M GOING TO MURDER YOU NOW," the character menaced through barely suppressed giggles. "GET IT? BECAUSE YOU HAVE NO MORE EYES. YOU''VE BEEN ROBBED OF THE GIFT OF SIGHT. YOU''LL NEVER SEE ANOTHER PERFECT SPRING DAY OR YOUR FIRST-BORN CHILD OR THE COSMOS OF DUST MOTES SUSPENDED IN THE SUNLIGHT STREAMING THROUGH YOUR OPEN WINDOW ON CALM SUNDAY MORNINGS. BOOM, ROASTED." With that, Brutus blasted me with another bolt to the chest. I tried to clutch where I got hit only to feel a large crater in the middle of my thoracic cavity. If I still had the gift of sight I would''ve been greeted with the view of my skin and fat melting off, my ribcage shattering, and my right lung being rendered a useless, charred, flesh lump. I wondered if it was a good thing that I couldn''t feel any pain. Probably not.


    The satchel. I had to get the satchel. I always carried a pouch of horsey ashes in my left sock for emergencies. The blood loss was really hindering my movements though. Felt like I was moving underwater or in a cloud made of bubble-wrap. So difficult. Maybe I should take a quick nap. Get some more energy. Outside, I heard the demon-man move away, toward the spot Jeff hid. Jeff''s squeal-crying really wasn''t helping me muster up the will to live.


    As much as I hate to admit it, Jeff saved my life. If Kyle and/or Brutus hadn''t taken so long torturing the man, there was no way I could''ve retrieved the satchel and emptied the contents into my exposed mediastinum. I blacked out at least twice and reached toward the wrong sock thrice but Brutus had too much fun electrocuting Jeff''s butthole to notice or finish me off.


    The ash hit quick. Hit like a lightning bolt to the chest, thirty thousand gigawatts straight to the nipples. I took too much. But holy fuck was it worth it. Wild horses stampeded through my mindless mind, tearing all my pain and inhibition and despair to pieces. I felt it stitch together my ruined body, rebuild what was mangled or vaporized or burnt. I was no longer here. I had transcended this planar form.


    "KYYYLLLE!!!" My voice came out more thunderstorm or hurricane than human.


    "OH HECK." Those were the last words Kyle said before my mach-5 fist fisted his face. The demon flew back fifty feet and crumpled into a bloody mess upon collision with the red brick fa?ade of the nearby Chinese restaurant. My hand was reduced to a chunky red mist in the process, but such is the cost of progress.


    "WEEWOOWEEWOO" said the red and blue sirens of the RCMP. Oh shit. It''s the popo. They must be responding to Jeff''s call.


    "Alright fuckers, put your hands where I can see ''em!" commanded a moustachioed Mountie.


    "Oh, thank God you''re here! You wouldn''t believe the-" Jeff was cut short by a vicious stream of bullets. Literally. Like, he was cut in half.


    "I said, HANDS UP! Ah fuck it, they''re a lost cause. Light ''em up, boys!" At this, an army of AR-15 toting Mounties clamored out of the cop car and started spraying down every gosh-darned thing that moved in the near periphery. Me, Kyle, grandma Gretta on her way to church, the trees and shops in the background, other Mounties. It was a darned shit-fest. The only reason I got out alive was because I''d just mainlined a whole gram and a half of ash, and even then, I barely survived. I don''t know what happened to Kyle. Poor bastard probably got disintegrated. By the end of it all I had more in common with a sponge than a human with how many holes I had in me. I was more air than man. But I survived.


    The Mounties had killed each other off at this point. I was the only thing left breathing in a fifty-yard radius. Must be a Wednesday. I could never get the hang of Wednesdays.

 Chapter 0: Brad Has a Hard Life

    If I had to name the catalyst which lead to my transformation from mere mortal to indestructible, ghost-busting GOD, it would have to be my darlingest horse Betsy. Before Betsy, I was just another schmuck like you, though far more rich, humble, and handsome. They called me Brad back then. Brad Wu. My human name.


    There''s this town in northern British Columbia whose existence didn''t amount to much of anything other than being the birthplace of yours truly. The town was called Fort Pants, and like many in the area, it served more as retreat for hippies and drug-chasing spirituals than ambitious youth like myself. A place for the newlyweds and nearly-deads. My parents, Frank and Evgenia Wu, moved to the area after a lysergic evening spent with a small pig and too much dimethyl-tryptamine. Their parents disapproved of course, but what were the opinions of Russian oligarchs to that of The Smiling God Who Moves in All of Us? So, they moved, and on October 13th, 1997, I was born.


    Frank and Evgenia Wu were people of grand ideas. What distinguished them was that they also had the money to fund these grand ideas. My parents decided that since I was the Son of The Smiling God, birthed from Mom''s own mortal womb, I must be afforded only the best that life could offer. I will live my life free of any pain, sorrow, or negative energy. They threw their sizable fortune into building organic and GMO free electrified, barbed-wire fences around their estate, and hired an army of private security to keep the undesirables out and the desirables in. Only the most spiritual and aura-positive help were allowed to change my free-range diapers. Only the best vegan, pesticide-free breast milk was allowed past my lips.


    When I grew old enough for school, I was afforded the best, state-of-the-art education, right from the private library of mom and dad. They taught me every important thing there was to know, from English to history to mathemagics to alchemy to crystal healing to everything in between. Life fucking sucked.


    To quote Harry Potter, "I believe that, as a species, human beings define their reality through suffering and misery. The perfect world is a dream that our primitive cerebrums keep trying to wake up from." My life wastooperfect,tooawesome. I was the victim of a shitty situation. But I''m both brave and strong. Like the protagonists of those underdog feminist minority dystopian novels my parents keep reading me, but way braver. The world outside those gates, it called for me. I needed to show them what I could achieve, to dazzle the world with my raw intellect and potential. So, for my eighteenth birthday, I asked for the one gift my parents have never given me.


    "Mom, Dad, it''s my birthday in two weeks. I want to visit Calgary." Of all the outside world, Calgary appealed to me most. Imagine an entire city, filled with cows.


    I saw a familiar panicked expression fill Mom''s face before she could wrestle her emotions back down into its dark closet in the back of her mind.


    "Oh, wow, uh, that''s some pretty long ways off, honey. Are you sure that''s what you want?"


    "I always know what I want. Take me to Calgary!"


    Dad tried to utter a rebuttal, but couldn''t, since his vocal chords had burned out years ago. He settled for a guttural scream.


    "Oh honey, you know Dad and I would never say no to you. But going across the country is a lot harder than you''d think! Wouldn''t it be easier to stay here instead?"


    "Of course. But I''ve never taken the easy road in life. It''s true that we can only find ourselves through struggle and pain. That''s why I can''t back down. That''s what makes me so strong."


    "Oh honey, you''re so brave. Okay, you can visit Calgary." I smiled, content in my victory. "OR, we could buy you a horse!"


    "What? Why would I want a horse?"


    "Well, you know what they say about horses! Free as the wind! If you ride a horse, you''ll be freer than anybody out there. AND, you''ll get the bonus strength and experience from taming the thing! What do you say?"This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    Dad screeched encouragingly.


    "Are you serious? You''re actually making me choose between my freedom and some dumb animal? Of course I''ll take the horse. She''ll be named Betsy." And that''s the moment my life changed.


    Betsy was a beautiful horse of probably prestigious pedigree. Her handler told me before begrudgingly handing her over, but I wasn''t paying attention. I was too busy imagining how Betsy and I were going to change the world. First, I''ll tame her with my amazing strength and bravery, then we''ll leap those barbed gates and show the world how free we were. Our destinies were written in the stars.


    On an unrelated note, did you know that horses are rubbish animals? They don''t even do anything, just stand there, eat oats, and shit metric pounds. They can''t even vomit properly. You know that? If a horse vomited, they would also be dead, because their stomach would''ve ruptured from the effort of forcing food up their esophagus. Plus, their legs are so thin and shitty that they''re pretty much guaranteed arthritis from just existing. I swear, if cars existed back in 3500 BCE, horses would''ve died out ages ago. Overrated pricks.


    We kept Betsy in the basement. We tried keeping her in the backyard, but the amount of shit that beast churned out really soured up the view. Personally, I didn''t find it that bad- such is the price for freedom, after all. It was Mom who made us keep her in the house. First time she met Betsy, Mom made a sound halfway between a squeak and the sound of a hydraulic press crushing a live rabbit. Then she projectile vomited her breakfast all over the horse, which probably made Betsy jealous. Turns out Mom had an undiscovered and extreme phobia of horses, which was only realized after meeting a horse in the flesh. So, we had to keep her out of sight.


    Our lives only got worse after locking Betsy in the basement. Not only did the thing eat a prodigious amount of oats, it was also haunted. Ever since Betsy entered the basement, the house would stink something awful, almost like rotting corpses or horse manure. And then, every evening around seven, the house would shake dreadfully. Like some horrible beast was among us, beating itself to death against the walls. Don''t even get me started on the whinnying screams that would echo through the halls at night. All trademarks of a potent poltergeist. But we recognized these events for what they really were: a test for our strength and resilience as a family. We will persevere through these trials and show this poltergeist we won''t be shaken or stirred. Then it''d have no other choice but to leave us in peace.


    Weeks went by without change. Still the dreadful stinks, shakes, and screams. But over time, we had learned to accept these events. We had adapted. The smell became a wallpaper to our daily lives, the shaking would rock us to sleep. And, well, we wouldn''t even recognize the screaming anymore. It simply blended into the background noise of life. The help though, they weren''t nearly as strong or adaptable. Within the first week, they''d all packed up and left. Said they couldn''t stand for this wanton display of animal cruelty, but we knew they were simply too spooked by the supernatural influence that had nested itself in our proud establishment.


    And then one day, everything changed. See, I never gave up on my dreams of freedom. Day after day I would fantasize over the outside world. The praise that would be heaped at my feet, the followers and fans I''d collect. I''d never wanted anything more. Luckily, The Smiling God listened to my prayers. I was sitting outside on that fateful day when our mansion''s basement wall exploded. Our mansion was situated on a hill, such that anything trapped in the basement desperate enough to ram itself over and over into the southern brick wall might break into the open. Like a dark, horse-shaped angel, Betsy charged into the open world, shit streaming from her emaciated asshole and foam frothing from her mouth. The moment touched me greatly. But her horsey eyes, having degenerated after so many weeks in the dark, weren''t ready for the pain that was natural sunlight. Blind and pain-furious, Betsy did the only thing left to her by her animal instincts and ran. Like a horse finally freed from the chains of captivity, she fled into the barbed wire fence and blew a giant horse-shaped hole in the chains. True freedom.


    Mom wanted the best for me. The best food, the best care, the best electrified fence system. Enough energy coursed through our gates to power a small Nepalese village, and it regularly stank from the corpse of any bird or squirrel who''d wandered within three feet of the thing. It racked up quite the electrical bill, but it was worth it in Mom''s eyes. I made my decision in seconds. Sure, familial love and trust was nice, but it was nothing in the face of true freedom. I took a few minutes to gather up what I could of Betsy''s ashes into my knapsack. I always carried a pack of survival supplies in case an opportunity to escape presented itself, and Betsy deserved to be properly buried for her brave sacrifice. Then I stepped (carefully) through the hole and was gone.

 Chapter 0.1: Brad Fights the Mercenaries

    The guards reacted quicker than I''d expected. I was no more than a hundred feet into my escapade when the sirens went off.


    "CODE BROWN. BRAD WU HAS LEFT THE PREMISES. ALL PERSONNEL REPORT TO THEIR STATIONS."


    Oh shit. Three spotlights honed in on me instantly. They didn''t do much, since it was daytime, but it was the thought that counted.


    "Brad Wu! Stand down this instant!" belted a loudspeaker wielding loud speaking mercenary.


    "Never! You''re all gutless bastards, each and every one of you! You''ll never take me alive!"


    "You have five seconds to comply! We can and will hurt you!" The barking of bloodhounds cemented his claim.


    I turned to look the man square in the eye. "How ''bout you suck my cock and balls!" I''ll never respect those cowardly mercs. They don''t have the balls to take me down.


    "FIVE!" I broke into a low sprint towards the woods. If I could get into the cover of the trees, I''ll be able to lose them. I was too close to freedom, I couldn''t give up.


    "FOUR!" Whew, running was a lot harder than I''d imagined. The Olympics make it look easy.


    "THREE!" My lungs burnt, my legs melted, my body was on fire. I hadn''t exercised this much in my life. Just need to push a bit longer...


    "TWO!" The forest was so close I could smell it! Just a few feet more...


    "ONE! FIRE!" I threw myself to the ground, soil erupting all around from thousands of rubber bullets fired from Gatling machine guns. They weren''t lethal, of course, but still stung enough to potentially take me out of commission. By some miracle, I managed to pull myself behind an oak without getting tagged. Trees exploded and fell all around under the rubber barrage.


    "THERE IS NO ESCAPE! SURRENDER OR DIE!"


    The forest provided decent cover from the Gatling guns, but there were still the bloodhounds and trackers to worry about. Behind me, mercenaries chased on foot with their dogs yapping like beasts out of Hell. The moat was just ahead of me- if I could somehow ford it, the mercs wouldn''t dare follow. But I''m winded, my legs were lead. Maybe I should give up. Freedom wasn''t worth dying over, right? Luckily, before my head was filled with such nonsense, a nearby explosion knocked me back to reality. The laughter of rubber flamethrower toting mercenaries echoed through the woods. That''s right. I''ve never doubted myself up to this point. I''m Brad Wu. I know what I want, and I always get it, burning lungs or not. Putting one foot in front of the other, I trudged on slow but steady. But it seemed that nature herself was bent on stopping me. The woods, dehydrated from the drought, lit up faster than uncle Travis on four-twenty. I was fucked.


    According to an ancient Canadian proverb, our unconscious minds bar us from using 100% of our strength. If not, daily life would be exceptionally inconvenient, and handshakes exceptionally deadly. However, in moments of dire need, our inner powers manage to surface. Thus, the stories of moms lifting cars from their crushed babies. My moment came when I caught on fire.


    "AAAAUGH HOLY MOLY THIS STINGS!!" I felt my true power course through my limbs, rage through my body like wildfire, burn my heart with passion. In that moment, I ran faster than I ever had in my life. Like a graceful gazelle that was also on fire and hounded by mercenaries and bloodhounds. Thin twigs whipped my skin to shreds and the smoke in my lungs tore up my chest but I didn''t give a care. I was too absorbed by freedom, but mostly by fire.


    "MY FACE OH GOD I CAN FEEL MY FACE MELTING!!" Looking back, I can now feel grateful for the pain. It''s true that pain is necessary for us to grow, develop, and change as people. For example, the moat, just moments ago thought to be unreachable, now seems not only likely but inevitable. The mercs and their dogs were slowed by the fire, obviously too weak to succeed in this new, volatile economy. I would''ve berated them for this weakness- "Pull yourselves up by your bootstraps, you lazy bums!". But I didn''t, because my face had melted to fuse over my mouth.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    What mercenaries flame-retardant enough to follow me through the wildfire were stopped by my diving into the family moat. The moat, ordered by my father when his vocal chords were still intact, served both as a display of ludicrous wealth and bravado, as well as an initial barrier of defense. The hippos that swam its waters were ordered after Dad saw one crushing a whole watermelon in its mouth on the discovery channel. Parts of my skin and flesh peeled away on impact with the water, but most of my afferent neurons were gone by that point so it was all good. So gross and desiccated was my body that not even the hungry hippos dared approach it. All according to plan.


    Doctors would later claim my survival and recovery as a "medical miracle" or "cruel cosmic joke." It seemed that I alone recognized it for what it was: an example of true grit, a classic story of the underdog surviving against all odds in a ruthless and cold world. I will concede, however, that in the moment, things looked pretty bad. As I sank deeper into the freezing water, I felt nothing but a strange warmth and a pleasant sleepiness. So why not take a nap? I''d worked hard enough, I certainly deserved a break. So, I drifted to sleep twenty feet below the surface.


    And woke in the helical city of Ras Tanukha. All around wound the impossible spires of the impossible city, and I stood on the tallest of them all- the helix tower, which winds closest to the sun.


    "Brad Wu." I turned to face the Elusive Empress, who sat on her elliptical throne. She was beautiful, in an entirely indescribable and altogether terrifying way. Her eyes gleamed like pools of disembodied eyeballs, Her hair fell like a waterfall made entirely of hair. Her skin, smoothly rough, was as ebony black as alabaster.


    "Am I dead?", I asked.


    "What? No." An disappointed look creeped across Her face at my question. "Why do you people always ask me that? Do you feel dead?"


    "Um. Not really." Weirdly enough, I felt amazing. Better than I had in minutes. I looked at my hands, expecting to find a maddening lump of melted flesh but saw two healthy-skinned hands instead. Weird.


    "Exactly. Now shut up, I have something important to tell you."


    "Oh. Okay."


    "Shh. Listen, Brad, I called you here for a reason." A wag of Her perfect finger gestured me to come closer. As I moved, I felt the universe move with me. The sun and stars shifted with my perspective, resulting in a wholly disorientating feeling. She continued in a low whisper, "Know that forces are moving below us. Soon this world will be taken by a darkness not seen in centuries."


    "Oh. That''s not good." I paused awkwardly. "Is there anything I can do about it?"


    "Of course not. It''s way too late now." She paused as if lost in thought. "I''m sure your death will be particularly torturous. Are you hungry?"


    "Starving, actually. I could eat a horse."


    "Want a sandwich?" And She produced from behind Her what looked to be a grilled cheese sandwich.


    What a sandwich. My lord. It tasted like the tears of angels, like the flesh of God. Tasted like a pretty good sandwich.


    "Hey, this sandwich is pretty good," I said.


    "Thanks, I made it myself. Anyways, know that nothing awaits you but horrible, agonizing death. Not only will your death be hideous, you will die alone, either hated or forgotten by everyone and everything you ever loved or held dear. All your striving will be in vain, all your hopes will be for nothing, all your dreams will be broken. You''d be way better off if you kill yourself right now."


    "Um. Thanks for the heads up?"


    "Anytime. You should go."


    "Oh. Okay."


    "Goodbye."


    "Bye."


    I awoke on the opposite bank, alive and dry. At first I tensed up, waiting for the horrible pain and nausea I''d grown so accustomed to while on fire, but nothing came. Then I looked down at my hands, expecting to find a maddening lump of melted flesh, and finding a maddening lump of melted flesh. Turned out that while by some miracle my wounds had completely healed, their scars remained. My beautiful face now looked like the child of a bridge troll and an avocado. But I always knew to look on the bright side. That''s what made me so strong. Sure, I might look and feel like shit, but it''s what''s on the inside that matters. And I know that someone with as much personality and kindness as me would shine regardless of what''s on the outside.


    Speaking of the outside, by the time I woke up, the forest fire had burned itself out. What was once a picturesque home to various endangered species, uncontacted tribes, and this one super rare spicy pepper that didn''t exist anywhere else in the world was now a barren wasteland of ash. Like, actually. There''s nothing left, just ash. Like a desert, or a kitty litter tray without any poop in it. It''s scary how burnt the area was. It must''ve taken weeks and multiple firebombings to achieve that level of ungreenery. I had no idea how long I was out, but it must''ve been days. Not a single mercenary was in sight. They''d probably given up the chase. I was safe.


    Tomorrow I would conquer the world. I would shake off the chains of captivity and truly embrace freedom. I would dazzle the world with my wit and skill and intellect, and the world would fall at my feet. But that night, I was tired. I lay on the green, unburnt grass on the side of freedom and watched the stars. I didn''t have a choice, since my eyelids had burned off, but I think I would''ve done so eyelids or not. My clothes and backpack were burned or lost in the fire, and it was cold, but I didn''t care. The stars were too beautiful to care. I drifted to sleep.

 Chapter 0.2: Brad Talks History

    Fort Pants was first established in 1615 by one Bjorn Pants, a Norwegian explorer of some notoriety. Bjorn, tired of a lifetime weighed by plundering, pillaging, and raping, planted his anchor in the neighboring bay, burned his longboat, and set about building a hall where he could live out the rest of his life in peace. This was easier done than said, as the rest of his life lasted all of three months and two days. Before Bjorn could finish construction of the foundation, his bloody past must have caught up to him. To this day, nobody knows what befell the famed explorer. Construction workers, stirred one night by a commotion coming from his tent, set out to investigate and found nothing of him but blood-stained clothing and one left testicle. That same remarkably well-preserved testicle can be seen today in the Fort Pants Museum and Cultural Centre, as a reminder of the town''s bloody history.


    The construction workers, whom Bjorn had brought with him in his longboat, found themselves stranded in this strange, cursed land. They were promised freedom after completion of the hall, but with their master dead and the boat burned, they were trapped. The men finished construction of the hall and lived there until the end of their days. There were no women present; the men''s lines died with them.


    The hall would lie rotting and desolate for one hundred years before one Sir Alfred Cunningham, a British anthropologist of some notoriety, would come across it in his travels. The anthropologist first left Great Britain to pursue field research in Scandinavian culture and history. However, he was known for his geographic illiteracy. Instead of sailing North, he and his crew braved the Atlantic Ocean, looped around North America, and ended in a distant bay in British Columbia. It can be considered some miracle that of all the places he could have landed, he ended up at Pants Hall, the last of the Viking structures built by one of the last Vikings. Elated by his discovery and ingenuity, Cunningham set about dismantling the hall and carting it back to Britain. Unfortunately, his luck would run out. One night, his crew were awoken by sounds of a scuffle coming from Cunningham''s tent. When they set out to investigate, they found nothing of the man but bloodied clothing and one left testicle. This same testicle can be viewed today in the Fort Pants museum and Cultural Centre, still surprisingly fresh and fleshy.


    Cunningham, in his Scandinavian obsession, had demanded a proper Viking burial in his will. His men, being proper Brits, couldn''t simply ignore a dead man''s request, and with great regret, they loaded the bloodied clothing into their one ship and set it aflame in the bay. The testicle they kept, as a sort of good-luck charm. Now stranded in the middle of what they perceived to be Norway with no hope of rescue, the men quickly settled into their new lives. They repaired what they could of the great hall, and even established a little village in the surrounding areas. There they lived to the end of their days. They were survived by no one.


    The village would lie empty and forgotten for another hundred years before one Sister Catherine, a French nun of some notoriety, would stumble upon it in her travels. The nun had traveled all the way from France with her convent to spread the word of the Lord to the new world, but a wayward wind had them shipwrecked in that bloody bay. Luckily, they''d crashed right next to an empty, strangely Nordic village. Unluckily, Sister Catherine wouldn''t live to spend a week in the place. Again the loud clamoring, again the investigative party. Nothing remained of Sister Catherine in her small hut, nothing but scraps of clothing and one left testicle. The latter confused the nuns, but in time they would accept it as a message from the lord. In their final days, the nuns would come to worship the testicle as a sort of new god, an fetish of divine attribute. They too added to the village, including a heavy outer wall around the central hall which served to protect their new Lord. They would live and serve the testicle for another ten years before they were all eaten by bears.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    Again, the village lay dormant for another hundred years until it was rediscovered in 1915 by one Dr. Ozymandias Shaw, a banker of some notoriety. Dr. Shaw had been wandering the forest for the previous three weeks, subsisting on nothing but morning dew and whatever insects he could catch. When he finally came out of the psychotic episode, he found himself alone in the cursed village. The place was barren save for a few skeletons and what looked to be three severed testicles. Still experiencing the trailing effects of his episode, Dr. Shaw believed himself to be in the kingdom of God, further evidenced by the holy memorabilia left behind by the nuns. Building on the nuns'' already established lore, Dr. Shaw developed his own ideology. He was stranded in the area for two months, which gave him ample time to develop his religion, which he dubbed the Church of Three. Then came that fateful day when a passing ship saw his bonfire on the beach and came to investigate. So it was that Dr. Shaw became the first human to escape the doomed bay and that cursed village.


    Dr. Shaw brought with him news of this new and true religion to the civilized world and was mostly met with ridicule. However, due to his influence and wealth as a somewhat notorious banker, he developed a small following. He called this group the Testicallers and named them the true inner circle of his faith. With this group and an army of workers he''d hired with his vast riches, Dr. Shaw and his posse journeyed back to Fort Pants to establish the spiritual capital of his new religion. Over the many weeks, his cult would grow in followers, as word spread of a mysterious paradise, situated beside a certain bay. When Dr. Shaw finally passed later the same year, his cult had grown to over three hundred followers.


    To this day, nobody knows what befell Dr. Ozymandias Shaw. He left nothing behind, nothing but shards of bloodied clothing and one left testicle. This testicle can be seen at the Fort Pants Museum and Cultural Centre today, for the affordable admissions fee of just $15.99. Visit today!


    To his cult, the man had been accepted into the kingdom of God in full. They changed their name to the Church of Four in solemnity. The village now found itself well established, with industry booming from the bountiful fish that swam the bay. Over time, it would swell to become the city it is now.


    As Fort Pants grew, so too did the Church of Four. They had upgraded from your run-of-the-mill cult to full fledged super cult, complete with brainwashing, drug abusing, and child sacrificing. It''s no secret that Fort Pants is controlled by the Church of Four- every member of city council is a Testicaller, and the mayor is a descendent of Shaw Himself. Such is the fate of that bloody hall to now be a haven for drug-seeking spirituals and occult worship.


    I know all this because I was once a follower of the Four. While my parents would follow no prophet but the Smiling God Himself, I exercised my newfound freedom to find my own truth. Of course, this wouldn''t happen until much later on. As it were, I had more important things on my mind.

 Chapter 0.3: Brad Meets the Locals

    My parents called Fort Pants a heaven on earth, the last bastion of spirituality and self-expression in the West. But damn were these guys rude. I was hideously disfigured and completely nude, but this was 2015! You¡¯d think people would be more accepting by now. When I finally finished the long trek to town, all I wanted was a glass of water and maybe some bandages for my bleeding feet. But when I stopped for a drink at the tavern, all I got served was the revulsion of every patron and server.


    ¡°It¡¯s a m-monster!¡±, squeaked the elderly British woman.


    ¡°It¡¯s a ghoul!¡±, gasped the Portuguese teenager.


    ¡°A devil, an evil, a fool!


    He¡¯s a ghost, he¡¯s a zombie,


    A rotten no-good brainless mummy!


    Go away Mr. Monster, your heart¡¯s full of hatred,


    You bastard, you dastard, you¡¯re everyone¡¯s most hated!¡±


    I left before they could get to the chorus. Sure I was ugly, but I didn¡¯t think I was break-into-song-and-dance ugly. Walking along the path out of town, I caught a glance at myself in the river. To be honest, my face wasn¡¯t that bad. It could even be considered an improvement in some areas. My hair had burned off and my skin melted to resemble the cratered surface of Mars, all red and craggy and dusty. But baldness was coming in style, and I¡¯d always wanted a tan, so I wasn¡¯t too upset. Thankfully, my previously bulbous and vulgar nose had melted off in the fire. Now I can breathe through a more aerodynamic crack in my face. And though my lips had fused together into a lumpish mass, I¡¯d always admired the strong and silent types. And it wasn¡¯t like I couldn¡¯t open them at all. Half of my lips were freed, I could still eat and scream just fine. It wasn¡¯t that bad.


    On my way back to the tavern, I chanced a glance at a passerby and froze. I knew the man, could recognize his moustache anywhere. His name was Richard Dick, captain of our thirty-third mercenary company. If he was in town, it means his lackeys were too. They must be combing the neighboring areas, looking for me. I should¡¯ve anticipated this. If they¡¯re here, there¡¯s no way I could stay in town without being noticed. I¡¯d been horribly disfigured and all, but surely they¡¯d still recognize my general aura, the ungodly grace and eminence of my every movement. I ducked under some bushes and watched the man enter the tavern. Even at this distance I could hear the singing inside. There¡¯s no way Dick doesn¡¯t at least feel compelled to join in, and then I¡¯d be fucked. I had to disappear.


    I spent the rest of the day sneaking around the town perimeter, scouting out the situation. It¡¯s true that mercenaries had infiltrated the town, and posters of my still-skinned face hung on every telephone pole, billboard, and milk carton. My family reacted faster than I¡¯d expected. Luckily, my new makeover had little resemblance to my old face, so I didn¡¯t need to worry about any townsfolk recognizing me. I spent that first night under the village bridge, out of sight and relatively safe. This was during the summer, so the climate was still warm and dry enough to not die of exposure. Still, I was in need of clothing, and a good source of food. I felt strangely sated after waking up, so much so that I didn¡¯t feel hungry for much of that first day, but this was sure to change. However, that was a worry for another day. That night, I could sleep content under free skies.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    It turned out that life was easier than expected. My skin, burned off by the fire, regrew thicker, tougher, and leatherier than before. My hair, previously limited to my head and ballsack, returned with a passion, coating every area of my body but my palms, soles, and face in coarse, black hair. I no longer needed clothing, I was my clothing. My mouth, disfigured from the fire, regrew itself a crimson, three-foot-long, serpentine tongue capable of speech. While I had trouble finding food at first, I soon learned to leverage this latter gift and the small-mindedness of the townsfolk to my advantage. Anyone who wanted to cross my bridge had to pay the toll, and the toll was paid in food or blood. The blood part was a bluff, of course, but these people would believe anything. I lived comfortably under the bridge for the next three months, free of detection by any mercs or monster hunters, growing fat on the close-mindedness of the townsfolk. But all good things must come to an end.


    It happened one day when I heard the passing of little boots overtop my bridge. This was all routine now, so quite lazily I bellowed ¡°Who¡¯s that tip-tapping over my bridge!?¡±


    ¡°Who said that? It¡¯s only me! little boy Jim from across the street!¡±


    ¡°This is my bridge, you insolent child! I¡¯ll eat you with salsa, medium-mild!¡±


    ¡°Oh no, Mr. Troll, please let me be! I don¡¯t want to be eaten, I want to go free!¡±


    ¡°You make a good point, so I¡¯ll let you pass. On just one condition, that now I shall ask. My belly is rumbling, I¡¯m dying to eat! Feed me a morsel, you¡¯ll pass on your feet!¡±


    ¡°Okay Mr. Troll, that¡¯s easy to do! I¡¯ll run to my home, I¡¯ll cook you a stew!¡±


    ¡°You must and you¡¯d better, if you¡¯ve a right head- bring that good stew or I¡¯ll eat you instead!¡± Then I did my best cackle and settled back down into the water.


    Well, Jim returned, but not with a stew. I surfaced when I heard the passing of heavy boots overhead and leaped on top, hoping for a face full of stew but ending with a face full of pain. The club-wielding inquisitor stepped back, and said to Jim ¡°Thanks for fetching me, boy. Take your silver and go.¡±


    Inquisitors. Muscle-bound enforcers of the Church. I should¡¯ve known those cunts were onto me.


    ¡°Inquisitors.¡± I spat through a mouth full of blood. ¡°Should¡¯ve known you cunts were onto me.¡±


    ¡°How could we not be? You¡¯ve got the whole town terrified, freak, and now you¡¯ll answer for your crimes!¡±


    ¡°What? No! I can¡¯t go to prison! How will I change the world with a criminal record!?¡±


    But it was too late. He tied me up with chains that not even my trollish strength could break, then looped those around his horse. And like that, he rode into town, dragging me behind for all to see. From every open doorway and window, villagers would gather to ogle and even cheer. My last sight of this sunlit world was that of a familiar moustached face looking down from a tavern balcony. Then the gates closed, and I was thrown into the dark dungeon.


    They lead me down a labyrinth of stairs and concrete passageways before finally ending in an unlit chamber full of dog cages.


    ¡°This is your stop, freak. Tell the confessor I said hi.¡±


    Then they stuffed me in a cage, locked the door, and left me to the dark.

 Extra- Fort Pants Law Enforcement

    A drastic change in the culture of Fort Pants was ushered in with the installment of the present mayor, Lunchbox Shaw. After an unknown assailant keyed Mayor Shaw¡¯s car twelve years ago, he began to develop crippling paranoia and fear of the outside world. But not being one to fall to prey to superstition, Shaw reacted by taking a tougher stance on crime. First, he commissioned the construction of a dungeon, to be built underneath the original hall of Bjorn Pants (now renamed Shaw Cathedral). ¡°Welcome to Fort Pants Dungeon¡±, read the sign outside its gates, ¡°Confess Now- Die Today!¡± It¡¯s entrance and the courtyard of Shaw Cathedral lies decorated with the burnt and impaled corpses of any unlucky prisoner.


    The Inquisitorial Order was the second act of Shaw¡¯s new approach to crime, initially established to capture the perpetrators behind the car keying incident. After Mayor Shaw reasoned that the act was the work of witches, they¡¯d had their work cut out for them. However, after over a decade of exemplary work, the inquisitors boast a near perfect success rate. Six hundred and seventy-four suspects have already confessed to witchcraft and the keying of Shaw¡¯s car, and the rest died before they had the chance. However, scientists agree that the latter was also guilty. Due to their remarkable success and efficiency in the witch-hunts, the Inquisitorial Order soon found themselves established as the primary law-enforcement agency in town.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    God-Emperor Lunchbox Shaw is technically the commander-in-chief of the Inquisitorial order, but it¡¯s well known that he¡¯s a figurehead. The person actually in charge is Confessor Agnes Killy. Agnes started her career as a known and respected serial killer in the community. Her techniques were both silent and brutal, which lead to her being a top candidate for the prestigious position of Confessor. The Confessor coordinates and performs all the interviews with suspected heretics, and is responsible for their confessions. Killy was with the order from the start, and is credited with their raging success in heretic identification and capture. During her one hundred and eleventh birthday, Agnes was asked the key contributor to her longevity and success. She responded, ¡°Friends, God, community, and work that I love.¡±

 Chapter 0.4: Brad Chats Up Two Women

    I had a dream that night. I was high, high up in the air, in a balloon, or maybe in the mouth. It was night, it was freezing. There were so many stars in the sky, so many that it was blinding. And I was being chased. No. I was being caught. It¡¯s only a chase if one can escape. I was being caught by something that moves below. By something from down there. It was cold, the stars were blinding. Something down there. Down. Down. Down. Down. Down. Down. Down. Down. Down?


    I was awoken by my cage flooding.


    The inquisitor stepped back, set down his bucket. ¡°Wakey, wakey, freak. The Confessor will be seeing you soon.¡±


    ¡°Wow, rude! You could¡¯ve donated that water to Africa. Insensitive prick.¡±


    ¡°Shut up.¡± He set a tray of brown sludge in front of me. ¡°Eat. You¡¯ll need your strength.¡±


    I inspected the tray of shit in the dark after the watery inquisitor left. It had the chunky, liquidy texture of sewage, and smelled like my aunt¡¯s diarrhea. Disgusting. The hospitality in the dungeon was far from satisfactory, and the food was nauseating to my refined palate. And they didn¡¯t even provide any cutlery. How was I expected to eat this?


    ¡°Psst. Hey, new guy,¡± whispered the infinite darkness to my left.


    ¡°Oh, hey, what¡¯s up?¡± I answered, in the general direction of the voice.


    ¡°Probably torture and death. You?¡±


    ¡°Oh cool, same.¡±


    ¡°I tried to get your attention last night, but you fell asleep like freakishly fast.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I fall asleep really fast in the dark. Mom says I¡¯m like a parrot or something. Doctor says it¡¯s a life-threatening condition. What are you in for?¡±


    ¡°The usual. Heresy, witchcraft, murder, grand theft auto, shoplifting.¡±


    ¡°You did all that?¡±


    ¡°Of course not! That¡¯s what makes me so angry, you know? Why would I steal a car? I don¡¯t even have my licence.¡±


    ¡°Dang girl, I feel you. People are so prejudiced these days. It¡¯s 2015, you¡¯d think people would be more accepting by now. Turns out you can¡¯t even be a deformed troll-like creature in public without being arrested. So much for progress.¡±


    ¡°Right? By the way, I never got your name. I¡¯m Kaitlyn Gonehome, investigative journalist and professional witch. But you can call me Katie.¡±


    ¡°Oh, right. I¡¯m Brad, imminent genius and underappreciated personality. I¡¯ll probably be famous later. Nice to meet you.¡±


    ¡°Nice meeting you too! By the way, are you gonna eat that?¡± The infinite darkness known as Katie probably gestured toward my tray of diarrhea. I don¡¯t know, I couldn¡¯t really see anything at this point. ¡°The Confessor¡¯s trying to starve a confession out of me, and I¡¯m tired of eating dust and my own hair.¡±


    ¡°Oh no, go for it. Careful though, the food here¡¯s pretty sketchy. Don¡¯t blame me if you get food poisoning.¡± I inched the plate along in her direction through the doors of my doggie cage.


    ¡°Thanks man! Not really worried about food poisoning right now, but I appreciate the warning.¡±


    ¡°No worries, just looking out for you. That¡¯s what makes me so kind.¡±


    Katie dove into the sludge like a starving buzzard to my pet cat Daffodil who got run over by a car last summer rest in peace Daffodil you will always be missed. ¡°Hey, can I ask you a huge favour?¡± said Katie between loud gulps of diarrhea.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    ¡°Of course! I¡¯m incredibly giving and selfless, after all.¡±


    ¡°Even better!¡± Katie took another slurp. ¡°So, if we ever get out of this dungeon alive, could you marry me?¡±


    ¡°Sure. But I¡¯ve never been married before, you might have to show me the ropes.¡±


    ¡°Oh no problem, it¡¯s super simple. Gets easier with practice obviously.¡±


    ¡°Cool, cool. So, why do you ask?¡±


    ¡°Long story, but I¡¯ve been cursed to marry the first man to show me kindness. I¡¯ll tell you more if we get out.¡±


    Just then, Katie was interrupted by the closet door slamming open. My eyes, adjusted to a life without light, screamed in agony. ¡°Get up, freak. The confessor wants to chat.¡± He unlocked my cage and chained up my hands and feet. Then he saw the licked-clean tray. ¡°Wait. You ate that?¡±


    ¡°Huh? Oh, yeah, I did. Eat all of that. By myself. Why, what¡¯s wrong?¡±


    ¡°Oh, uh, nothing.¡±


    ¡°I love you,¡± whispered Katie from the darkness.


    ¡°I love you too.¡± The inquisitor gave me a weird look, but what did he know of love?


    The room was pretty bland as far as torture chambers go. It was mostly empty save for a table full of surgical equipment, two braziers, and a recently dead horse decomposing in the corner.


    ¡°The Confessor will see you soon,¡± said the inquisitor as he tied me to the surgical table. Then he left.


    Confessor Killy resembled a rotting crab-apple, both in size and appearance. She smelled like old books and had a voice like settling oaks. When she was wheeled in by a masked servant, she smiled at me like grandmothers do. ¡°Well hello dear, I¡¯m so glad to finally meet you!¡±, she said, ¡°This might sound strange coming from your torturer, but I¡¯m a big admirer of your work.¡±


    ¡°A fan, huh? Well, you¡¯re not the first, lady.¡±


    ¡°Well gee, I¡¯d sure hope not! The ways you killed those people were brilliant!¡±


    ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    ¡°I never even thought to hang someone by their own trachea before! Devilishly ironic! You give an old woman hope, my dear.¡±


    ¡°Whoa, wait. First, pretty sure it¡¯s not physiologically possible to hang someone with their own trachea. Second, I didn¡¯t kill anybody!¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to lie around me, dear! Nothing wrong with a few murders now and then. It¡¯s horrible the prejudice against murderers these days.¡± She picked a syringe filled with yellow solution off the table. ¡°Such a shame, you might¡¯ve gotten away with it too had you not been targeting testicallers.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t target nobody, lady!¡±


    ¡°Well, we¡¯ll see about that. Now pay attention, this is how this works. You are in my dungeon, dear, and you will stay here until you confess your murders. If you confess, you will get to leave and meet a relatively quick death.¡±


    ¡°That sounds reasonable.¡±


    ¡°You will be impaled through your rectum to your mouth, and set out in the courtyard for two days. Then, your still living body will be burned to the bone. Your burnt skeleton will decorate the courtyard for the rest of time, as a testament to your failure.¡±


    ¡°Never mind, I don¡¯t like that very much. What¡¯s the other option?¡±


    ¡°The other option is you stay silent, and we sew you into that horse.¡±


    ¡°That sounds reasonable.¡±


    ¡°You will stay inside the horse for the next week or so while it slowly rots around you. Maggots will burrow into your paralyzed flesh and eat you from the inside out. Your exposed head will be slathered in milk and honey and laid next to a colony of red ants.¡±


    ¡°Actually, I don¡¯t like that either.¡±


    ¡°You will be kept fed and hydrated via intravenous injection. A cocktail of medications will keep you conscious at all times. You will be staying in the horse until you confess, at which point you will be impaled, burned, and displayed.¡±


    ¡°Okay. So that¡¯s not much better than the first.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s objectively worse, I¡¯d say,¡± said Confessor Killy.


    ¡°What if I¡¯m innocent? What if I didn¡¯t kill anybody?¡±


    ¡°We both know you¡¯re not innocent, dear.¡± She shot me a wink. ¡°I know a murderer when I see one. So, what will it be?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what kind of vile scum you deal with, lady, but I¡¯m a man of principle and honor. I killed nobody, and I¡¯m won¡¯t conform to your or society¡¯s standards.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re staying silent?¡±


    ¡°Bitch, you better just kill me, because I ain¡¯t saying shit.¡±


    Confessor Killy laughed. ¡°Well, aren¡¯t you a feisty one! Almost a shame I have to break you. Eugene?¡± The masked servant stood the attention. ¡°Be a dear and shave his left forearm for me? Anterior, please.¡± The razor clicked on and minutes later there was a patch of black hairs on the ground. Confessor Killy swabbed my naked arm with rubbing alcohol and injected me with the yellow solution. Applied a band-aid. I felt my arm grow slack almost immediately. Soon after, the rest of my body followed. ¡°You¡¯ve just been injected with Barbas extract, a favourite of mine. The natives indigenous to the area used it to hunt cougars. It paralyzes skeletal muscles but leaves afferent neurons untouched. You¡¯ll be able to hurt and scream all you like, my dear.¡±


    ¡°Thanks.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re very welcome.¡±


    ¡°So, when¡¯ll you be sewing me into the horse?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I won¡¯t be sewing you into the horse.¡±


    ¡°Really? Well, that¡¯s good.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, arthritis is a bitch, I¡¯ll tell you that! No, my assistant will.¡±


    Her assistant entered the room. He was eight-foot-tall and wore nothing but a pink latex thong, mask, and some tassels clipped to his nipples. ¡°Prisoner, meet my assistant, Lucifer.¡±


    Lucifer cracked his whip and licked his lips. ¡°Hope you like pain, bitch.¡±

 Chapter 0.5: Brad鈥檚 Murder Mystery

    Stephen Wolfe is dead. He spent his last day like he would any other, with the exception that it was spent in excruciating pain. The last two weeks leading up to his death were spent in excruciating pain. It started with tingles, then progressed to full fledged aches. When he died, he could hardly move or sit. The doctors said it was testicular torsion, that it would sort itself out in time, but Stephen didn¡¯t buy it. This was too painful, too constant, too serious. It had to be cancer, or some other horrible disease. Night after night Stephen would lie sleepless because of pain, groping his balls, hoping for a bump or strange heaviness telling of testicular tumours. No luck. Didn¡¯t feel any torsion or twisting either.


    Work was hardest. He used to love work but holding sermon when your balls are aching proves challenging for any man or woman. Can¡¯t focus, can¡¯t take any of this seriously. Saying Shaw saves sounds rich when in so much pain. If only it was his left testicle. Then it could be interpreted as a message or gift from the Lord. But this was the right, which lacks any of the allure or power of the left. Boring right testicle, as mundane as the kidneys or pancreas.


    Three days before his death, a young girl visited him in his home. She was looking for guidance, said that she bore troubling news. Well spit it out then, girl. I¡¯m a testicaller, I know what to do. That¡¯s what Stephen wanted to say, but he could hardly finish through the pain. When he finally came, it came spotted with blood. He managed to explain it away by saying he was undergoing spiritual training, which was known to cause testicular bruising. But secretly, worry consumed him. It barely registered when the girl said a fellow testicaller was planning to defect. Who cares about the Church. He could be dying here. He sent the girl away and stared at the sad pool of cum in the middle of his bed, thinking about his future.


    The last day was the worst. The pain was visceral, it reached deep into his gut like rot or the roots of dandelions. And it kicked. The pain was constant, but it kicked, and by that, I mean it felt like something angry was kicking at the walls of his right ball. Almost like some creature was nesting deep inside that testicle, some creature with gangly limbs and red hands. But Stephen Wolfe couldn¡¯t skip work. Testicallers don¡¯t get sick leave. And today was too important to miss, he was to officiate the Orgy of St. Shaw after all. The kicking didn¡¯t go away, it got worse. Thank Shaw he was only officiating and not forced to participate.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    When he got home and rinsed the semen out of his hair, standing naked in the shower, he swore he saw his right ball twitch. Or maybe he did see, maybe he noticed it swaying to a heartbeat that was not his own, but chose not to recognize it. Another kick, another wave of pain. It was too much, ten thousand volts straight to the nutsack. He doubled over, fell onto his back, legs spread eagle on the linoleum floor. Whatever was happening would happen and he was helpless against it.


    Stephen¡¯s body was discovered after his neighbors reported seeing a strange creature leave his house the next morning. It was unlike anything they¡¯d ever seen. A creature in the shape of a man, with gangly limbs and thick, black hair.


    Stephen died naked and afraid in his bathroom, and that¡¯s where his bloodied corpse was found, hanging from the light fixture in the ceiling. He was missing his right testicle.


    This one was just like the others. Inspecting Inquisitor Max Quick was sick of seeing dead testicallers. The newest victim was Garfield Catworth. He knew Garfield. Their kids went to the same school. What¡¯ll happen to his daughter now? Garfield was found naked and hanging, death by asphyxiation. He was missing his right ball. Max didn¡¯t need to see him to know; as soon as the calls came in, he knew the Troll had struck again. That¡¯s what the papers were calling it. For the last three months starting with the bizarre murder of Stephen Wolfe, the Troll of Fort Pants had the town paralysed with fear. Every victim had been a testicaller of some notoriety, and every victim had died naked and single-testicled. Yet despite the murders and outrage, there¡¯d been little success in catching the culprit. All they had to go on was a surreal description of this monster, and the unique conditions of the murder itself. They were stuck.


    Then his phone rang.


    ¡°Max, get your ass over to the King street office right now.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s up?¡±


    ¡°A kid said he¡¯d just seen the Troll. Said he could lead us right to him.¡±


    Maybe things were looking up after all.


    Inquisitor Thom Lawless was terrified. He¡¯d finally found his proof, but somehow, at the end of everything, everything had gone wrong. Thom had defected from the Church, an act punishable by death. He had defected, and nobody knows it yet. Nobody but Testicaller Thor Pugilens.


    Thom hates his job, but Thor makes him stick with it. They need a man on the inside. For the last three months the two of them had worked to expose the true purpose of the Church. They were so close. Then that Troll ruined everything. Now Thom¡¯s done thinking. It¡¯s time to act. He will break the Troll out of Fort Pants Dungeon or die trying. Shaw help them all.

 Chapter 0.6: Brad鈥檚 Dungeon Adventures

    Believe it or not, life went pretty smoothly inside the horse. My skin was so tough and leathery that it barely registered when they sewed me into the beast. And who knew horses could be so comfortable? I thought the visceral texture of a horse would be all slimy and cold but turns out it¡¯s actually really soft and warm! Not at all like a decomposing corpse, really. My exposed head was slathered with milk and honey like Confessor Killy¡¯d promised, but since the Dungeon was experiencing a shortage of fire ants at the moment, they had to make do with caterpillars instead. There¡¯s no better feeling than having a thousand fuzzy feet tickle your face, and the honey provided a lovely snack whenever I felt peckish. All in all, it was a lovely time. My only complaints were that I was paralysed and completely shaved before being entombed, but even then, it could¡¯ve been worse. Would recommend.


    ¡°Alright bitch,¡± said Lucifer, as he made his usual entrance in the morning, ¡°Playtime¡¯s over.¡± He was wearing his purple nipple tassels today, which meant he was serious.


    ¡°Right now?¡± I asked politely.


    ¡°No, in two days. We¡¯ve got a shipment of fire ants coming in and when they arrive, boy, I hope you like pain, bitch!¡±


    ¡°Why do you keep saying that? You know, ¡®I hope you like pain, bitch¡¯?¡±


    ¡°What? It¡¯s like my signature, man.¡± He paused. ¡°You know, so when people see me, they¡¯re all like ¡®Woah! That¡¯s the dude who likes pain and says bitch a lot!¡¯¡±


    ¡°Do people say that?¡±


    ¡°Well not to my face but yeah. Probably. Bitch.¡±


    ¡°Huh.¡± We sat without speaking for a bit, the silence only broken by the odd intestinal gurgle coming from the horse.


    ¡°So. Feel like confessing yet? Must be really nasty being stuck inside that horse like that.¡±


    ¡°Nah, maybe some other time.¡±


    ¡°Oh, okay. Cool.¡± A pause. ¡°Cool. Anyways, just know that the ants are coming, and when they come, well, better hope you like pain, bitch! Until then, see you later! Bitch!¡± Lucifer cackled menacingly while doing a crude moonwalk out the room. He seemed like a cool dude.


    I wasn¡¯t really worried about the fire ants. I¡¯d been in this horse for about a week now, and every morning, Lucifer would come in and sing the same old spiel. It never mattered, no matter what color his nipple tassels were. The ants never arrived, it was either trouble with the courier service or administrative issues or whatever. At least, that¡¯s what I thought.


    A noise wrestled me from sleep later that night. It sounded like the sneezing of a pregnant wolf or someone sawing away at the bars which guarded every window. I tried to crane my neck to get a better angle, but my paralysis made this difficult. What I could see out the corner of my eye was a person, silhouetted against the moonlight, unhinge the now unbarred window and wiggle through. Slowly they crept up on me until I could smell their breath and see their nose hairs. I froze. I knew the intruder, could recognize his moustache anywhere.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    ¡°Brad?¡± whispered the captain of our thirty-third mercenary company.


    ¡°Dick??¡± I whispered, ¡°What are you doing here?? How did you find me?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you later,¡± replied Richard in hushed tones, ¡°For now, just relax. I¡¯m gonna get you out of here.¡± He pulled an uncommonly large syringe out of his pocket.


    ¡°Woah, wait. I never agreed to go anywhere.¡±


    Dick gaped at me in surprise. ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    ¡°I said, I¡¯m not going anywhere. Not with you.¡±


    ¡°Do you know where you are, boy? This isn¡¯t an argument.¡±


    ¡°I said no! I¡¯m perfectly happy out here on my own. I¡¯ve tasted freedom, Dick, and there¡¯s nothing you can do to make me go back to that prison of a home!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re literally in prison right now, you idiot! I¡¯m trying to break you out of prison!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sick of your doublespeak, captain. No means no!¡±


    Richard slapped his forehead in exasperation. ¡°For fuck sakes, I should¡¯ve seen this coming.¡± Without even asking my permission, Dick injected the horse with the syringe. Immediately the beast started twitching and coughing. ¡°Do you know how hard it was to keep delaying those fire ants? How much effort we spent sneaking in this comatose horse in place of the dead one? You¡¯re coming whether you want to or not.¡±


    The horse spasmed for a bit, vomited up some blood and a vaguely green substance, then slowly stood up. It didn¡¯t seem to notice the human stitched into its abdomen, nor the head poking out of its belly. I, however, did notice, and felt the very uncomfortable headrush associated with being upside down. I would¡¯ve complained, but I doubted the horse spoke English. Dick said ¡°Now be quiet, I¡¯m gonna try and sneak this horse out of the dungeon.¡±


    Suddenly the torture room lights flicked on to their full fluorescent glory, blinding both me and Dick. ¡°What¡¯s going on here!?¡± bellowed the very angry sounding intruder.


    ¡°Help!¡± I screamed, ¡°I¡¯m being kidnapped!¡±


    ¡°No! You¡¯re being rescued, you spoiled brat! Get it right!¡± Dick drew a knife from his belt and flipped it around his hand like a ninja or someone with way too much free time. ¡°Now let¡¯s tango, bitch!¡±


    The intruder took one look at Dick and shot him in the chest. He collapsed like a ragman, blood pooling around his body.


    ¡°Alrighty then, Mr. Troll,¡± slurred the intruder. By this point my eyes had adjusted enough to see his inquisitor uniform. ¡°Let¡¯s get you out of here. I¡¯m breaking you out of prison.¡±


    I¡¯m still not entirely sure what happened after that, though I do vaguely remember the following. The mysterious inquisitor mounting my horse and trotting out the door. The noise which whined like a dying cow. All the shouting and explosions and light. And the pain, which bloomed inside my head like fireworks or fracturing ice. Then nothing.


    When I regained consciousness, I was in a dark room and warm cot. My head felt like it¡¯d been shattered and reassembled by a drunk, blind toddler, and I had difficulty seeing out of one eye.


    ¡°Good morning, Mr. Troll,¡± slurred the man sitting in the corner. ¡°About time you woke up. How¡¯re you feeling?¡± Something about his face felt familiar, but I couldn¡¯t put my finger on it.


    ¡°Pretty shitty,¡± I croaked. This made him chuckle.


    ¡°That¡¯s good. I¡¯d be worried if you felt good after what happened.¡± He walked over to sit beside me in bed. Suddenly I remembered. He was the inquisitor who fetched me after I met Katie. At that point, the significance of this eluded me. ¡°The name¡¯s Thom Lawless, ex-inquisitor of the Church. You and I¡¯ve got some work to do.¡±

 Chapter 0.7: Brad Gets His Prostate Checked

    When Thom said ¡°you and I have some work to do,¡± I expected for us to gear up in Kevlar and semi-automatic rifles and take the Church by force. I didn¡¯t expect ¡°work¡± to involve so many colonoscopies. But here I am. In the three days I¡¯ve stayed in this strange room, I¡¯ve undergone five colonoscopies and endless stool samplings. When I tried asking Thom about these strange medical rituals, he responded with a flippant ¡°None of your business, Troll. Now poop into this cup.¡± I didn¡¯t press any further- firstly, because it was rude to be so demanding to my saviours, and secondly, because I suspected the whole ordeal to be some vivid and strange hallucination. I had a concussion, after all.


    Of course, I had no idea whether concussions could produce hallucinations, but it seemed appropriate. The concussion came as a by-product of our escapade, as Thom had informed me. He had to leap a great many walls and fences with the horse, and as my head poked out of the horse¡¯s scrotum area, it became a target for mid-air collisions with said obstructions. I was lucky to have survived the ordeal, Thom remarked, but I should owe that to my unusually thick skull. As for the horse, the final fence would prove to be its last. The furthermost fence surrounding Fort Pants Dungeon and Shaw Cathedral was a masterwork of engineering: enough energy pulsed through its links to power a small Inuit village. The horse, exhausted from all the previous exercise and its coma, didn¡¯t leap but instead barged right through its iron links, leaving a horse shaped hole in the gates. True freedom.


    It was some miracle that we weren¡¯t instantly vaporised like the horse. Since I was insulated inside the beast, I was able to survive with only mild first-degree burns. Thom, sensing the danger from afar, exercised the wisdom to jump off prematurely. He stuffed what he could of the horse¡¯s ashes into his pockets- the beast should be commemorated for its brave sacrifice, after all- picked up my unconscious body, stepped (carefully) through the hole, and was gone. The alarms were sounded and inquisitors tried to follow him of course, but he was able to lose them in the thick forests surrounding town. True freedom.


    On the fourth morning Thom entered my room like usual, but this time he brought a stranger with him. I already had my pants off and butthole presented for inspection, but he shook his head no.


    ¡°We won¡¯t have need of your butthole no more, Mr. Troll,¡± slurred Thom.


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± spoke the stranger. He was an older gentleman with an ancient great beard and bugging eyes. ¡°My name is Testicaller Pugilens, but you may call me Thor.¡± Thor moved to sit by the foot of my bed. By this point I had pulled back on my bloomers and sweats. ¡°Has Thom ever mentioned the purpose of your being here?¡±


    ¡°No sir, but I¡¯d wager that this has all been a rather unusual hallucination, so there¡¯s probably nothing to worry about.¡±


    ¡°Sorry son,¡± said the elderly Thor, ¡°But I¡¯m afraid that this is no hallucination. If only it was. You¡¯ve surely been wondering the reason behind all the probing and stool sampling?¡± I nodded enthusiastically. ¡°Well, wonder no more, for I am here to reveal it all. Not only your purpose being here, but the conspiracy which threatens not only the nation or this world, but our very universe!¡± He pulled into a dramatic pose, eyes flashing dangerously. ¡°Prepare yourself, child, for I shall now reveal the rotten truth of that damned Church of Four! Thom, lights please.¡± Thom flipped the lights off. *Click* went the flashlight under Thor¡¯s chin, illuminating his face all spooky-like.


    ¡°Nice effects,¡± I commented.


    ¡°Thanks. Here, I brought some marshmallows you guys can snack on while I tell the story.¡± Thor handed me a bag of the stuff. Thom and I huddled together to listen.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    ¡°A long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away¡­¡± Thor paused for effect, ¡°There sprawled a vast and hideous empire of unimaginable proportion. An empire which ruled for a hundred trillion years, an empire without equal! And at the centre of this glorious hideousness sat their most vile capital, the helical city of Ras Tanukha.¡± Something about that name tickled my memory lobes, but I couldn¡¯t quite place it. Thor continued on, ¡°Ras Tanukha, the city which winds closest to the sun. Ras Tanukha, the city closest to God. As long as the empire had their glorious city, they would have no fear of hunger or threat or even death. They would be prosperous for a hundred trillion years and more.


    ¡°But all good things must come to an end. Their end would come¡­ from below.¡±


    ¡°Dun dun duuuun!¡± sang Thom dramatically.


    ¡°Thank you, Thom. Now. A brief interlude to explain the heat death of the universe. As we all know, doing stuff sucks. It takes energy to do stuff like eating or breathing or putting on socks, and it¡¯s all a great bother. The universe feels the same way. It would much rather prefer to relax and be dead- I¡¯m sure you can empathize. Problem is, everything in it, including humans and planets and socks and whatnot consume energy by simply existing. To the universe, it¡¯s all a great bother.¡±


    ¡°This is all very interesting,¡± I interrupted, ¡°But what does this have to do with my butthole?¡±


    ¡°Shush, I¡¯m getting there. As I was saying, the universe is getting tired from all that stuff existing. The more tired it gets, the more things fall apart. This is called entropy. Eventually we will all succumb to entropy. Matter itself will collapse, atoms will scatter and shatter, time will stop, and the universe will finally get some gosh-darned peace and quiet.


    ¡°In Ras Tanukha, this was not the case. I¡¯m not sure how, but they discovered a way to reverse entropy itself. Not even the universe could stop them. Or at least that¡¯s what they thought. See, there could be no light without shadow. Every force has an equal and opposite reaction. That is how¡­¡±


    I never got to hear the end of his sentence. I was too busy being asleep. About an hour later, Thor finally noticed one of his audience members was no longer conscious and shouted me awake.


    ¡°WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU¡¯RE DOING, BOY!? How dare you sleep through my story!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not my fault!¡± I said groggily, ¡°It¡¯s too dark in here!¡±


    But it was too late. ¡°I will not stand for this level of disrespect!¡± boomed Thor as he stormed out of the room.


    ¡°Now look what you¡¯ve done!¡± said Thom. ¡°And it was just getting good!¡±


    "It¡¯s not my fault! I have a medical condition!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll apologize to Thor right now!¡±


    ¡°Never! I never apologize! I¡¯d rather die!¡±


    ¡°The heck kind of reaction is that?? Just apologize!¡±


    ¡°No! I¡¯m never in the wrong! And fuck you for suggesting it!¡±


    Thom hung his head in defeat. ¡°You know what, I don¡¯t have the energy for this. This has all been a waste of time anyways. The DNA evidence is gone, you¡¯ve probably digested it by now.¡±


    ¡°What DNA evidence?¡±


    "Well, maybe if you¡¯d been awake for the story, you¡¯d know by now! The bloody DNA evidence you ate, crap-for-brains!¡±


    ¡°But I don¡¯t remember eating any DNA evidence?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t remember eating a literal plate of diarrhea!? Your first morning in the dungeon you were given a plate of crap as a joke by some inquisitors. They told you to eat it. Remember now?¡± Since he mentioned it, I do remember that the quality of food was sorely lacking in the dungeon. ¡°Well that diarrhea belongs to the actual murderer of all those testicallers! The same guy that¡¯s trying to end our hecking universe! And because of you, he might just succeed!¡±


    ¡°But I didn¡¯t eat it.¡±


    ¡°¡­Excuse me?¡±


    ¡°Why would I eat that? That¡¯s disgusting, dude.¡±


    ¡°But when I asked you said you ate it! You licked the plate clean!¡±


    ¡°Well yeah, but you kinda pressured me into it.¡±


    Thom buried his face in his hands. ¡°Then what did I rescue you for?? Who ate the diarrhea??¡±


    I opened my mouth to answer only to find that I couldn¡¯t remember. ¡°Um. Weird, I¡¯m blanking all of a sudden. I mean, I¡¯m sure I didn¡¯t eat the shit. Most likely. I think there was someone else in the closet with me? And they were hungry?¡±


    ¡°How sure is sure? Because I sure as heck don¡¯t want to break into prison again!¡±


    ¡°Like 70% sure? This is so weird, I¡¯m usually good with memory.¡±


    Thom sighed deeply and fell back onto my bed. ¡°I guess there¡¯s only one way to find out,¡± he resigned. ¡°We¡¯re gonna have to re-break into prison.¡±

 Chapter 0.8: Brad Storms a Church

    It was a warm sunny Saturday. Outside, kittens napped, grasshoppers hopped, and sparrows flew into the reinforced stained-glass windows of the formidable Shaw Cathedral. A beautiful day in all senses of the word and Mayor Lunchbox Shaw wasn¡¯t there to see any of it. Instead of frolicking in the sun, the day, like most other days for the Mayor, was spent in agonising pain on his porcelain throne. The doctors diagnosed his body¡¯s recent toilet obsession as a very rare variation of cholera called Poor Ordered Orbital Tremor Syndrome, or POOTS for short. So rare was POOTS that nobody knew its cause, nor was there any cure. Ill-fortuned patients suffering from POOTS found themselves confined on the toilet for hours or days at a time, enveloped in the most foul-smelling and chunky diarrhea imaginable. Like its older brother Cholera, POOTS was most often fatal; most sufferers died of dehydration within the week. Fortunately, Mayor Shaw was wealthy enough to afford a constant IV drip of orange-flavored sports drinks to maintain his sloppy shits.


    ¡°Your majesty,¡± whispered his advisor through her gas mask, ¡°Reader Smith is here. He wishes for an audience.¡±


    ¡°Very well. Let him in.¡± The advisor buzzed the visitor into the throne room. If not for the horrible smell the room might¡¯ve been quite striking. Multicolored light streamed in through the stained-glass windows to fall on Mayor Shaw¡¯s glorious ivory and porcelain throne. On the oaken walls hung the stern portraits of Shaw¡¯s ancestors, their eyes burning holes through any visitor or guest foolish enough to demand an audience. If only the room had good ventilation.


    Reader Smith walked in proudly but soon found himself humbled by his lord¡¯s holy aroma. ¡°Y-your majesty,¡± he gagged. Lunchbox liked to imagine that the Reader would¡¯ve kneeled before him regardless of the debilitating smell.


    ¡°Reader Smith, you are head of the Eldritch Project, no? I hope you bring good news.¡±


    ¡°Yes, your majesty.¡± The Reader tried to manage a smile but had to stop himself from retching. ¡°I have the latest progress report. Everything¡¯s going smoothly. With luck, we¡¯ll be finished well before the summer solstice.¡±


    ¡°Excellent, excellent! Well done, director!¡±


    ¡°But that¡¯s not, urgh, why I came, your highness. I also bear bad news.¡±


    ¡°What? How dare you! You know how much I hate bad news!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m incredibly sorry, your goodliness. I assure you that this is none of my fault.¡±


    ¡°You play with my heart, Reader. Very well. Let¡¯s hear it.¡±


    ¡°The Troll has escaped from Fort Pants Dungeon.¡±


    ¡°What? Impossible!¡± Mayor Shaw said clich¨¦ly.


    ¡°Possible! The stationed inquisitors spotted Inquisitor Lawless riding the horse the Troll was in past our defences and over the gates. They even cleared that fancy electric fence!¡±


    ¡°Shaw damnit! I knew that inquisitor was up to no good! How did they find our only weakness!? The only thing capable of getting through those defences is a large tetrapod capable of jumping over three feet in a single leap!¡±


    ¡°I know. We must¡¯ve had an information leak somewhere. Personally, I suspect the old hag, Agnes Killy. She¡¯s up to no good, I tell you. I¡¯m obviously not to blame.¡±


    ¡°Bah, serial killers. You should never trust a murderer. Is there anything else?¡±


    Reader Smith managed a smile. ¡°Yes, some good news. We have recovered a potential accomplice in the escape. He was heavily wounded, but our healers expect him to make a complete recovery. He¡¯s currently being held for questioning in the Dungeon. I advise you see him immediately.¡±


    ¡°Of course, Reader. I must investigate! Advisor, fetch my D-Pants?*!¡±Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    The advisor soon returned with the pants, tube, and accompanying D-Pack?. ¡°Oh jeez, I hate this part,¡± said Mayor Shaw as he forced the thick, abrasive tube up into his descending colon.


    ¡°Ready to go, your highness?¡±


    Lunchbox strapped on the cumbersome D-Pack?. ¡°Ready. To the dungeon!¡±


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


    ¡°You ever killed a man?¡± slurred Thom as we neared the burly walls surrounding Shaw Cathedral. We were geared in full Kevlar, and (surprisingly heavy) semi-automatic rifles hung slung over our shoulders.


    ¡°No. Well, probably not. The Confessor thinks I have and I used to disagree, but I now I don¡¯t think my memory is good enough to warrant that.¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re talking about that testicaller nonsense, I think we can safely say you¡¯re innocent.¡±


    ¡°Oh, well that¡¯s good. Then no.¡±


    ¡°In that case, I want you to be prepared. The first kill is always the most¡­ potent.¡± Thom paused to lick his lips. ¡°Watching the life drain from their eyes, watching them go from living being to inanimate thing, watching their body drop like a sack of flour¡­ good Shaw, what a rush. I want you to savour it.¡±


    ¡°Have you killed many people?¡±


    ¡°Oh yes. Too many to count. But you know, none were as¡­ visceral¡­ as the first. Sure there was the rush, the adrenaline, the almost¡­ sexual¡­ energy. But they were nowhere near the first.¡± He looked at me with an unhealthy gleam in his eye. ¡°I¡¯m still chasing that dragon.¡±


    ¡°You know, I think you¡¯ll get along fabulously with the Confessor. Remind me to introduce you.¡±


    At first I found it odd that no one thought twice about the two heavily armed and armoured men trooping straight toward Shaw Cathedral, but then I realized almost everyone was dressed about the same. Thom had chosen the perfect day to storm the Dungeon. ¡°Happy Dress-Up-As-a-Heavily-Armed-and-Dangerous-Fugitive Day!¡± read the banners strung up on almost every streetlight, corner store, and parade float. Today was DUAaHAaDF Day! Back home, my totalitarian parents would never allow me to celebrate DUAaHAaDF Day, fearing that if I was allowed the heavy weaponry traditional to the holiday I would rise up and gun them down in cold blood. But here I am, finally free and partaking in the forbidden holiday I never got to experience as a child. Just goes to show that if you work hard enough, dreams can come true.


    "You¡¯re lucky you got shaved,¡± said Thom, ¡°Don¡¯t think anyone can recognize you now. Though you don¡¯t exactly fit in either.¡± It was true; I was hideous, pink, and scarred. ¡°Don¡¯t think I can say the same for me. They definitely know I¡¯ve defected now. Here, put this on.¡± He slid me a happy clown mask.


    ¡°Oh, pretty.¡±


    ¡°Right? Was thinking to myself, what¡¯s everyone afraid of? Clowns, duh. Figured that since they know I¡¯m a bad guy, might as well go all in with the intimidation.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s reasonable. But why do I have to wear this?¡±


    ¡°So we match, you dunce. You can¡¯t just go on a murder spree all willy-nilly, you gotta look good while doing it too.¡±


    We finally reached the outer gates of the cathedral, electricity humming dangerously through its links. They¡¯d already fixed the horse hole we made when escaping. ¡°Now this is the tricky part,¡± Thom said, ¡°these gates only open for licenced testicallers and inquisitors. Since I¡¯m no longer either, it¡¯s apparently impossible for us to get through.¡± He walked toward a strange-shaped bush. ¡°Fortunately for us, we¡¯ve got an information advantage. I present to you the only weakness of the Cathedral¡¯s ¡®flawless¡¯ defence system!¡± He lifted the twig covering off the bush-shaped object in one sweep, unveiling a confused-looking horse tied to a low peg. ¡°Thor snuck her here while we were gearing up. Her name¡¯s Betty.¡±


    ¡°Oh, cute. You know, I used to have a horse once. Her name was Betsy. She loved me.¡±


    ¡°¡­Cool. Anyways, get on. Excuse the lack of saddle, we¡¯re a bit low on funds at the moment.¡± Thom swung himself gracefully onto the beast and I struggled my way on behind him. ¡°Let¡¯s storm this dungeon.¡±


    * D-Pants?! This hot new product from Sinkhole Inc. allows anyone to go on the go! Simply insert the accompanying rubber tube deep into your rectum and thread the other end through the pants¡¯ fashionable rear hole. Then attach the tube to our patented Sinkhole Inc. D-Pack? (which weighs a convenient seventeen kilograms, allowing for easy exercise on the go! Build those calves!) for fecal processing, and you¡¯re done! The D-Pack? chops up any chunky bits and stores that pesky waste for later release. It can store up to five hundred millilitres of fecal waste! When full, simply press the ¡®eject¡¯ button, and all the stored matter will be evacuated through the rear chute at a rapid seventy miles an hour. For the low, low price of three easy installments of $79.99, you too can be the proud owner of your very own D-Pants?! (Tube and D-Pack? not included.) (Warning: do not wash Sinkhole Inc. D-Pants? more than once, the fabric is sensitive to water and will unravel. Remember to push the tube up to or above the descending colon to ensure all fecal matter is properly collected. Do not load more than five hundred millilitres of matter in the D-Pack?, as it is prone to overheating. Sinkhole Inc. is not liable for any damages, burns, or deaths accrued in the usage of D-Pants?, tube, or D-Pack?.)

 Chapter 0.9- Brad Breaks into Prison

    It¡¯s often these days that I think back to what mom said about horses all those months ago- ¡°Free as the wind.¡± She could not be more right. As Thom and I leaped mere millimeters above electrocution and certain death, I tried my hardest to keep this in mind. Would wind be stopped by the odd gate or fatal shock? Of course not. Wind would circumvent the tallest of barriers, would fly to safety and freedom above any obstacle or obstruction. Therefore, we were completely safe.


    ¡°Brad!¡± Thom shouted above the wind and buzzing electricity, ¡°We¡¯re almost at the last gate! We¡¯ll need to jump off before then!¡±


    ¡°What!? Why!?¡± I shouted in return.


    ¡°There are turrets programmed to shoot anyone unrecognized behind it! The horse should draw their fire while we run in after!¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me this before!?¡±


    ¡°Forgot! Sorry!¡± Closer and closer drew the gate. Even I, with my will of iron and figurative balls of steel, began to grow nervous. ¡°Alright, prepare to jump! On the count of five! One! Two! Oh shit, jump, JUMP!!¡±


    Thom vaulted off beautifully while I slid off the horse¡¯s backside like a graceful Volvo falling off a cliff. The horse, surprised by the sudden disembarking, forgot to jump the final hurdle and instead plowed right through, a tank barging through the barricades of oppression. True freedom.


    ¡°Now¡¯s our chance! After the horse!¡± shouted Thom. He sprinted through the gap while invisible turrets punched holes through Betty¡¯s horsey flesh. I sauntered on after the two of them, weighed down by all the gear. Jeez that stuff was heavy.


    ¡°Hold on guys!¡± I panted, ¡°I¡¯m not good at running!¡± It was that heavy rifle, it was too bulky! Every step I took it would sway and tip me off balance. How was I supposed to run with this thing? Thinking quickly, I ditched the gun behind me. Now I could run unhindered.


    By some miracle I managed to make it the whole twenty meters without sustaining too many injuries. The horse, however, was not so lucky. Apparently, the core tenet of the inquisitorial order was overkill because the turrets only shot high-calibre incendiary rounds. We stooped to gather what we could of Betty¡¯s ashes into our pockets before continuing inside. She deserved to be properly commemorated, after all.


    Ironically enough, after all the gates and turrets and electricity, the main door to the dungeon was unlocked. After running in, Thom turned to me and asked ¡°You okay? Didn¡¯t get tagged?¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m good!¡± I replied between heaving breaths, ¡°I was, *gasp* too fast to be hit.¡±


    ¡°Your vest is on fire!¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± I looked down at my Kevlar vest only to find flames and a sizable black crater in the middle of my chest. ¡°AAAUGH! OH MY GOD I¡¯M HIT! HOLY MOLY THIS STINGS!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, it¡¯s only a little flame!¡±


    ¡°I CAN¡¯T BREATHE! I¡¯M GONNA DIE!¡± I fall to the floor, hands clutching my new crater.


    ¡°Oh yeah, guess you did get hit in the chest. Hold still, lemme get that.¡±


    It took some effort, but Thom managed to wrestle the vest off of me. Probably because of his clumsy sausage fingers and not because of my panicked squirming. But this was all for the best anyways. Now I can move unhindered by that useless luggage. Now I could unleash my true potential.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°WEEWOOWEEWOO,¡± screamed the alarm system. If eyes could hear, the flashing red sirens would be saying much the same thing.


    ¡°Aw heck, no time to dawdle! Hope you¡¯re ready for MURDER.¡± Thom fingered the safety off his rifle. The two of us speed-walked past the atrium and into a narrow corridor, all badass like. ¡°We¡¯ll need to get to your old storage closet! Follow me!¡±


    ¡°By the order of The Four, stop right there!¡± Twenty some inquisitors pooled out of adjacent hallways to surround us on both ends. They bristled with a myriad of weaponry from bo staffs to nunchucks to machetes. We were trapped. ¡°You have committed crimes against Fort Pants and her people! What say you in your defence?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take the ones in front, you take the guys behind,¡± whispered Thom.


    I assumed my mantis stance and ripped the top off my yellow jumpsuit. ¡°I¡¯d rather die than go to prison!¡±


    ¡°Then you¡¯ll pay in blood!¡± is what the lead inquisitor would¡¯ve said had he not been interrupted mid-sentence by a vicious stream of bullets. Thom laughed maniacally as he sprayed the man¡¯s bloody mess of a corpse.


    ¡°Inquisitors assemble! Engage battle formations!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯LL SEE YOU IN HECK, INQUISI-DORKS!¡± Thom boomed as the metaphorical force of his raw bloodlust blew back the inquisitors¡¯ wills and the non-metaphorical force of his bullets blew sizeable holes in their faces.


    Meanwhile on my side, the inquisitors charged to attack me one at a time, as is tradition. But their weak techniques proved no match for my trollish strength and superior skills. ¡°HII-YA!¡± I screamed, as I karate chopped a crowbar-wielding inquisitor in the neck, front-flipped over the bo staff flipping warrior, and landed in perfect splits to uppercut the nunchuck master in the nutsack. Moving like water, I wrestled the nunchucks out of his hands and held them out before me, probably looking really cool while doing so. ¡°Enter the dragon¡­¡± I whispered, as I whipped the nunchucks around me in an aura of destruction. I still can¡¯t remember what happened next as it all passed in a haze of blood and death. When I finally came to, I stood atop a pile of dismembered corpses, soaked in guts and gore.


    Of course, that weasel Thom would later try to steal my glory, saying that he single-handedly murdered all twenty-something inquisitors while I lay curled up in the fetal position, silently weeping. Don¡¯t believe a word of it.


    Anyways, after they were defeated and I finished wiping the tears off my face, we proceeded down the labyrinthine corridors of the Dungeon, descending deeper and deeper into the bowels of the place. The air grew cooler and damper, the light began to dim. Where once were fluorescent lights, there were now torches. Where once were linoleum tiles, there were now rough-hewn stone slabs. It smelled like moss and damp. What few inquisitors we encountered on the way I dispatched with incredible ease, with absolutely no help from Thom whatsoever.


    I have no idea how Thom found my storage closet in that mess of a dungeon, but we soon found ourselves standing in front of its scratched wooden doors. Those flimsy boards were no match for my superior ¡®Meteor Kick¡¯ technique, which was why I couldn¡¯t expend my full force to kick them down. I¡¯ll only unleash my power against a worthy foe, after all. So Thom kicked down the doors for me.


    ¡°Oh hey, Brad. What¡¯s new?¡± The only full doggie cage in the room contained a hideously writhing mass of eldritch tentacles and twitching eyes. Wait, no. It actually contained a girl.


    ¡°Hey Katie! You know, I totally thought you were a hideous eldritch horror for a second.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I get that a lot. It kinda hurts when you call me hideous though¡­¡± Katie looked normal in every sense of the word, from her blackish brownish blondish hair, to her brownish greenish bluish eyes, to her human-colored skin. She looked like the background characters in your dreams.


    ¡°Anyways, we¡¯re here to rescue you! To free you from the oppression of this tyrannical church!¡± I stood with my bare chest puffed out and hands on my hips, a badass combination of Arnold Schwarzenegger and Bruce Lee. ¡°That¡¯s right, no need to thank me!¡±


    ¡°Oh, okay. Can you let me out of this cage then? And maybe get me some water?¡±


    Thom shot a glance at me ¡°She¡¯s the one? She ate the diarrhea?¡±


    ¡°Yeah! They were trying to starve a confession out of her, but I was kind enough to sacrifice my own meal to help her. Totally forgot that, honestly. I do so many acts of kindness it¡¯s hard to remember them all, you know?¡±


    Thom responded by shooting the locks off her cage. Katie kind of flopped out of the cage, landing in a sort of pool on the ground.


    ¡°Hey, this is really awkward, but I think my muscles atrophied from disuse and lack of nutrition,¡± said Katie. ¡°Could one of you carry me maybe?¡±


    ¡°Brad, carry the girl. I¡¯ll cover you.¡±


    I slung my fianc¨¦ over my back, piggyback style, and noted how light she felt. Almost as if she were filled with air or paper. Like a stray breeze could blow her away.


    Thom sighed. ¡°Alright. Let¡¯s re-break out of prison.¡±

 Chapter 0.91- Brad Runs From a Walrus and a Dwarf

    In the depths of that dank dungeon, a familiar moustachioed face was crying out in agony.


    ¡°You know how this works, dear!¡± Agnes Killy sung as she inserted yet another toothpick into Richard¡¯s urethra, ¡°Tell us the truth and this can all be over. All the pain, all the splinters¡­ now wouldn¡¯t that be nice?¡±


    ¡°I already told you, I don¡¯t know!! AUGH!¡±


    Lunchbox shuffled his feet awkwardly. He never knew how to behave in these interrogation sessions, all the screaming made him dreadfully uncomfortable. ¡°Now Mister, uh, Dick, please be reasonable. We just want to know where the Troll is. Just tell us and we can all go home! Except for you of course. You¡¯ll be dying a slow and agonising death. Is that so unreasonable?¡±


    ¡°Yes! Yes it is! Doesn¡¯t this violate all sorts of human rights regulations!?¡±


    ¡°Those are more¡­ suggestions rather than rules, dearest,¡± responded Agnes, ¡°Ask any modern superpower.¡±


    Richard was sweating like a pig under the burning fluorescent lights and above the burning metal plate he was sitting on. ¡°For the last time, I DON¡¯T KNOW! I tried to break him out of here, true! But I got shot! I don¡¯t know who took him!¡±


    ¡°Then make something up, for Shaw¡¯s sake!¡± cried Lunchbox, ¡°Do you know how long I¡¯ve been standing here!? We¡¯re all tired and we all want to go home, so stop being so selfish!¡±


    For the first time that afternoon, Reader Smith stepped forward from the wall he¡¯d been leaning on and spoke ¡°Forget it. The man doesn¡¯t know. You might as well release him.¡±


    ¡°About time!¡± said Mayor Shaw, ¡°I¡¯m glad at least one of you has some common sense!¡±


    ¡°What? But I was having so much fun! What about the Troll?¡± asked the Confessor.


    ¡°Well, if someone was doing their job and actually watching him, maybe this wouldn¡¯t have happened!¡± cried Reader Smith. ¡°What were you even doing, Agnes? I¡¯ve heard you weren¡¯t even present for most of the Troll¡¯s questioning. If I didn¡¯t know better, I¡¯d suspect you of defecting.¡±


    ¡°Is that a threat, Reader?¡± Agnes gave him a big, warm, terrifying smile. ¡°You of all people should know to pick your scapegoats better. After all, goats can bite.¡± She moved her surgical tray aside and sat on the low table. ¡°Besides, I was busy. Complications came up, and I¡¯m not as young as I used to be. You¡¯ll understand one day, dear.¡±


    Lunchbox, sensing the tense situation, decided to intervene before things got too out of hand. ¡°Now guys, I¡¯m sure this situation will all work out in the end, no need to argue! I¡¯ll tell you what, let¡¯s all go home, take a long shower, take the tubes out of our colons, and figure this out in the morning. Who knows, maybe we¡¯ll run into the Troll again some other time. Heck, he could show up right now for all we know!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous, your majesty, we¡¯re in the Dungeon,¡± said the Reader. ¡°Why would he return here of all places?¡±


    ¡°Reader! Confessor! Mayor Shaw!¡± cried a frenzied inquisitor as he barged into the room, ¡°The Troll and Inquisitor Lawless have returned to the Dungeon! They¡¯re wearing clown masks for some reason! Even though it¡¯s pretty obviously them!¡± Behind him, the faint screaming of sirens could barely be heard. ¡°We tried to get to you but this chamber¡¯s soundproof! Get to the¡± The unnamed inquisitor didn¡¯t get to finish his sentence, he was too busy being ripped in half.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°See?¡± said Mayor Shaw to the slack jawed others, ¡°These things work themselves out.¡±


    ¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª


    ¡°Hey, uh, Thom,¡± I said as the ex-inquisitor gunned down yet another three inquisitors, ¡°I¡¯m not an expert or anything, but I think we¡¯re going the wrong way.¡±


    Thom responded with a bestial snarl, flecks of foam flicking off his mouth.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think your friend¡¯s going to be too receptive to criticism right now,¡± noted the observant Katie from my back, ¡°Looks like he¡¯s in some sort of blood rage.¡± The wolfish Thom howled a scream more beast the man. ¡°Yep. Textbook blood rage behaviour. Might want to stay out of his sight.¡±


    *Click click* went his rifle. Thom¡¯s blood-drunk brain stared at the exhausted gun for a few seconds, seemingly incapable of accepting that ammo was a limited resource. This cold fact of reality infuriated the man-beast. He howled at the moon-colored fluorescent lights and bit a solid chunk out of his rifle, then charged forward on all fours, tearing out a fleeing inquisitor¡¯s jugular with his pearly whites in the process. Katie and I watched enthralled as he quite literally tore a hole in the inquisitorial forces, their bodies ripping like blood-flavored tissue paper.


    ¡°So. He clearly doesn¡¯t need my help,¡± I said, ¡°Let¡¯s go grab a pint and wait for all this to blow over.¡±


    ¡°I know a nice pub down the road. I think it¡¯s called the Winchester or something.¡± The dismembered member of an Inquisition member soared neatly past Katie¡¯s face. ¡°I remember a member shaped just like that one. Though it was still attached to the priest when we were introduced.¡±


    Katie¡¯s story was interrupted by Thom getting shot in the chest.


    We watched the life drain from his eyes, watched him go from living being to inanimate thing, watched his body drop like a sack of flour. A frumpy little man walked out of the adjacent room, shotgun in hand. ¡°See, this is why we need to increase the budget for the Inquisition, Your Majesty. They don¡¯t even have guns!¡±


    ¡°B-but nunchucks are so much cooler!¡± replied a whiny noise from further inside the room.


    ¡°Hey, uh, Brad,¡± said Katie, ¡°I¡¯m not an expert or anything, but I think this is the part where we run.¡± I didn¡¯t get to hear her argument for why, I was too busy breathing from all the sprinting.


    ¡°Wait Mr. Troll!¡± screamed the frumpy dwarf, ¡°We don¡¯t want to hurt you! We just want to talk!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t listen to him, Brad. He¡¯s a liar and a child molester. He also pees sitting down and wipes standing up.¡± I looked over my shoulder to find the midget sprinting after us. Fortunately, his legs were really short, so he couldn¡¯t really move all that fast. Behind him waddled a fat walrus-shaped man, face gleaming with sweat.


    ¡°Wait for me, Reader!¡± screamed the Walrus, ¡°The tube makes moving really awkward!¡± Even with our head start, we could still smell the hideous odor that seemed to seep from the Walrus¡¯s every pore.


    ¡°Huh, it¡¯s Mayor Shaw. I wonder what he¡¯s doing here,¡± noted Katie as I died from overwork under her. ¡°Why¡¯re you slowing down? Now¡¯s not the best time to be doing that, you know.¡±


    ¡°Tired!¡± I managed to gasp, ¡°Out of shape!¡± I moaned almost inaudibly when remembering all the steep stairs we descended to get here.


    Just when I thought things couldn¡¯t get worse, suddenly the floor vanished right under my feet. We fell right through the worn stone tiles onto a long slide, delivering Katie and me deeper and deeper into the colon of the dungeon.


    After what felt like hours of sliding, we finally landed on a surprisingly soft pile of hay. I sat up and looked around wildly. The landing room was built like the rest of the dungeon, but considerably older. Mold and moss settled on the crumbling stone walls and floor, and two feeble torches fought their hardest to light up the room. The oak door can hardly be called a door with how rotten it was.


    ¡°Well, that was unexpected. Looks like we lost them, at least,¡± muttered the still-paralysed Katie from inside the hay. My neck hairs stood on edge when my ears told them that footsteps were coming from the other side of the door. Slowly, the door creaked open to reveal a mountain of a man. He was at least eight feet tall and bulging with muscle. As he stepped into the light, we could make out his pink latex thong and mask. Purple tassels hung from his nipples.


    Lucifer approached us and offered me a hand. ¡°Hope you like pain, bitch.¡±

 Chapter 0.92: Brad Speaks With Lucifer

    The two of us strolled down the moss-laden corridors of the under-dungeon, torches in hand. As we walked, Lucifer weaved an intricate and expertly told tale of the treachery, drama, and betrayal that lead to the metropolis of trapdoors and corridors being built beneath the already labyrinthine dungeon. But I wasn¡¯t paying attention, so I missed it.


    ¡°Okay, cool backstory. So why are you helping us again? Didn¡¯t you sew me into a horse or something?¡±


    ¡°A living horse. Who do you think snuck that thing in? Who do you think kept losing those fire ants? You better be grateful, bitch.¡± Lucifer pressed a button wearing a brick costume and the wall folded in, revealing a small circular room stocked with medical supplies, food, water, and weapons. Three beds lay in parallel against the far wall. ¡°Welcome to the safe room, bitch. Hope you¡¯re ready for pain.¡±


    ¡°Why? This doesn¡¯t look so painful.¡±


    ¡°Not the room, bitch. I¡¯m talking emotional pain.¡± He put a meaty hand on my shoulder and knelt down to look me in the eye. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about your friend. It¡¯s hard losing someone you care about. Trust me, I know the feeling well. There¡¯s not a day that goes by that I don¡¯t think about her. But let me be the first to tell you that these things do get better.¡± Lucifer leaned me into a big sweaty hug. ¡°Just let me know if you want to talk. I¡¯m always here for you, bitch.¡±


    ¡°Uh, sure.¡±


    ¡°This is very sweet. Can I have some water please?¡± I looked around at the person on my back, who had grown particularly desiccated and wispy.


    ¡°Oh! Katie! I totally forgot you were here!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I get that a lot. Water, please.¡± I could barely feel her behind me, she was lighter than a breeze.


    ¡°Oh heck! What is that thing!?¡± Lucifer recoiled in horror before straightening up with a confused look on his face. ¡°Oh, excuse me. I mistook you for some sort of writhing abomination. Brad, put the girl on the bed.¡±


    ¡°Wait, you know my name? Most people here just call me ¡®Troll¡¯. Awfully prejudiced if you ask me.¡± I laid Katie on the bed and Lucifer held a water bottle up to her lips, which she drank from graciously.


    ¡°Yeah I know your name. Know your mom too.¡±


    I recoiled in horror before straightening up with a confused look on my face. ¡°Wait, you¡¯re a mercenary? But I haven¡¯t seen you before.¡±


    ¡°¡®Course not, bitch. I¡¯m stationed here. Evgenia has eyes everywhere. Even in Fort Pants. I¡¯ll admit, it was difficult infiltrating the church, but here I am.¡±


    I should¡¯ve expected this. Mother¡¯s middle name was overkill. ¡°You gonna turn me in? I like you, but I¡¯m not going down without a fight. All those inquisitors didn¡¯t stand a chance against me.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t want to fight me, bitch.¡± Lucifer gave me a look that would make gorillas wet themselves. But I wasn¡¯t a gorilla, so I shook it off. ¡°But that¡¯s not what this is about. Maybe it was at first, but the situation¡¯s changed. Sit down.¡±


    I sat on the opposite bed. ¡°Is this about the heat death of the universe? Some old guy was telling me earlier but I fell asleep. It seemed important.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, there was this whole alternate universe thing too. Really confusing.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve no idea what you¡¯re on about.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, me neither.¡±This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    ¡°¡­Anyways. No. This is about you, bitch. I don¡¯t know why you and your friend returned here, but it was a darned stupid thing to do. You¡¯re hecking lucky I was down here or you¡¯d be picking splinters out of your urethra along with Dick.¡±


    ¡°Oh, this is the murdering testicallers thing.¡±


    Lucifer nodded gravely. ¡°You¡¯re a wanted bitch, Brad. I don¡¯t know how you got into this mess, but until we get you out of it and catch the real murderer, you won¡¯t be safe anywhere, not even home. Your parents may have some sway with the government but they¡¯re nothing to the Mounties. Those bloodthirsty bitches will stop at nothing to see you dead once they get wind of your crimes. You thought the Dungeon was bad? The Royal Canadian Mounted Police will rip you to pieces.¡±


    ¡°Mounties? You mean the ones with horses and silly hats? What are they gonna do? It¡¯s not like they¡¯ll sew me into a live animal.¡±


    ¡°No. They¡¯ll do worse. I hope you¡¯re ready for pain, bitch, because when they find you, and trust me, they will find you, you¡¯ll wish you were impaled, burned, and displayed. Don¡¯t trust those tricky pricks.¡±


    ¡°Huh.¡± I¡¯d always been suspicious of those RCMP bastards. Glad to have my feelings validated. ¡°So, how do we find the murderer?¡±


    Lucifer pulled out a tiny envelope, out of which he retrieved an even tinier pepper. It was wrinkled, black, and smelled like pain. I recognized it immediately. ¡°A reliable source dropped this off. Said it was found near the scene of the first murder.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the Holy-Trolly-God¡¯s-Oh-No-y Pepper!¡± I can remember them clearly from Dad¡¯s history lessons. How he would howl bitter and horrible while tracing a map of our surrounding forests. ¡°I thought they were all destroyed in the fire!¡±


    ¡°So, you¡¯re familiar. Then you know of the uncontacted tribes that would worship this cursed fruit. The hideous and unnameable rituals they¡¯d perform, the chants that would stretch late into the nights, the black magic that poisoned the very spirit of our once-proud land.¡±


    ¡°Uh. Sure.¡±


    Lucifer shook his head. ¡°Those bitches were ready for pain. I¡¯d hoped they were wiped out when I heard of the fire, I really did. But I should¡¯ve known better. I know they¡¯re behind this mess. And I don¡¯t know how or why you were turned into this troll creature, but I¡¯m certain it¡¯s related.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Okay.¡±


    ¡°Listen, Brad. I know your friend¡¯s passing has hit you hard and you¡¯ll need time to mourn, but I need your help with this case. Your innocence and your life rests on the results, you understand? I don¡¯t know him but I¡¯m sure this is what he would¡¯ve wanted. For you to carry on living, for you to right this wrong and clear your name. You will get your time to mourn later. But now we must fight.¡±


    I looked at my hands and almost shed a tear. ¡°You¡¯re right. His death hit me really hard. I¡¯m dying on the inside. But one thing you should know about me is that I¡¯m incredibly strong. Both emotionally and physically.¡± I stood up, heart swelling with passion and grief. ¡°I¡¯m also unbelievably kind, which is why I will help you to save my life.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, bitch. I knew I could count on you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m also, like, genius-level smart and ridiculously handsome. And I¡¯m charismatic too. And humble. And kind. Wait, I already said that.¡±


    ¡°Okay, I get the idea. If you¡¯re up for it, we¡¯ll head out immediately.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m always ready. Where are we going?¡±


    ¡°Where all of this started. We¡¯re going back to your family land, the ash wastes of Fort Pants Forest. Not that it¡¯s much of a forest anymore.¡±


    ¡°Uh, guys?¡± said the person on the bed where Lucifer was sitting.


    Lucifer jumped forward, startled. ¡°Oh! Wow, sorry, I totally forgot you were here!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I get that a lot. I¡¯m all for clearing Brad¡¯s name but can I maybe get some food first? Like a sandwich or a burrito¡­ maybe some chicken¡­¡±


    Lucifer took a Canadian IMP ration off a shelf and got it out onto a tray. Nice! With shaking hands, Katie shoveled fistfuls of the high protein, constipation-inducing sludge into her unhinged jaw.


    ¡°So¡­¡± said Lucifer awkwardly, ¡°you really like muesli, huh.¡± For a man his size, Lucifer easily sidestepped a flying speck of spittle. ¡°You know, it¡¯s probably helpful to chew once in a while. Or not. It¡¯s your life, I guess¡­¡±


    ¡°Mmmfghethm,¡± Katie responded through the carnage. In two minutes, Katie had stuffed the meal down her gullet. We watched as her once shriveled and dry husk began to slowly inflate, like a bouncy castle being filled with air. Her bones cracked and organs churned as she swelled and writhed. Suddenly she rose out of bed and to her feet, good as new.


    She rehinged her jaw with a crack and smiled sleepily at me. ¡°That¡¯s better. I think I¡¯m beginning to regain feeling in my fingers. Whew, that was almost bad.


    ¡°Sorry you had to see that, Brad. I¡¯m different when I¡¯m hungry.¡±


    ¡°Um,¡± said an apprehensive looking Lucifer, ¡°I don¡¯t think we¡¯ve been introduced.¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah, this is Katie. She¡¯s my fianc¨¦.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Interesting choice in women.¡±


    ¡°What can I say, I¡¯m an interesting man.¡±


    Katie stretched like a cat and bounced up and down a few times. ¡°Okay! Ready to go. Lead the way!¡±


    Lucifer shrugged. ¡°Could always use an extra hand, I guess.¡±