《Shadow of Steel》 Prologue - Part 1 Northern California, September 1973 A bee wove through the blades of grass, zigging and zagging, bobbing up and down. The wild breeze filled with floral scents pulled it this way and that, like micro-flotsam that churned in ocean tides. As chaotic as the bee''s route seemed, it was deliberate and directed, like most of nature¡¯s designs. Another bee intersected her path. The tired worker zigged. She barely dodged the collision, only to zag around yet another bee circling the same flower. The bee, along with her sisters, flew around in invisible circles as if compelled by an intangible force, unnoticed by the farmers. In the middle of the barrier were small shrubs with lush violet fruit. On the edge of the field, Farmer Ted marveled at the acre of shrubs. His two farmhands, Rob and Luis, were equally pleased. The strange flower invited just one bee for pollination, repelling all others. As the shrubs and fruit grew, so did their barrier, repelling all pesky insects and animals. The strawberry field nearby also enjoyed this protection and grew with half the effort. Just yesterday, the hard workers lugged heavy tanks of viscous liquid on their backs. These tanks and their contents were provided by the same company that supplied them the fruit seeds. They sprayed two ample sprays a week at the roots and trunk. In less than ninety days, the seeds grew to full producing shrubs. The workers worked quickly to finish the job as the substance changed from bright green to a dull brown by the time they finished. The strong scent of iron and cut grass permeated through their masks. The odor lingered until they went back home to shower. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. Ted had been suspicious at first. MagaFarms supplied him with the seeds and the special nutrient without charging a penny. All they asked from him was a mere quarter of the crop¡¯s profits, which they even promised to sell on his behalf. Ted walked back to the farmhouse and remembered the day the MagaFarms salesman came knocking. It was a summer day, just like this one, passing by the exact spot he took the deal. He was warned by his neighbor Eddy to expect the salesman. ¡°Those people smell wrong, and they look too beefed up for salespeople.¡± Ever-suspicious Eddy had been right. The salesman kept smiling the entire time they sat together. It was a normal wide smile, which was fine. But alarmingly, the smile stayed on during their entire hour-long discussion. Ted noticed a twitch every now and then. As if the salesman¡¯s face wanted to rest its smile but couldn¡¯t. The offer was too good to believe and the salesman was enigmatic and problematic. Ted opened his mouth to decline but that was exactly when the salesman came closer and placed his heavy hand on Ted¡¯s shoulder. Ted stood straight, shrugging off the salesman. His chest puffed out. ¡°On second thought, I can try a single acre. Try something different for once. Instead of strawberries year-round.¡± The perpetually cheerful salesman returned after the first harvest of the violet fruits, which people at MagaFarms called ¡°Malvaos.¡± Ted was smiling too. He received an advance for producing more intact fruit than the typical yield. The salesman provided a stack of cash, surpassing profit coming from the rest of his twenty-five acres. Once another contract was signed, the salesman brought him more seeds and supplies. The salesman¡¯s eyes never strayed too long from the harvested fruit. At the end of the transaction, both the salesman and Ted were glad their interaction was over. -- Ted opened the door and raised his nose, welcomed by the smell of roast beef. Gena must have had an especially good day today. He entered the house with a smile. Life was enjoyable as of late, and he was content. Prologue - Part 2 Two thousand and fifty miles east and nine months later Donna Olson and George Hanson sat for some coffee. ¡°You sure this plant ain¡¯t bad for the land?¡± Donna cradled the cup of coffee in her hands as she took a sip, gazing across George¡¯s patio to the fields of Malvaos covering the entire horizon. ¡°Nah. Dem Malvaos are great for the land. The cotton has grown higher and fuller than any other year.¡± George drank from his cup in gulps. ¡°The best thing I ever did, growing dem Malvaos.¡± ¡°What about the animals?¡± She sat up in attention. ¡°They don¡¯t come near it.¡± George shrugged. ¡°Something M. Produce said about its medicinal properties and repelling its predators.¡± He set his nearly empty cup onto the small bamboo table. Donna stared at the field with a shine in her eyes. Those were extremely laden shrubs, she thought. ¡°And they pay well?¡± Donna adjusted the way she sat, glancing at George and back at the field. ¡°Oh boy! Do they?¡± George guffawed, holding his shaking belly. ¡°They pay three times the price of anything I ever grew, and I get to do it three times every year.¡± Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. ¡°Damn! I should have taken them on their offer then.¡± Donna sucked through trembling lips from her cup. ¡°Next season, I¡¯ll tell¡¯em to pass by your farm. You won¡¯t regret it.¡± -- Two hundred miles north, one and a half years later A six-year-old girl ran through the fields of Malvaos like a tiny three-foot storm. She spread her arms as she ran just like a gliding eagle, soaring above the young purple shrubs. She stopped briefly to look at a gopher hole in her way, then she sped out again. ¡°Saya!¡± a thirty-something woman called at the girl from the edge of the field. ¡°Coming, mama!¡± She ran, slowing to a stroll at the last minute. Leaning into the nearest shade tree, she cocked her head and asked, ¡°You called?¡± ¡°Didn¡¯t I tell you not to run in the Malvao shrubs?¡± the girl¡¯s mother reprimanded with a deep frown. ¡°But I wanted to catch the gopher,¡± Saya whined. ¡°There are no gophers in those fields, Saya. No animal comes near the shrubs. You know that.¡± Her frown and forehead wrinkles grew two-fold. ¡°But I swear there was a gopher hole, right in the middle of it!¡± Saya waved her arm to the field. ¡°Young lady, I won¡¯t take this attitude from you.¡± Her mother moved to pull her back to the house. Saya swung her arm away. ¡°Ugh! Ok, ok!¡± Saya¡¯s arms went up in submission as she walked towards the front door. Her mother opened the door to the house as they came to it, pushed the girl inside, and said, ¡°Hurry and take a bath. And scrub with a lot of soap! Make sure to get that Malvaos taint off you!¡± ¡°It¡¯s only bad when the Malvao bursts, Mama!¡± Saya cried. ¡°You don¡¯t know that,¡± her mom shook her head. ¡°Any exposure could be bad. Those shades of violet stay on for seasons! Imagine, my baby, the freak of the town!¡± She shooed her away while drawing her head backward, lips curled in disgust. Prologue - Part 3 Three hundred miles to the west and another year later ¡°Hello?¡± A man sat by the window as he held the phone receiver. Somebody on the other side said something. The man nodded his head and said, ¡°Mr. Cooper, I¡¯ve been trying to reach you all week.¡± Again, he nodded. ¡°Yeah, about that. The crops in the west field are failing somehow.¡± He paused to listen. ¡°No, I only used younger people to gather the fruit this time. Nobody ¡®bove twenty.¡± He nodded several times before finally saying, ¡°Yeah, I did, but gopher holes are sprouting all over the place. Had to gas them out.¡± Another minute of listening passed. ¡°Honestly, I didn¡¯t know. You never told me not to do it.¡± Shaking his head vigorously, he replied, ¡°No, sir. Not gonna do it again. But what about the gophers?¡± He nodded till his eyes watered. ¡°Yes, sir. Waiting for you to come, sir.¡± He finally replaced the phone¡¯s handset in its cradle and looked with angst at the fields beyond his window where Malvao shrubs filled every corner of his small farm. -- Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Fifty miles further west and only a week after ¡°You say that your dog just got swallowed by that hole?¡± The sheriff talked to the disheveled woman as his deputy leaned with a large flashlight into the dark hole. ¡°It got poor Spud in a second! She howled from inside the hole for an entire minute before she stopped.¡± The woman had tear trails dried over her cheeks. She clasped her hands for some time, squared her arms over her chest, and went back to clasping. ¡°Ma¡¯am, let¡¯s start with you telling us the dog¡¯s breed, for starters.¡± The Sheriff stifled a yawn. Mary was infamous for her bogus calls. Just last week, she reported aliens stealing her chickens. The dog could be anywhere, least of all that hole. ¡°German shepherd.¡± Mary sniffed. ¡°Spud was a fine dog.¡± ¡°Mary, this hole is barely wide enough to pass a rabbit.¡± The sheriff tapped the shoulder of his deputy. ¡°A German shepherd would never fit through this tiny opening here.¡± ¡°You think I am lying?¡± Mary¡¯s voice increased. ¡°You think I''m crazy or not right in the head?¡± Her voice shook. ¡°I tell you my dog is down there, and you should do something about it!¡± Her face was beet red and her body was shaking. ¡°No, Mary. I shouldn¡¯t.¡± The sheriff closed his notebook and faced the small woman. ¡°I won¡¯t be wasting taxpayers¡¯ money on some junkie.¡± He turned to his deputy and said, ¡°Come on, Will. We have other real business to attend to.¡± As they both departed, Mary leaned over the opening and said, ¡°I hear you, baby. Mama¡¯s going to get you out. Mama¡¯s going to find a way.¡± The wind swept over Mary¡¯s head, and just for a moment, she could hear the faraway whining of a German shepherd. Ray A hundred miles south, fifty to the west, and a month later Ray trembled at the edge of his field. Something very odd was happening in there, and he was unable to move. A distant echo of voices shouted from behind as if filtered by deep slumber. The lights playing in the middle of the field were even stronger than the searchlights from the nearby stadium, and they were changing colors from red to violet to blue very fast. But the lights were not what caused Ray to be stuck in his spot at the edge of the field. It was the shadows that played within. He could swear that he was seeing a faraway city or at least the ruins of a city within the light, and shadows of people running scared from something huge on the other side. But Ray was confused. Only the usual mist creeped the Malvao fields during the night. Instead, he was seeing a green hulk in front of him. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. He wondered if he was having a stroke. Old Willie told him that he saw his dead wife when he had his. Although Willie never mentioned the lights or shouting. Somebody was shouting behind him, and they were very excited about something. Ray finally managed to move his head to one side to see the face of his son-in-law. So he was the one who was shouting this whole time. In fact, he was also pulling Ray along. Ray just realized that he was moving, slowly, but he moved all the same. He was turned around to see his daughter and her two sons looking completely distraught as they signaled for him and his son-in-law to come closer. As the distance increased between Ray and the field, he shook off his tranquilized state and started to walk faster. Soon, he was running alongside his son-in-law. His heart was beating so fast, he felt that it would soon take off like an airplane. Once inside the house, he looked at the horror in everybody''s eyes and asked, ¡°What was that?¡± His daughter jumped and hugged him. She embraced her husband next and leaned on his shoulder, sobbing. The Lost Mine - Part 1 California, Monte Cristo Gold Mine, September 1979 ¡°You must need an army to tend that farm, uncle Joe.¡± A young woman of around her late twenties addressed a far older man who pulled a chair for her to sit next to him on the patio of a colonial design house. ¡°Nah, not really. Just a few men, and I hire some kids for the gatherings.¡± Joe smiled through his heavy beard. ¡°Kids? How can you find kids during the school season?¡± The younger woman sat and looked around with big eyes at everything around her. ¡°I don¡¯t need a lot. Plus, the gatherings have to be past five p.m. anyway. Every crop has its quirks, Jenny.¡± Joe made a grand gesture to his immense farm. This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. ¡°Never heard of a crop that has to be gathered at certain hours. That¡¯s odd, and sort of funny.¡± Jenny gave a short and dry laugh. ¡°Not true. Most crops need special times, special ways to pick them. Not everything can be done by machines, sadly.¡± Joe shook his head. ¡°But aren¡¯t Malvaos the same plants that caused the hallucinations back east?¡± Jenny looked intently at the violet fruit filling every shrub in the field, covering her horizon of vision. ¡°Yeah, but it was the mistake of those people back east. Some idiot gassed the field and the gas reacted with the fruit and produced the substance that led to the group hallucination.¡± Joe waved his hand in dismissal, as he turned his head and pursed his mouth. ¡°I heard that too. Those poor people.¡± Jenny bent her head and frowned. The Lost Mine - Part 2 ¡°Their mistake. The company which holds the franchise gives you a manual with the seeds to ensure the best crop yield, and it says never to use insecticides, fertilizers, or any other chemicals near the Malvaos. It¡¯s even printed in big, bold letters.¡± Joe shrugged. ¡°Big and bold may be good for those with poor sight, but not for those poor of mind.¡± Jenny looked down and kept her silence. Her uncle Joe was too harsh when it concerned others. Like with Uncle Bill who flunked high school. Everytime Uncle Bill opened his mouth, Uncle Joe quacked and circled around him while flapping his arms. The silence spread for some minutes, then Joe said all of a sudden, ¡°You ever heard of the Padres¡¯ lost mine?¡± ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Jenny wrinkled her nose. She stared at her uncle waiting for him to answer his question. He might be opinionated and a bit rude, but he was full of stories that always managed to drag her from the city to visit him. ¡°It¡¯s a local legend of sorts.¡± Joe adjusted his seating and turned to face Jenny. ¡°The legend goes that around a hundred and fifty years ago, some priests fell on a gold vein so big, a mother lode of the highest grade, that it¡¯s never been heard of before.¡± This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°They managed to convince some Indian locals to work for them and they built a huge mine around the gold vein.¡± Joe nodded as if to some hidden audience and smiled. ¡°But, for some unknown reason, the Indians got the impression that they were played for fools by the Padres.¡± ¡°One day, they took it in their heads to punish the Padres, and poof, the mine was gone.¡± He snapped his fingers and winked to the raptly fascinated Jenny. ¡°Some say that they just dismantled the whole thing, buried the mine, and changed the markers of the geography around it for the padres never to find it again. Which they didn¡¯t.¡± ¡°Others say that they used ancient magic and sent the mine to their ancestral grounds.¡± He pointed to his nose and nodded. ¡°While yet others swear that it is located right here on my land and that someday when the curse is lifted, the gold will eventually show.¡± He laughed and leaned towards his niece and said in a low voice, ¡°This is why I bought the land in the first place.¡± Now it was Jenny¡¯s turn to laugh. ¡°Did you try to find it?¡± Jenny asked him with glowing eyes. ¡°What for? The very day I bought the place, the people from Maga Farms came to me with their Malvao seeds. I might as well forget about the whole mine thing, since I am making enough profit without the hazards of a gold mine,¡± he chortled. The Lost Mine - Part 3 As they both laughed, a loud shout of warning came from the east part of the field, followed immediately by a louder scream. Startled, Joe sprang to his feet and rushed towards the source. Jenny stood rooted to spot, waiting for him to come back with an update. The scream had destroyed their merry mood, and both of them were nervous. Joe proceeded forward for some distance, then he made a sharp turn back, and bolted towards Jenny. His wide eyes, raised eyebrows, and parted lips showed his panic. ¡°Run!¡± he shouted at the top of his lungs. It took Jenny some moments to register what he was warning her of, but then, she saw it. Like a child devouring lollipops, the shrubs were sucked in one after another in the ground. The hole, it''s circumference too perfectly round to be natural, precariously ate away at the land just beneath Joe as he darted away. A low whimper escaped her as she turned and ran towards her car. Joe¡¯s shouts came directly from behind her, urging her to run faster. Suddenly, the shouts stopped, but she didn¡¯t dare to look behind. She ran, her tight shoes exploding at the seams, yet she didn¡¯t falter a single step. She ran to the other end of the farm where all the cars were parked. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. She didn¡¯t dare look behind her to check if Joe made it, or if the landfall had stopped. Three times, she pulled her keys from her purse, only to have them slip through her fingers. When she finally had them, she fumbled uselessly with the keyhole of her car¡¯s door. Worse, the keys fell, and she had to bend down to get them. As she bent she realized that the landfall stopped and that half of the house was gone. So was Joe. She fell on the ground and started to cry hot, searing tears as she trembled while trying to hold the keys of her cars tight in her hand. -- A man wearing an immaculate striped blue suit sat at a small wooden desk and held a phone handset next to his ear. ¡°Sir, no sir, they don¡¯t know yet. Nobody does,¡± he said in a rigid tone. He listened to somebody barking orders on the other side for a minute. ¡°We can isolate the opened portals within the week, sir. We are mobilizing an engineering unit to build a wall around the farms.¡± He listened for a moment. ¡°We are not sure yet, could be hundreds of them out there. I will contact all our agents across the country to come back with the precise figures.¡± He nodded as the person at the side barked some more orders. ¡°If there¡¯s more than a single portal in any town, we will cordon the entire area. But you have to erase these towns from the map on your side. Label them military compounds. Civilians without any use should be sent to prison camps.¡± He nodded twice, hung up, and stood. On the other side of the room was a small locker. He opened it and reached inside to retrieve a Colonel¡¯s uniform, and started to change out of his suit. The Beckoning - Part 1 Michigan, Camp Allegan, August 1, 1981 Crushing pain startled me awake. My arms and legs shook outward in panic. I reached for my head. A pounding headache. Why? A heavy studded boot stepped on the side of my face. That¡¯s why. With my head planted to the ground, I felt the panic spread from my brain to the rest of my body. Lightning struck and poisoned me, unable to escape my body. I was hyperventilating. My brain screamed for escape. As much as I tried, I couldn¡¯t move the weight off my head. I took short breaths, sucking in the moist air of the night. The smell of freshly crushed grass mixed with the vile odor of artificial rubber of my captor¡¯s boot. I tried to pry it off. I dug deep under the sole with my fingers and tried to lift. My other senses gradually came back in between pulsating throbs of searing pain. My eyes opened wider, trying to regain focus, and that¡¯s when I spotted the shadowy outline of the prison barracks in the distance. Spitting out bits of gravel and dirt, I fought hard not to scream. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. Remnants of crushed rock macerated into my right cheek. I felt the thick knobby rubber tread of the combat boot pressed against my skull. The tormentor holding me down shined a flashlight into my face. I narrowed my eyes. ¡°Prisoner, explain yourself!¡± a shout boomed from above me, alarming the nearby crickets into silence. I knew this voice. Blood raged inside my veins. He lived to taunt and torment. My rage exploded. My fists, clenched with a volatile mix of rage and disgust, smacked at his boot. Get. Off. Already! I really wanted to scream that out loud, but knew I had to restrain myself. Raucous laughter burst from my captor, loud and hollow. That¡¯s how easily he dismissed my vigilance, my counter to his boot. I stayed silent, knowing my screams of agony would only thrill and excite him into more violence. This usual pretentious show of bravado could only be gap-toothed Tracy. Ever since the first day, his commanding voice was an octave lower when ordering us around. No doubt he had an audience building and was swishing his greasy seaweed bangs to the right, just like on Collection Day. I clenched my fist, digging nails into skin. The Beckoning - Part 2 (added missing chunk) Tracy kicked me with his boot so that I could stare at the stars... and then ruined the view with his face. I hit him with my best laser death glare. He held his flashlight towards his chin, and his big nose flared like an enraged bull¡¯s nose. I focused on his big-gapped mustache to avoid his scowl but he superglued his eyes to mine. Oh no. I tried looking away. I didn¡¯t want him in my head. ¡°Hold her face,¡± Tracy barked at the nearest guard. Shaun untied his shirt from around his waist and wrapped it around me, keeping his hands from touching my skin directly. I knew Shaun. He wasn¡¯t a power-hungry psychopath like Tracy. He always turned the other way when Tracy was on his malicious streak. Even as he gripped my face and held me down, I understood he was just doing his job. Just trying to avoid Tracy''s wrath. I wasn¡¯t going to plead with Shaun with my eyes. Instead, I kept my steely gaze on Tracy. Look fierce, Saya. Show him you¡¯re not prey. Shaun tried stopping Tracy before. That just got the prisoner and himself beat up even more. I was determined to keep my thoughts to myself, lest my friends suffer even more punishing humiliation. Tracy dropped the flashlight, grabbed my sleeve carefully and crouched on my chest with a grin, faking a calm and collected demeanor. I could smell his sweat overpowering the same ivory soap we had in our prison. At least before our soap ran out. I was surprised he stomached my prison stench and got this close. ¡°Making quite the noise tonight,¡± he paused, scanning the area. Some prisoners must have come out to see the commotion. Tracy clapped three times for attention. ¡°Showtime¡¯s over. Billy, corral them back inside. Zap anyone who wants to linger.¡± The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Quick as he could whistle with his gapped teeth, Tracy held out his stun gun. Billy, even quicker, came over to grab it with a reassuring, sinister grin. You couldn¡¯t trust Billy with his own. Not after what happened to Wanda. Tracy turned to me, stroking the edge of his over-parted mustache. ¡°Now, as I was saying. What in the blue blazes were you up to in the dead of the night?¡± ¡°I¡­¡± Good question. What was I doing out here? ¡°I don¡¯t really know.¡± ¡°And let me guess,¡± Tracy leaned closer, never blinking. ¡°You don¡¯t remember shaking the gates either... and mumbling under your breath?¡± I shook my head. Tracy narrowed his eyes. ¡°Look here, Purple,¡± he threatened. My name was Saya. But ever since I turned purple, the nickname stuck. After years of harvesting Malvaos, I got the purple taint in me, as Mom would say. Purple¡¯s fine. I wanted them to fear me. ¡°I don¡¯t care that you¡¯re leaving here soon. It¡¯s not soon enough.¡± He gripped me harder. ¡°And they don¡¯t pay me enough.¡± He dug his nails into my shirt. Grimacing, I took the pain, prepared for the worst. He quickly released my arms and backed away fast enough to stay safe from direct contact and slow enough to look in control. He did so only to kick and stomp on me until he was satisfied. I stayed silent and curled, gasping for air. It only took moments to be broken to bits. The pain I held inside was not just physical but emotional. I was fragile and frail. Powerless. But I did not give myself permission to cry. Cockroaches don¡¯t cry. Neither will I. ¡°Do this again, and I¡¯ll have my gloves ready to give you a black eye to remember me by,¡± he growled. He¡¯s the one that needed a black eye. A black eye would improve his image, I fumed. Seize the silence. Words mean nothing to a roach. Live on. The Beckoning - Part 3 After a couple of painful moments of rest, I staggered up and looked around to see Billy take over Shaun¡¯s watch of me. Billy held the taser out. Tracy boasted they¡¯d equip all cops with these new tasers by 1990. They were meant for long-range, instead of the short-ranged stun gun. The last time Billy had a taser, he shot the escapee Wanda in the back. She was taken to the hospital and we never saw her again. We were the guinea pigs before the product was approved for use by the police. I hoped they would never approve it. I backed away from Billy. As my back pinned to the cold hard steel of the chain-linked fence, I had a flashback. My dream led me here, to the small shed on the other side of the fence. I must¡¯ve dreamed about this wooden shack a dozen times. In my dreams, a mysterious purplish light, evensome smoke, emanated from it. The light pulled on me like gravity, drawing me nearer and nearer. There was an inexplicable feeling inside, that if I reach it, I would be in a safe bubble, impervious to harm. I wrapped my arms around myself, my hands clenched tightly onto my sleeves. I just couldn¡¯t fill the void of that safe feeling. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Now I could see a pulsing purple mist coming out from under the crudely padlocked door. D¨¦j¨¤ vu. This happened in my dream. Now it was happening for real. I hooked my fingers into the metal fence as my body flushed hot and tingly. Out of nowhere, a giant white moth? Butterfly? A moth, I decided, flew frantically towards the shed. "You should run away," Billy said, startling me out of staring into the darkness and into his long, flowing Hillbilly locks. "Like Wanda." He smiled a joker of a smile, a smile so wide the ends reached the tops of his cheeks. "Or stay here, and I could say you ran." If I ran away, if I attempted a jail-break, I would only be giving him what he wanted. I ran anyway. I don¡¯t mean escaping the prison. I ran all the way back to my building, scurrying my way out of the spotlight. The way of the roach. Once inside, I tiptoed around the rest of the sleeping tenants to the corner of the barracks, to where my grandmother slept fitfully with chronic, phlegm-filled coughs. I felt her forehead every night to make sure she hadn¡¯t run a fever. Months of this lifestyle wasn¡¯t sustainable. I needed my grandmother out of here. Prison Break - Part 1 Michigan, Camp Allegan, August 9, 1981 ¡°Get it together,¡± I whispered to myself, pulling aside the bunch of bramble branches against the fence. ¡°Today¡¯s the day.¡± My heart raced as I heard a rustling noise. I filled with dread, barely overcoming it enough to glance at the field behind me, thinking Billy snuck up behind me with that taser. But there was no one... I''d made sure of it. Distractingly, a yellowed and tattered newspaper somersaulted fancifully across the compound floor with a breeze. We hadn''t seen an actual newspaper for ages. I looked forward again, trying to focus. I¡¯d checked this spot so many times, but even so, I sighed with relief when I saw the little hole I¡¯d made was still there, undiscovered and unmended. Swallowing, I got down on hands and knees and shoved the little brown shoulder pack through. Next would come the hard part. Crawling through a hole barely big enough for my head. Flattening myself down, I fit my arms through, panic rising. If I was caught halfway through the tunnel, that''d be the end of it. A lot was riding on me to distract the guards. I couldn¡¯t get caught here. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. I got up on the opposite side of the fence, then quickly ducked, momentarily forgetting to make myself small and unnoticed. I brushed myself off with shaky hands. Brushing at my shirt was futile. My white shirt tinted brown through the excessive wear over the past three months of captivity. I looked up. This time I looked for Tracy and his smug face, imagining what he¡¯d do if he saw me on this side of the fence. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my breathing. This moment of freedom didn¡¯t smell any different. Knowing the consequences of being spotted on this side was much worse, I shivered and my heart skipped a beat. Fidgeting, I touched my right bruised eye which had formed as a consequence of another night of sleepwalking. He made good on his word, but I expected worse. It was the same dream, I was caught at the fence again, in front of the shack. Tracy threatened to chain me up the next time. If all went well and the working adults escaped, he¡¯d chain me up before the day ended. Worse than being chained up, I had to escape. Rumor has it that I¡¯d get shipped back to Steel for slave labor to the death¡­ something illegal that requires healthy young kids. Alleya and Jonathan, the oldest teens left, were ripped from their families. Come next month, they¡¯d take me too. Not if I can help it. Determined, I threw a fist in the air. Prison Break - Part 2 Kneeling beside my pack, I pulled out the first of two bundles. Wrapped in my bright red cape, I removed the borrowed watch and attached it to my thin wrist. It hung loose. The other bundle, which would stay tightly wrapped for now, contained a shriveled pod, a little smaller than a football. I stroked a finger across the rough linen wrapping it. My secret weapon. I put on my pack and snuck closer into position. The adult prisoners would be ushered back in from a day of forced labor at 16:30. I checked my watch. Thirty seconds. Scurrying over to my assigned bush, I glanced around, slipped on the bright red cape, and started digging. The warm, loose soil scooped easily with little more than a flat rock. Good. I had the right spot. The roar of a motor and the squealing of brakes drew my attention, and I looked up to see the big white van pulling to a stop. In the driver''s seat sat Shaun, the transportation officer, a cigarette hanging from his thin lips. He tipped his hat and winked, taking a deep draw and letting the cloud out the open window. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. I shook my head. To think all it took to bribe him was that pack of cigarettes. The door of the van burst open, and out scrambled thirty adults, running for their lives. The strongest runners were to run along the only road this prison had. The other runners were to make for the lake. To find something to float on, to get to civilization, to call for help. I nearly laughed at the absurdity. We were the poor citizens of Steel, Michigan, wrongly imprisoned. Without reason, soldiers forced us to relocate to the abandoned Camp Allegan. Heard they used to hold World War II Prisoners of War here, close to forty years ago. Yet again, they held innocent people, people like me, against their will, marking the backs of our shirts on the first day with P, for prisoner. Degrading. Repulsive. We lived worse than branded cattle. Meanwhile, plumbing in the military brick buildings drew brown water... on good days. On the bad days, we had to carry heavy buckets of water from Lake Allegan, under watchful eyes. Holes in the roof removed any chance at insulation. At least it helped with the urine and other putrid odors in the bathrooms. Sheets were nailed to the walls where windows used to be. It was summer - food and drinking water were scarce. When we hauled the lake water back to prison, we made do with soup concocted of dandelion leaves and grass. Prison Break - Part 3 When we first arrived at the camp, the officer¡¯s radio mentioned Steel, Michigan was quarantined for a virus outbreak. Thinking that we would believe the obvious lie felt like an insult to our intelligence. We were so much better than that. But back to my mission. It was time. I grabbed the end of the bolt cutter and gave it a good yank. The earth surrendered and I stumbled back. Triumphant, I raised my weapon and let out a victorious ¡°yeah!¡± under my breath. Snapping back to reality, I held it close and darted for the shed. I heard young Annie and James shouting to the nearest officer, right on time. ¡°Look over there! She¡¯s going to the weapons shed!¡± I smiled. I knew I could count on James to be loud but their acting could use more work. They didn¡¯t exactly like me, but the kids had nothing to lose. They¡¯d be taken sometime after me. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. My feet kicked up some dirt and pounded the grass. The shed stood alone, shaded by the edge of the forest. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the lake far behind me, with dozens of little figures plunging in, and a few already floating out on logs. A mix of bravery and foolery shot through me. I stood my ground and faced the chasing men, who were still far behind. I lifted and waved my red cape while shouting, ¡°Here I am, come catch me!¡± I was part-superhero and part-peacock in the middle of a mating ritual. I inhaled and whooped as loud as my lungs could handle, ¡°You can¡¯t catch me!¡± I¡¯m the gingerbread man, I thought, One that¡¯s about to be eaten. So far, the distraction seemed to be working. Out of the corner of my eye, I spied the faster ones on the logs, kicking hard in the water. Keep on swimming, guys. Please don¡¯t get caught. I ran the last stretch and slid to a halt at the wooden door. Now I just had to get past the lock. I was dying to get inside the shed. Was it as special as my dreams foretold? I knew the makeshift ¡°armory¡± contained weapons of all shapes and sizes but also held the new favorite weapon of choice, long-range tasers. But what else? Prison Break - Part 4 Jamming the jaws of the bolt cutter down onto the padlock, I squeezed. Even by practically climbing on the cutter, leveraging my whole weight on one arm and the other on the door, I couldn¡¯t break the lock. ¡°Gah!!¡± I felt sweat beads from panic and fear starting to form upon my forehead. The lock stayed unbroken despite my best efforts. "No," I whispered frantically. "No, no, no." Out of frustration, I took the bolt cutter and swung it like a club, onto the lock. Nothing was damaging it. Not even a single dent. I wished for the guards to get distracted or for them to trip on a tree root. That didn¡¯t happen either. The guards had their eyes trained on my red-clad figure and were heading towards me at a quick pace. If I failed... No, I can¡¯t fail. I had to manage. I opened the bolt cutter¡¯s jaw once more. I closed my eyes, reminiscing about the tastiest, creamiest cold ice cream cone together with some hot, crunchy, and salty french fries from McDonald''s. I imagined it just beyond that door. Holding those mental images, I flexed my arms for one last burst, as hard as I could. Hunger did not cut the lock. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. Dammit! I hurled the bolt cutters down, my forearms pulsating. I stretched out my fingers and gave my arms a shake. They used to have some lean muscle to it before this. Picking the cutters up again, I tried again for longer. This time, the pain was worse. I dropped to my knees, sobbing with exertion and panic. I¡¯m such an idiot! Why did I think this would work? I threw a hurried glance over my shoulder. Four guards careened around the corner of the fence, shouting louder as we made eye contact. More followed. Some reached for tasers on their belt, others for their batons. What now? I clenched my pack. The pod! Right, you weak idiot! Use your other muscle for once! I had no control over being stunted and weak through malnutrition but not exercising my brain was my fault alone. I was sweating, legs shaky and weak. Hunger pains, I told myself. Just hunger pains. You can get through this. Time for my experimental strategy with my possible weapon, the purple pruned Malvao pod. Prison Break - Part 5 I remembered when the soldiers stripped me from my home three months ago when I harvested the first ripe Malvao pod of the season. The fragile fruit full of purple dye resembled a much larger, delicate version of a grape. Picking a Malvao was like pulling a toxic water balloon without bursting it. It took talent. So focused I was in harvesting the first pod that the officer was already under the ladder, yelling. He cursed, upset that I hadn¡¯t come down when called but relieved I was finally listening. I managed to slip it into my pouch and he ordered me from five feet away at all times. I wasn¡¯t contagious but that¡¯s how I avoided a beating. Malvaos were not common knowledge and it stayed that way. By now, the pod had shriveled just like my confidence. A trickle of sweat ran down my temple as I bashed the pod onto the lock, denting the raisin-like skin. A second bash punctured the husk and I tore it open a little more. My hands trembled as I shook the pod, trying to get the gooey center to pop free. Come on, come on... A wad of what looked like dark-purple chewing gum rolled out onto my palm. I stuck it to the lock. Only seconds remained before the guards reached me. Help! Work already! Nothing happened. Dammit! Too dry. What about saliva? Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. I tried to gather up moisture in my sandpaper mouth, but it''d been yesterday since I''d had anything to drink. Spitting was out of the question. What else? There¡¯s gotta be something! My heart beat a frantic pulse through my ears, faster than the footfalls of the guards. Another trickle of sweat dripped from my brow to my eyelashes. Wait. Sweat. Yes! Ignoring the angry shouts of the guards pounding close, I swiped a finger across my forehead and spread it over the thick goo. Come on already! The door creaked, and the gust of old stale air sent shivers across my skin. I ran in and shut the door, pushing some adjacent wooden crates behind the door. For good measure, I sat in front of the cartons for added resistance. That was when I saw my worst nightmare, a large spider. When I was little, I was minding my own business sweeping the floor when I saw a spider. I smacked down hard with my broom and out popped millions of baby spiders! My legs trembled involuntarily, shaking off phantom baby creepy crawlies that climbed my bare legs. The spider-mom had her last revenge on me. Imagine if this cat-sized, pitch-black spider in this shed, my new, sealed prison, were to burst into infinitesimal spiders! I shuddered again at the thought. I fought to keep my fears from wrenching at my heart. Fortunately for me, the giant spider had been busy wrapping its meal, holding it with two legs and rotating it fast with the other six. Oh no. Wait a second. Was that¡­? I looked carefully at the cocoon. The bulge being wrapped up looked familiar. Peeking out from the bottom, only partially wrapped, twitched the head of that big white moth. Possibly unconscious. Or dead. Spiderzilla - Part 1 The first disgruntled guard banged on the door, shouted obscenities, and banged some more. More guards arrived, along with another torrent of swearing and slamming on the door. Hinges clattered after each kick, rattling as quickly as my heart thundered in my chest. Fighting the instinct to cover my ears, I planted my hands down, using them to lever the door closed. The crates alone won''t be enough to keep them out.I used every muscle to push against the crates. Spiderzilla froze its weaving. The grotesque monstrosity turned its eight beady eyes on me. Two of its eyes were large and prominent while a smaller eye was perched on each side of its head. The biggest pair reflected the sunlight coming through a small high window as if glowing with bloodlust. The bottom row of four eyes connected to make a permanent frown. If looks could kill, I would be dead eight times. It wasn¡¯t like I wanted to disturb the spider¡¯s mealtime. I grabbed one of the crate lids to hide behind, peeking at the spider through the natural hole in the wood. Spiderzilla rasped, tilting its head. Shuddering in revulsion, I tried to block the image of the pincer-like feelers grating and grasping towards me. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. Next to the feelers, the spider bared its mandible-like fangs. Under the mass of long, brown follicles of hair, the fangs dripped with a clear saliva-like substance. While I stared frozen at them, a single guard tried to kick his way in. It sent vibrations that jostled the crates. The shaking reverberated up my spine while my sweat dripped down. As I adjusted myself, the crate lid fell in a clatter. The nasty spider spat at me. My arms flung up instinctively, covering my face. Dripping sweat, I brought down my shaking arms. They looked clean. Nothing clung to my sleeves. But I had a sixth sense, a nauseous feeling, that told me it landed deeper than skin. That¡¯s when it really hit me. A chill ran up my skin, from my arm to my head, as if the tiny spiders came back. I screamed. My stomach convulsed and I dry heaved right after, hyperventilating. My muscles tightened. My body wanted to curl into a cowering ball. Before I caved in, I grabbed the fallen lid and threw it at the spider. I effectively¡­ missed. The lid fell with a defeated thud within inches of the spider.What can I say? Panic throws off my aim. Spiderzilla - Part 2 My new senses told me Spiderzilla was somewhat amused. My jaw dropped in surprise. How did I know that? Had the spider put this feeling in my head somehow? ¡°How fun,¡± the spider spoke in my head, raspy and low. I shrieked. Covering my ears, I shook my head in disbelief. It¡¯s talking! I shook my head again. There¡¯s no way. That spit was a hallucinogen. That¡¯s right, I¡¯m hallucinating. I¡¯ve gone crazy. Is this my new coping mechanism for my arachnophobia? ¡°A new human. I am really getting lucky with my surprise visitors.¡± The spider¡¯s female voice resounded, this time as a whisper in my ear, making my hair stand on end. Shocked, I held still. I kept staring at the spider¡¯s face. What was I expecting? A nice friendly smile? I regarded the now tapping spider¡¯s legs. Was I expecting a nice spider leg wave? Wouldn''t that be creepier? Was that tapping in impatience? I could be hallucinating or it, I mean she, was telepathic. Gathering remnants of my courage, I whispered between shallow gasps of breath, "Whadja mean, new human?¡± My accent slipped out. ¡°What did you do to me?¡± This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. The spider replied, ¡°Who do you think put me here? Gap-Tooth and Blood Lips.¡± If spiders could roll their eyes, this would be the time. ¡°You¡¯re purple, and you¡¯ve never experienced anything out of the ordinary like a mind link?¡± Purple? My face might be blue, I feel so sick. The kicks at the door stopped. Immediately after, two guards rammed against the door and I almost toppled over. ¡°Blood Lips?¡± As soon as the words escaped me, I had a flash of an image of bright red lips on a blonde girl with black roots showing. ¡°Gemma¡­ uh course.¡± I shifted uncomfortably. ¡°Of course,¡± I corrected. I wondered how she had red lips the whole time we stayed here. There was one morning she was without the bright red lipstick, and I for sure saw her leave Tracy¡¯s cabin with red lips just before lunch. She was also almost a year older than me, so she should have been taken by the soldiers too. ¡°They said I couldn¡¯t go suck on just anyone.¡± Spiderzilla bared her fangs and injected some venom into the silk-wrapped moth. The mummified insect spasmed. I shrieked again as I felt a jolt of sympathy pain. That poor Mothra. ¡°Mmmmm¡­.¡± Her mandible-like jaws with sharp edges poked and sawed at the hole. The spider vomited into the opening. Cupping my hand over my mouth, I dry heaved against my clenched teeth. Who knew vomiting was contagious? I watched her slurp on her own vomit Mothra soup, uncomfortably tucking in my legs, making myself small. Someone get me out of here! ¡°Pardon my manners, but I haven¡¯t had a decent meal since I got here.¡± If I had a meal, I would¡¯ve lost it long ago. Spiderzilla - Part 3 Whistles sounded outside. By the sound of things, more prisoners tried to make a break for it. The kicks and body slams to the door stopped again. They must¡¯ve figured out I was trapped by the door and therefore couldn¡¯t reach any of the weapons. Speaking of weapons, I rifled through one of the crates holding the door closed. I kept one eye on the spider, and one on the weapons. Wait...Something was happening to me and the feral arachnid. She seemed even more vibrant after devouring her prey. I saw the mercurial, chameleon-like change and couldn''t deny it. Her hue was no longer pitch-black but mostly brown with dark brown stripes. I felt some relief to my hunger, some of my fatigue fading as well. Could it be the link? The mysterious purple smoke pulsed and stayed low, coming from the corner opposite of the spider, in the back. Four decorated staves stood upright in the corner along with one on the ground in the same corner as the source of the purple smoke. What was the source of the smoke? The spider seemed repulsed by this gaseous fume. She shed her outer exoskeleton while crawling away, showing the brownish furry underbelly as she scampered up the wall. Another pulse of fumes and Spiderzilla lost her grip on the ceiling. The spider suspended from a single strand, the sudden drop causing it to rock back and forth. Spiderzilla hissed, pained. The connection between us held and I clutched at my head that was about to burst. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. I needed out of this nightmare. Still pained, my jaw tightened and I gripped a nearby knife tightly. What would happen if I stabbed the monster? Would I feel the same amount of pain too? Is she reading my mind? I looked at the twitching spider legs. I shook my head and frowned. As much as I dreaded spiders, I couldn¡¯t help feeling sorry for the monster. I dropped the knife, rubbed my temples, and rummaged through the crate some more. This crate was a treasure chest of sparkling new and unused weapons. I grabbed a curved blade. There was a tangle of wires on the rounded knob on the end of the handle. Turning the butt towards me, I saw what it was. The wires covered a jewel in the shape of a skull, the gem¡¯s purple peeking through the eye sockets. Someone¡¯s got awful taste in decorating. I put it aside. I looked at the rest of the weapons. Was this some kind of weird fashion trend? Each weapon had a multi-faceted purple gem, wrapped with thin strands of metal. The spiral cages showed the work of different styles, each and every weapon unique. Some resembled a tree and its branches. Silver metal wires radiated rays like the sun, twinkled ripples, or a spiraled tornado. The gem and the surrounding metal were always encased in a thick clear coating. Ornamental knives and swords with scabbards, arm braces, and one adjustable chest plate. Wow. These must be worth a fortune. Don¡¯t they need to store these somewhere safer? Spiderzilla - Part 4 I wasn¡¯t much of a fighter. I did a quick search for my favored weapon, tossing the bejeweled mace aside. Nope, no kitchen knife here. The staff would do in case the guards come back or the spider gets hungry again. Before I went toward the smoking corner, I grabbed a dagger, the most expensive-looking one with the most jewels, to store in my pack. This would be a good bargaining item. Better than sitting here collecting dust. The spider was still twitching above as I snatched the staff off the floor. ¡°Take the broken staff with you and I will help you get out of here,¡± the spider¡¯s pained inner thoughts grated at me, taking sandpaper to my heart. What the.. My eyes narrowed at her briefly. As much as I hated spiders, it was frustrating not being able to read the spider¡¯s face. Sure, now that the prisoners have escaped, I could leave while the guards were distracted. But no one does anything for free. What''s in it for her? I gripped the metal staff hard. I had to disappear. I had to do this. Not for myself, but for Grandma Rina. It would have to be a large rescue to get her out of this prison. My mother June and my sister Sadie, now eight, could care less about me, but at least they would take care of Grandma when I was out of the picture. I wanted Grandma Rina to be seen by a doctor soon. Just then, the staff¡¯s gem pulsed and casted out a large puff of smoke. The spider shrill-shrieked out in pain. Startled and suffering a massive headache, I swung back the staff as if it were a baseball bat, ready to strike the spider. A couple of good whacks would put us both out of our misery. ¡°Hurry! Take it out of here!¡± The spider sent another vision, a pathway from the prison camp to the entrance of my hometown, and marked the houses that were taken over by the new soldiers. The spider seemed to know Steel quite well. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. I relaxed my stance. I miss my hometown. ¡°I¡¯ll keep the guards here busy.¡± The spider sent an illusion of the guards being cocooned and hung upside down as she raised her front arms threateningly. Spiderzilla didn¡¯t have to tell me twice. I mean, thrice. It all makes sense now. The spider only wanted the staff out of there. Although she said it was broken, I could tell the staff wasn¡¯t really damaged. Only the purple jewel on top. It was all because that jewel pulsed out smoke that caused her pain. That staff, already a little taller than me, was the only one my size anyway. The other staves would just make me look ridiculously short. My brain was overloaded and my breaths were erratic and shallow. I took a couple of calming breaths. This is as ready as I¡¯d ever be. I moved the crates aside and peeked out of the shed. My escape route would be towards Billy. Thankfully, he held no taser this time. I ran with the broken staff and bag towards Billy. As I neared, he smiled a crazy grin. He readily approached. Time for revenge. Instead of hitting the legs in the front, I tried swiping at the back of his legs using as much momentum as I could muster. He tried to dodge to the side, underestimating the long reach of the staff. When metal hit behind his left kneecap, he didn¡¯t go down as I¡¯d planned. It still felt good though. I followed the low blow with a quick jab to the gut. As I hit him, the broken jewel pulsed with energy that caused us both to fumble back. I recovered quicker than Billy did. He had been hit directly by the purple blast. I thought back to how Spiderzilla was pained by the pulse. Before he could get up again, I brought the bottom end of the staff onto his chest. Take that! The other guards were nearing. I had to get away. No more risks. I ran before I could show Billy just how I felt about his cruelty. All I could think of while running was, I should have blasted him with another purple pulse, like he zapped Wanda to death. The Crow-Human - Part 1 I moved frantically, not knowing who pursued. Time in prison had left me weak. A side cramp pierced under my ribcage as I ran. I lacked nutrition and exercise... and oxygen. Damn, I need more air. I took breath after breath, embracing the pain. My sprint came to a sudden, unexpected halt. One of those spiny branches gripped my cape and pulled me backward, ripping a hole. The cape wasn''t the only thing entangled. The cords of anxiety gripped me and I couldn''t shake it off. My nervous fingers fumbled to remove the snag. I forgot I was wearing the red target on my back. Pretty dumb mistake. I tore it off and threw it down. A second later, I picked it up again and put it in my pack. Leave no evidence behind. Gotta keep moving. I ran from the psychopath and his hunters, determined not to look back. The great system that was supposed to protect us imprisoned us instead, leaving us to die. On occasion, I snapped twigs and stumbled over the uneven ground. Whoops. I had slipped again and this time I¡¯d fallen with a thud. It was that large rock¡¯s fault. That deceptive sucker was hidden under the slippery leaves. I grabbed my scraped knee and a drop of blood trickled out onto my thin jeans. I brushed the dirt off, picked myself up, and kept going. I won¡¯t stop until I collapse. Once I had gotten far enough away from prison, I felt safe enough to slow down. Even then, I kept my guard up, walking as fast as I could. You could never be too cautious. Apparently, I was not cautious enough. This time, a low-hanging branch snagged at my matted hair. The twig came away and pulled a clump of hair with it. Stupid nature. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. I looked ahead and recalled the spider¡¯s map image. It might have been detailed for my home, Steel, but it was not so helpful right now. I knew I wouldn¡¯t make it to Steel tonight. There were too many obstacles. I just hoped I was on the right track. During my brisk walk, I opted to take some time to look around at the grassy areas, using my sharp eyes to spot any gross insects to avoid first. My stomach grumbled. Where are the edible dandelion, clover, and pineapple weeds at? Why settle for weeds? Steak. Yeah, I¡¯d sell my kidney for a steak. And potatoes. Roasted. Thick bristles blocked my southwest path towards Steel. I wavered, listening for pursuers. Spiderzilla was true to her word. I wonder how many captors she''d stopped. I¡¯d kill to see the guards suffer while tangled in her death trap. Jerks. I hope you get eaten. I spat the dust that coated the inside of my mouth. My initial desperate escape drained me to a sluggish, heavy pace. The only noises I heard were my own, giving me a sense of security. I assured myself there were no pursuers and allowed myself a turtle¡¯s pace. I worried if I stopped just once, I would not keep going. The ground turned from dry and hard to a muddy slip zone. I stepped carefully. The staff turned into a glorified walking stick. It was a bad idea to put my full weight on the metal rod. The bar sunk in deeper and was hard to remove. I used it on rocks, so it wouldn¡¯t stick too hard in the mud. The broken jewel, set atop the staff with a metal nest, kept me focused. This staff was bound to be worth something. In the meantime, my third leg supported me as I hobbled my way through the mud. All the mud was making me miserable. Dry ground was hard enough, but now it was like wearing cement shoes. I wanted to cheer when there was a group of rocks to hop on. Any way to get out of this sludgy mess was welcome at this point. The Crow-Human - Part 2 I better not miss my jump. Otherwise, I¡¯ll be covered with muck. That would suck big time. The last stones were really far apart. I was desperate, so I jumped and nearly slipped on the last stepping stone. There I was, celebrating my leap, when I realized¡­ looking around at only trees as my witness, I was all alone now. I was so used to being watched, that being on my own scared me. I could be lost, and not know it. Not long after, I saw a deflated brown ball. Nature kept kicking my butt, so I needed to kick something too. Here goes my best shot. Ready, aim, fire! My foot struck it as hard as I could. Ahhh! My eyes! My nose! The brown ball was not some random toy. It was a giant puffball, a mushroom that exploded upon contact. The plume of spores attacked relentlessly because I walked over the explosion. After bouts of violent sneezing, I mouth-breathed, wiping my snot and burning tears. Seriously? What the heck, nature! You win, ok? So stop being so mean! Take pity on me already! I covered my sniveling face. So embarrassing! This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. But that¡¯s not the end of it. Pain struck my back intensely as I leaned on the nearest tree to regain my bearings and clear my vision. I focused on inhaling air through my gritted teeth. I felt like something was being pulled out of me. My very soul, maybe. If I were to try and compare it, it was like when Mom tried to pull out a wobbly tooth too early. The pain stopped and my soul was still intact. Reaching to touch below my shoulder blades, I brushed against the bark of the tree. Something was wrong. I looked back. The bark where I rested exhibited deep cracks and sharp ridges that were tinted purple at the edges. Curious business. My path would hit a stream, I remembered from Spiderzilla¡¯s map. I hurried there as fast as the muddy terrain and sinking feet would allow. The sound of relaxed water flowing through the stream soothed me. Once I reached the clean, clear water, I loosened a bit. I knelt near the edge, rolled up my sleeves and washed the powdery spores from my face and arms. I scooped with both hands and drank heavily. Water and brief tranquility. I rolled my jeans up to my knees and put my shoes and socks into my bag. I entered the water and cleaned my scraped knee. Using my walking stick to find shallower parts, I successfully crossed the stream. According to Spiderzilla¡¯s map, I would hit Ely Lake campgrounds halfway to Steel, where I could stay safe for the night. I avoided the road and set off for another long walk. The Crow-Human - Part 3 The smell of burnt wood, no doubt from a nice, warm campfire, beckoned from a mile away. I got to the camp late, one heavy step at a time. One camp to another. Great. In the near darkness, three campervans nestled in front of the primitive campsite. Unlike the campervans, I crept up to camp as an outsider who didn''t quite fit in. I stalled next to the back tire of the closest camper, ready to collapse there. There were no street lights in sight to highlight my dirty appearance. The creepy, all-surrounding bristling of leaves got me up again. I eyed the barely visible grey hand pump as I walked to it, knowing that operating it would tap my already drained energy. I slowly and painfully pumped water from the squeaky pump and grabbed mouthfuls of freezing water. I¡¯m so hungry. It splashed at my shoes and I wiped the mud off the sides. The cold water chilled me to my core. The chills sent me closer to the nearest fire as I could dare. Some blissfully unaware kids were eating marshmallows. I gulped down some air. A young kid no older than ten was awake past his bedtime and came out of one tent to join them. No one was watching the tent so I crawled in it for warmth. I laid halfway in his black sleeping bag with my legs sticking out. I didn¡¯t want to take off my shoes, readying myself to bolt at any time. In this position, I looked around for anything I could use. His clothes were too small but I took his flashlight and water bottle and put it in my bag. Knowing he would eventually come back, I crawled out with his sleeping bag on me, looking silly. If the kid got cold, he could just wear multiple layers. I walked further along and laid my new warmest acquisition under the bench furthest away from all the camps. I would rather risk being seen by campers for the reassuring cover of the bench. The closest thing to a roof over my head. I removed my shoes and slipped back into my cocoon to recover from exhaustion. -- I slept well, dreaming that every time the staff pulsed, I bathed in warm, soft bubbles, and it eased my hunger pangs. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Some light streaked in between the boards of the table. I woke up to multiple bug bites on my face and the insane urge to scratch them all at the same time. I stretched in the early sun. I was half-asleep until I looked up. Black crows covered every available treetop and branch. The other campers were slowly and quietly packing up their belongings, glancing up anxiously. The crows were abuzz with gossip. Their beady eyes and caws were unnerving. A young mother packed hurriedly, carrying twin backpacks into the campervan. When she came out, she deliberately placed some leftover hot dog buns on the table. One at a time, she went into the tent and grabbed one of her toddlers, still sound asleep, and put each kid back into their getaway vehicle. She was busy disassembling the tent but I had waited long enough. I went straight for the buns. I would fight the crows for them if I had to. One of the bigger crows came to the furthest edge of the table, turned its neck back and forth, scrutinizing me from all angles. When the campervans left and I choked down the last bit of bread, the crows grew quiet. The crow stood on the edge of the table, shuffling its feet, ruffling feathers. But wait¡­ there was something different about the feet. The sharp claws were starting to grow bulbous and long, like tubers and roots in the ground. They started to resemble human feet. The body also started to stretch but remained covered in feathers. The body stood taller with a human torso to match the human feet. Then, the human-sized crow¡¯s head started to change. The beak appeared as a clear oxygen mask, shrinking until the last of it disappeared on the tip of his sharp nose. I gazed in horrible fascination as the transformation of the crow was complete. I had heard the rumors like everybody else. But that was that, just baseless rumors. Some of the people back at the prison talked about creatures that emerged, flying from the holes which appeared in the Malvaos fields. Human-like creatures that were very different from us. Almost everybody considered this to be the ravings of some crazy lunatics. Every once in a while, though, I would see the looks of recognition in the eyes of the guards in reaction to those rumors. Maybe there was more to the rumors than just some ramblings of demented old farmers. He stood upright, high in stature above me, commanding attention. His chin was up and his eyes stared down at me. I shifted uncomfortably. Some crows flew from further branches to the trees nearby. I fanned myself nervously while looking around for an escape. The crows crowded closer again. A group of crows was called a murder. An apt choice of words as I felt murderous intent. They were just waiting on the order to kill. The Crow-Human - Part 4 I was so scared, I forgot to breathe. I panted in and out. The crow-man positioned himself again so the light captured and accentuated his facial features. He posed with his chest out and his arms bent, taking up more space. He practically beamed under the blinding luster of the sun, basking in the warm spotlight. Like a model during a photoshoot. Obviously, I couldn¡¯t say that the crow-man was ugly and malformed as I expected him to be. He was not a crow-shaped man or a grotesque humanoid either. Ugly rumors, that¡¯s all they were. He was handsome enough that he could pass as the leading actor in a romance movie, he was that good looking. His pretty face had a gorgeous set of human teeth and his charming smile was disarming. Not much crow in there except for his clothes. His black overcoat with two white crests on opposite sides hung loosely over his tightly wrapped shirt and black leggings. Soon after, two more crows flew down to the side benches. Without a sound, they also transformed into humans and flanked the first one. Their faces were covered by red masks. The masks the crow-men wore were ugly and permanently frowning. They sported thick and bushy angry eyebrows with deeply etched forehead wrinkles. What crawled up their butts? The rumors were probably about them. They both wore phallic noses, noses as long as a person¡¯s hand and pointed up at the tip. Regardless of the ridiculous design, those masks were hyperrealistic. I would have loved for them to turn to the side and show where the mask ended and the red paint began. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. The way the two masked crow-humans stood protectively around him, made me think of bodyguards. Maybe the crow-human had his own bodyguards. This made him a very important crow. I stared at his flawless chiseled face. The longer I did so, my sense of horror was immediately replaced by a sense of fascination and an immense curiosity. He enjoyed being stared at. I could tell because he tilted his nose up and smiled. His smile grew wide. He closed his eyes, raised his chin, and extended his arms to the sky as if absorbing the sunlight as plants do or absorbing adoration. Maybe both. He seemed to view himself a virtuoso conductor and his crows were his orchestra, because his opened hands slowly and dramatically grabbed at the air as he pulled it to his chest. He suddently released the invisible energy he harnessed with a quick outstretching of his arms, blasting us with a soft burst of air. The bodyguards bowed slightly in reverence. The theatrics! Was he full of it? And then he waved at me and winked. Very human of him. ¡°Hello!¡± Was that really a hello? Or was I imagining all of this? I jumped back two steps when he started talking, almost laughing at myself for not expecting it. The whole thing was so surreal, why wouldn¡¯t the very important crow-human speak? It just fit with how everything was so crazy. A talking spider and a talking crow. What next? If he really could speak, I couldn¡¯t wait to hear what this guy ¡ª who already seemed so full of himself ¡ª had to say. I rolled my eyes involuntarily. A Forced Trade - Part 1 As soon as he opened his mouth, the arrogant crow-man did not disappoint. ¡°What do we have here?¡± He looked at me with his head pivoted to the side. His forced yet confident tone of voice finished with an accent. ¡°A mere girl and a broken Phirhollium jewel.¡± Turning his attention to my staff, he tilted his head to the right and then to the left like a pendulum, stretching his neck a little too far clockwise for a human. Creepy contortionist. Creepy overrides dazzling any day. ¡°Young lady, not only did you steal my work but you had to break it too?¡± he implored, gesturing at the staff with an open hand. ¡°I¡¯ve developed the seal to withstand a typhoon. I¡¯d love to know how you managed to ruin a perfectly crafted weapon.¡± ¡°Naw. It came broken. I didn¡¯t break it.¡± I was quick to defend, to hide my guilt. It wasn¡¯t stealing. Spiderzilla practically pushed it on me. I inspected the staff for any small cracks I might have missed. I raised my head in challenge as it looked solid enough to me. ¡°And how would you know that it was stolen? Because it totally was not.¡± I talked as I backed away. I hope he didn¡¯t notice my flushed cheeks. ¡°I know that it was stolen because I made it along with a lot of others. I had big plans for them, and I don¡¯t remember you being part of those plans.¡± He advanced slowly, but the moment I stopped, he stopped too. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. ¡°Maybe it just looks like something you made. You know there are a lot of imported copies of everything all over the place.¡± I jabbered. He had a fiery glint in his eye, there was no way he was going to let me off the hook easily. I felt trapped, and the pressure of the crowd, over thirty crows, over sixty beady eyes, crushed me. Under all that attention, I scrutinized every move I made, getting more nervous. ¡°Most of the staffs¡¯ materials are imported, in a way.¡± Mr. Crow let out a short bark of a laugh. ¡°But this doesn¡¯t make them any less my handiwork.¡± He laughed at his inside joke, enjoying himself immensely. I was not amused. His laugh stopped short with a cough. He threw back his shoulders and cleared his throat. With a flourish, he waved his hands in the air and mouthed something inaudible. Strange characters started to glow one after the other on the length of the staff. They were Kanji, Chinese characters adopted by Japan, yet they were completely unknown to me. Grandma tried to teach me. I knew a little over a hundred and how to write my own name, ÑÒ±¾ Ôçʸ, but that was about it. Japanese was useless in Michigan. Being a poor minority sucked. Without any proper schooling, I had enough trouble teaching myself to read and write in English. ¡°See these beautifully carved letters and be in awe of my greatness. I trademark all of my work. This is my signature, little one.¡± He smiled adoringly at his work. ¡°I am the great shish¨­. Hirohata, Ryogen of the Daitengu Clan. You may call me the Great Master Hirohata.¡± A Forced Trade - Part 2 Mr. Crow smiled a vicious thin smile and then pointed to the gem on top. ¡°What you have there is quite dangerous, you know.¡± My eyes locked onto the gem. I knew it was broken, and I knew it caused others pain. Yet, to me, the staff was warm and inviting. It would never hurt me, right? Then, I remembered the forest and that feeling like my soul was being pulled out of me. Was that the staff¡¯s doing? ¡°Ok, if you want it that bad... Here, take it.¡± I thrust the staff towards him, but he jumped back two steps. Oddly enough, his back jumps looked exactly like a crow skipping. Maybe he was more crow than man. The other crows, flapping about, were not having it. Thick pine needles fell and stabbed me from above. Suddenly, a crow swooped and cawed. I raised my arms. Instead of striking, the crow unfurled midway like a cloth that was folded tightly and then thrown to the wind. I could see more clearly the transformation. How the beak retreated in his skull, how the feathers shortened and disappeared, how the wings extended and became hands, holding a dagger in each. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. He looked related to the crow-man. Perhaps a hotheaded nephew. He landed exactly between me and his leader. Standing lightly, he placed his weight on his toes. The snarl on his otherwise handsome face showed he was determined to stop me from passing. I swallowed down the egg-sized lump that''d materialized in my throat, waiting for the moment he would pounce on me and slash me to pieces with his mean looking daggers. But Mister Crow pulled the avenging guard back and whispered something to him. The crow-boy nodded and retreated behind his master. He gave me one last look of disgust before changing back into a crow and joining the rest of the tree-perched crows. ¡°Don¡¯t wave that thing at me.¡± Mr. Crow snarled before resuming a professional fa?ade. ¡°These are extremely toxic and body-altering when they are broken. Keep it away.¡± I released the staff in alarm. Don¡¯t tell me it¡¯s going to turn me into another Spiderzilla! I shuddered and wrapped my arms around myself. As the staff fell, the crow-man and his guards jumped off the table and benches in panic. The murder of crows erupted in loud, incessant caws, flapping their wings about. I covered my ears. They just wouldn¡¯t stop. The crow-man stood on the ground now but still towered over me. A Forced Trade - Part 3 ¡°What the- ! What kind of toxic? You mean I¡¯m poisoned? Am I going to die?¡± I shouted over the crows. Damn, I knew I shouldn¡¯t have trusted Spiderzilla. She knew how toxic it was and still sent me out with it. I should have let the staff kill her and then made a run for it. But with arachnophobia, I would¡¯ve died of fear before the staff killed her. The crows went silent and Mister Crow¡¯s clear laughter rang out, which made me more pissed. ¡°So what now?¡± I demanded in a huff. ¡°Well, I don¡¯t think you should worry about that, at least not much.¡± He waved and pointed at my dark purple hands and my purple face with an open palm. ¡°Don¡¯t you know you¡¯ve got Phirhollium exposure written all over your body with your obvious purpanotic skin tone? I wonder how you could take your profound purpanosis without any pain.¡± ¡°Say what? Fearo-who? Purp-what? I¡¯m sorry but you¡¯re not speaking English.¡± I held my hands against my temples, my brain was starting to hurt. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Ok, ok, try me again. Start with the Fearo-thing again.¡± I inched closer to him and in return, he inched away from me. It was getting weirder by the minute. ¡°Phirhollium. It¡¯s the active ingredient in what you call Malvaos.¡± He looked at me as if he was inspecting a lab rat. ¡°It¡¯s what gives your skin this lovely shade of purple, purpanosis. Pretty soon, it results in the Purple Plague. Once you start glowing, you will become infectious and pass it on to others. Although, I am not sure they will take it standing like you.¡± He made strange clicking sounds, crow noises, at the back of his throat, echoed by crows clacking in the trees. Damn, I¡¯m pissed. What was he, a doctor now? No doctor saved my dad from turning purple. I know all about the pain this pigment causes. I had to watch my dad suffer and die from it. I balled my hands into fists and kicked at a nearby rock, feeling the aches from my long run yesterday. I tried to brush the anger off. At least I won¡¯t be turning into a spider. And, my purple skin had saved me from the torture of the guards back at the prison for so long before the sleepwalking. Maybe I really was special. I stomped the ground with my other foot. Maybe I should go live in Candyland too. A Forced Trade - Part 4 I took the vial. I popped the cork, expecting to smell something vicious and chemical like super glue, but it smelled like fresh-cut grass and mildew. I sat on the ground, placed the cork down, and lifted the staff. I watched the crow-man and his guards with one eye and started to pour the contents of the bottle on the gem. The liquid inside was clear and ran quickly over the gem, filling the crack like it was searching for it, and I watched as it hardened on contact. In a few seconds, the gem looked as if it never had any cracks, and its purple color became richer and more radiant. ¡°There.¡± I lifted it into the sunlight as I inspected it. ¡°Fixed.¡± Crow-man nodded to one of the crows around him. It flew towards me with its claws opened. I flinched for a moment, expecting the claws to wrack my face and body, but instead, the crow landed on the staff and cawed at me. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. I realized that the crow wanted to take the staff. I hated to let it go, leaving myself defenseless. I yanked it closer to me, startling the crow to take off. Good. That one has the sense to run away. I tried thinking rationally. Being outnumbered by the ¡®murder¡¯ous crows was not the best option right now. Even if I were to swat at the crows with my staff, it was obvious what the outcome would be. Without a doubt, it wouldn''t end well for me. Still, I¡¯d be giving up my leverage. How much is a magical weapon worth, anyway? And why should I trust these crows? My greed and basic distrust led me to grip the staff tight. Two crows dove at me, and I swung at them like I was at bat in a baseball game. Swing and a miss. One of them had to be the hotheaded nephew. I imagined his smug face while I swung again. A blast of wind and the dead leaves it picked up came from Mr. Crow. It whipped around me in a brief mini-tornado, stopping the madness. His angry eyes didn¡¯t match his forced smile. ¡°Come child, I have no time for these foolish games.¡± A Forced Trade - Part 5 One of the crows circled back and clenched the staff. The winged beast beat the air hard with its wings, carrying it and returning to the crow-man, and dropping it in his open hands. Mister crow caught the staff, pulled the gem closer to his face. He brought out his jeweler¡¯s loupe and examined the jewel. After almost a minute of silent inspection, he looked at me and smiled. He nodded again to his bodyguard, who took the staff from his hands, flew back to me, and dropped the staff in my waiting hands. I looked at the crow-man, trying to fathom what ran in his mind and what could possibly be his reason for helping me. But instead of asking him about his reasons, I said, ¡°Thanks?¡± Crow man gave me a bow with a flourish. ¡°You¡¯re welcome, of course. You may keep the staff.¡± ¡°Just like that?¡± I asked, doubt filling me. ¡°Sure. But of course, of course.¡± He pulled his silk coat straight. ¡°Like I said. I made a lot of them, part of a bulk supply the elves ordered to be handed to you humans. It is only fitting that you, obviously a human, should have one.¡± He paused and looked intently at me for a moment. ¡°Of course, I should have taken into account how random and haphazard you humans are. A very interesting breed to be sure.¡± This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. He gave me a vicious smile and said, ¡°I hope that you take care of it, and use it wisely. At least as wisely as a weapon can be used.¡± A crow shrieked from a tree and dropped to the ground in a thud, unsettling me. Get a grip. I allowed myself a glance, but instead of a dead or twitching body, it was a carved wooden crow. I turned to Mr. Crow, ¡°What-¡° Mr. Crow frowned and bent his head. ¡°As much as I would love to talk with you some more, my time is up here.¡± His eyes still fixated on the wooden crow, and his tone was serious. He turned to leave, so even though I had other questions, I blurted, ¡°Wait! What should I do if it breaks again, or if it becomes toxic?¡± He turned to me and the glint in his eyes returned, as unsettling as it was the first time I saw it. ¡°That¡¯s true that the staff may yet prove to be dangerous.¡± He plucked a hair from his head, straightened it and it turned into a feather in his fingertips, like a magician performing for a crowd. ¡°You can always call on me, little one. You¡¯re quite the entertaining oddity.¡± He blew on the feather and it flew from his hand right into mine. ¡°Just blow on it to release the feather and it will always find me. It will always yearn to go back to where it belongs. Remember, only blow on it when only you or the staff are in need of help. I don¡¯t help just anyone.¡± A Forced Trade - Part 6 Then he nodded at his other bodyguard, who instantly turned into a crow and flew at me. I ducked and tried to cover my face from the coming attack, but the crow just landed and balanced on my head. It cawed once, shrill and sudden. I swore. I felt the sharpness of every single curved, pointed nail, more pronounced when it flapped its wings on my head. For a moment, one claw dug and scratched my scalp. I wondered what it would do next, then I felt a sharp pain as it launched from my head. When I looked at it, it was holding a strand of my hair in its beak. ¡°Hey! What was that for?¡± I shouted at the retreating crow. ¡°You could have asked or something!¡± I knew that my words were futile and meant nothing in the eyes of the murder of crows surrounding us, but I was powerless. All I had were my words, which barely elicited a smirk from Mr. Crow-man. The crow flew and dropped my hair strand into the crow-man''s open hand. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. He grasped it and, with the same method as the bottle, the hair traveled up his arm and disappeared into his inner sleeve. He bowed again and said, ¡°Payment for services well done.¡± He turned his back to me and said as he was turning into a crow, ¡°We have wasted precious time. Even if I enjoyed our chat, we must hurry. I wish you the best of luck in the oncoming orc battles.¡± With that, his body and clothes started to shrink, much like a scrunchie folding into itself. A feather-covered body kept shrinking, and near the end of the transformation, the ruffled feathers assembled into a nice sleek crow body. The clear mask formed from his nose again, into a full beak. He was fully turned and flew into the sky, leading the other crows. They laughed in unison as they flew off away from the forest. He was soon lost in the murder of crows and I couldn¡¯t distinguish him from any other crow. There were so many of them, that for a moment they blocked the sun as they flew in the distance. This surreal encounter and their exit scene were now engraved in my memory. I most certainly did not hear anything about battles. Nor was I killing any orcas. I¡¯ve never been to the ocean and I can¡¯t swim. I looked at my newly fixed staff and then into the horizon, and I started to head towards Steel, towards home. Broken Steel - Part 1 - updated The long walk to Steel meant more time to think. Or... I could count my footsteps to torture myself some more. Nothing sucks more than being a teenager without a ride. Speaking of teenagers...Were the stolen teenagers even at Steel? We planned to save the prisoners of Camp Allegan and Steel. Every runaway had different escape routes based on a specific direction. Some went north, others south, et cetera. Steel wasn¡¯t my first choice, but I would be lost without Spiderzilla¡¯s map. The million-dollar question is, am I walking towards another trap? Spiderzilla intentionally poisoned me so what¡¯s another crafty double-cross? Giving me up to the soldiers of Steel would screw me over twice, giving me over to the same group I tried to escape. The sun beat down on me hard. The grass here had been burnt dry. I squinted under the hood of my red cape, away from roads of course. Hitchhiking wasn¡¯t an option when going to Steel, where the military took over. There wasn¡¯t a single person who would give a ride to a purple freak with a staff anyway. I shook my head. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. It felt like a trap. Walking to my spider and soldier-filled doom scared me, my steps turned robotic. A year ago, my naive little sister, the little terror, had darted in front of a car before, staring into the headlights. The car swerved, narrowly missing her. It was my turn now. Spiderzilla and her map, two magical weapons, Tengu and his fix... It happened all at once. The timing, the convenience, and the fact that I¡¯m in one piece must mean something. Not to sound ungrateful, but where was all this when we were taken in prison? The sparkle on my newly repaired gem-tipped walking stick distracted me, and I marveled at my fortune for a moment. I need to find the significance of it all, and soon. Broken Steel - Part 2 I marched on in the forest, hopeful that the streak of freak encounters ended. If my life were normal, the likelihood of meeting another Mr. Crow or any other talking monsters was slim. No more spiders, of any size. Let things be normal again, back to the time before prison. My luck held during my forest trek, and I emerged on the asphalt road to Steel, my old town. Phew. My journey at an end, I took off my cape and enjoyed a cool breeze, taking a moment to stuff the cape in my bag. As I walked, I noticed a lot of changes, and most were not for the better. The road which led to my old town was filthy and riddled with potholes. Spring thaws don¡¯t create potholes like this. Some were patterned like the mysterious Malvao gopher holes. Do we have mutant gophers that could eat through asphalt now? A military truck, one I hadn¡¯t noticed due to the curved path, sped off the asphalt road, avoiding the potholes, but that meant it drove close enough near me that I froze in place, quickly turned my head away, and shielded the staff with my body. My insides sank, and I couldn¡¯t even duck for fear of catching their attention. Waiting for them to pass were the longest seconds of my travel. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. The road was clear again, except for the potholes and trash. Following a large pothole, about three feet wide and several inches deep, I could see dark skid marks leading to the side of the road. Tire tracks eventually led to a gray truck that had crashed fiercely into a large tree trunk. The driver was sent flying through the windshield and there wasn¡¯t much left of him. His clothes were melted into what scavengers left of the body. I could even see the fractures in his skull. This is why we wear seatbelts, people. I kept my eyes back to the road. Yes, this road was neglected, with no signs of being cleaned for quite some time. All of this made me walk cautiously. I was in no man¡¯s land and I had to tread carefully. Broken Steel - Part 3 Wherever I looked, the signs of disrepair were overwhelming. An empty pickup truck had been pushed off the road and the town sign had been vandalized. What kind of government quarantine is this? I bet the escaped mayor couldn¡¯t take back this lawless land, even with the help of everyone who escaped. We¡¯d just be rustled up like cattle for prison again. Why was I doing this again? Grandma. I need an army to save her and the rest. The prison camp housed about half of the people from our town. I always wondered what happened to the other half. Were they allowed to stay, or were they in another prison somewhere? The Allergan camp prisoners were the meeker half of the town. I was hoping the other half was here, still fighting, still resisting. Or... all I need to do is gather all the kidnapped teenagers and start a youth riot. Yeah, it¡¯s a desperate girl¡¯s wish. So sue me. My right hand had been gripping the staff too hard. I switched grips and trudged on. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. I stayed on the pavement as much as I could. The distance was long, and my soles were already worn out. I had to rest frequently to ease the pain in my feet. Why couldn¡¯t I have found a magical pair of shoes instead? One that would whisk me home magically. Although glittery red heels weren¡¯t my style. I quite favored my hot pink shoelaces on my otherwise plain sneakers. Once in town, I¡¯d find myself some new shoes, something that¡¯d fit better. The pair I had on now were too small for me. I knew I shouldn¡¯t have been cheap. They were a bit snug when we were taken, which meant I could¡¯ve and should¡¯ve bought new shoes at that time when I had the chance. My right toe peeked through a hole. You could forget about getting luxuries like shoes in Camp Allegan. Those idiots at the prison didn¡¯t care much for us, they barely fed us. Giving prisoners new shoes never even crossed their minds. I wondered how everybody was doing back there. I hoped that more escaped and no one was caught. Tracy was going to use another prisoner to set an example. Many times, the solitary confinement box in this summer heat killed our citizens, driving them and their family mad in the process. The gem on the staff pulsed for a second, responding to my anger. Is that how I¡¯m supposed to use the staff? Send waves of hatred? Finally, I made it to the town. I mean, to what used to be the town. Broken Steel - Part 4 Steel, Michigan was a mess. No, it was a disaster. A war came over town and left behind a wreck, a shadow of what it used to be. Desolate and deserted, bits of paper and plastic littered the main street. Garbage bags filled every corner of every side street. These people-turned-animals desperately needed a garbageman. I dared to look at the puddles of brown stuff near the curb. Dog poop, totally disgusting. Not just the floors but even the walls of the houses and our small library suffered the onslaught of filth and destruction. Some obscene graffiti covered everything in shades of brown paint. No, wait. That was no paint! What have you done to my town? I stood with tears in my eyes. They stained my beautiful book haven with some human¡¯s shi¡ªwastes! Why did you do this? If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. It gets worse. Broken furniture stuck out of the window, partially covered by shredded curtains. Violent much? They burned the grocery market, left it bare. They even riddled the remaining wall with bullet holes. Some homes looked wild with overgrown ivy on them. The brown stuff was fresh with a side of flies. I sighed and swallowed my bitterness, ignored my crushed soul, and started to walk again. As I walked down the main street, the smell of human excrement assaulted my nose. The sight of the damage was worse. This was not how we left the town. In all my years, summer in Steel meant the sweet aroma of cherry and blueberry pies, not the smell of feces. The fruity fragrance would waft and permeate into the streets. I would be drooling at the memory if it weren¡¯t for the current stench. This was all sorts of wrong. Nothing about this place felt like home. Of course, the houses stood, but nothing else was the same. Broken Steel - Part 5 In front of every big house, barbed wire fences kept away the chaos that hit this town. All the windows were covered with wooden boards, blocking the view and the sun. These houses never looked so intimidating and desolate. Looted trucks and cars sat in the streets, their doors ajar. The lawns looked like patches of dead desert in some lots, and in others, weed jungle. I could hear voices from the houses, and they were gruff, loud, and angry. I didn¡¯t know who these people were, but these new house residents couldn¡¯t possibly be the people who used to live here. I didn¡¯t think any of the Camp prisoners made it this way. All of a sudden, I felt so lonely. Someone, anyone, come back. I backed up into a clean wall behind me, only to have my legs sink down on the concrete. The ground was also thankfully relatively clean. Near the doors, in bright red paint, appeared the bold letter M. The paint had bled, adding a horror element to it. Every M had been crossed out later with spray paint. The ¡°art¡± was dreadful, and this was all I could focus on as I kept walking. I ventured closer to the doors on a quiet block and finally noticed it. All the doors were broken. Some doors were barely mended. So all of these residents were people who took the houses by force. Whether the other half of the town fled or not, this invasion of newcomers was loathsome. The new arrivals, are these people working together with the bad men that imprisoned us? Did they use brute force or occupy it after it was deserted? None of them belong here. Do I belong here? Am I about to panic and cry? I saw some people walking about like zombies. I held myself tightly and walked away from the main streets. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. They looked defeated by life and the surrounding elements, or maybe they were a bit weary and uncoordinated because they were drunk in the middle of the day. Maybe they didn¡¯t fit in this town and the alienation crushed them. I watched as they walked into the shade that darkened their slumped backs. This is the walk of the hopeless. Even the prisoners of Camp Allegan had more spirit. One of them was heading my way. I hid fast behind the nearby mound of garbage. I didn¡¯t want them to know of my existence yet. As I hid there holding my nose, I decided not to announce myself. I couldn¡¯t trust these people or their intentions. Drowning men will drag you down if you let them. I wasn¡¯t going to ask for help from people who could barely pull themselves together. As soon as I could make myself scarce, I sprinted away to avoid contact. I ran, not looking back, as if eye contact was enough to transfer their disease to me. My next course of action¡ªmy wisest, safest plan¡ªwas to seek refuge in my own home. I slowed and walked with caution towards my old home, to make sure no one followed. Another odd thing I noticed had to do with the new populace. I¡¯ve seen quite a few people now, but where were all the kids and teens? Are their teenagers stolen like the Camp Allegan teens? Are they here? Are they even alive? I felt that knot of suspicion draw itself tight in the pit of my empty stomach. If the teenagers are here, they''re kept hidden like dirty little secrets. This whole town is worse than Camp Allegan. Fields of farmland hugged the road and not a moment too soon. I was hungry and tired, in need of a good rest. I trekked my way to the center of Farmer Michael¡¯s land. Past his house was our farmworker house. Seeing his uprooted crops, I nearly fainted. The land and the blueberry bushes were neglected, barren. I had never seen a Malvao shrub completely shrivel and collapse into itself until now. The old Malvao trees¡ªthe shrubs that grew into trees from Dad¡¯s cultivation days¡ªstood unhurt, but their leaves curled in, diseased. They had been harvested by who knows, but there were so many burst Malvao pods that stained the ground. Inexperienced pickers, that¡¯s what happened. Such a waste. The Malvao pods from trees had a whole year to bear fruit and would have fetched ten times the price of a shrub¡¯s pod. Broken Steel - Part 6 Every window on Farmer Michael¡¯s house was shattered to pieces and the door handle was stained Malvao purple. It was deserted as if haunted. If the pickers used to live here, they probably wanted to be far from here after the harvest. Our small farmworker¡¯s house was still standing. No shattered window as they busted the door easily. I let out a sigh of relief. Opening the cupboards, I found they were bare, except for a few herb shakers that lay on its side. Wasn¡¯t worth taking, I guess. Thyme and oregano. The house itself was too empty. I missed seeing grandma sleeping in her rocking chair in the corner. My mother couldn¡¯t escape Camp Allegan, she had Sadie to worry about. A black sheep like me still missed my family. I opened the back door and dragged my feet across my small backyard. The carrot tops were dried but a quick yank on the small plant showed that I still had some food after all. They left my tubers. My eyes watered a bit at the sight. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. I greedily grabbed some carrots, potatoes, and yams in a half-broken basket and went into our house. At least some of the pots were there, not all of them were stolen. How considerate of the thieves and looters. At a twist of a Malvao-stained knob, water flowed freely from the kitchen faucet. Great news, clear running water! Life in prison made me appreciate the little things. After all, the soldiers have to live here too right? Probably in the big houses? I drank from the faucet and hurried to wash the first vegetable. While munching on a broken piece of carrot, I washed the rest of my root loot. I cut them and put them in a pot with water, some salt, and herbs to boil. As my vegetable stew cooked, I went to check my old bedroom. I didn¡¯t expect much, but I wanted to check if it was still good to sleep in. My room was mostly intact. It still had four walls, a cupboard, and a bed. Almost everything else was gone, and my bed had the indentation of a far larger body in it. It smelled awful. This is modern-day Goldilocks, folks. Who¡¯s been sleeping in my bed? Broken Steel - Part 7 I removed the sheets, opened the window, which surprisingly was working, (no rust or broken glass here) and the warm air cleared the stench of whoever slept in my bed. Then I went back to my stew, still not done. Some sprinkles of oregano and some stirring didn¡¯t help the time pass. I pulled myself away from the pot and sat in the single unbroken chair in the kitchen, waiting. As I waited, my mind traveled back to the town. What the heck is happening? Why is this town in such a bad condition? I couldn¡¯t deduce a logical answer. The only way to find out what happened was to talk to the new residents, the same ones that I couldn¡¯t trust. Great¡­ Screw that, I was done waiting for my stew to cook. I popped open the microwave door and saw the light inside turn on. Running water, working stove, and even a working microwave. This was my new heaven. I reclaimed a bowl, fished the roots out with a soup spoon, and microwaved the suckers for three minutes. The veggies plopped back into the stew to cool. I ate them directly from the pot, slurping and crunching the larger pieces. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. The quantity was five times the prison¡¯s provisions, and it tasted so much better. This was food, not the processed muck they served. I ate and ate as much as I could stuff in my stomach and only managed to empty an equivalent of half a bowl of soup. An old habit and a smaller stomach. Back in prison, I tried to sneak any bit of food to my bed, and I would later try to give those bits to my grandma. She usually would refuse if I didn¡¯t eat with her, so I got accustomed to eating less when served, and eating the rest slowly with grandma while trying to push her to eat more. I stared at the pot of food, sad that there was no way of sharing this with grandma. The moldy fridge reeked. The rotting leftover chicken practically jumped into the trash, plate and all. The pot sat in the front, placed on a coaster and fully covered with its matching lid. No way was I getting mold in my soup. I brushed my teeth with my old toothbrush and some salt (they took my toothpaste) and even then, my teeth were grateful for it. In Allegan, the prisoners would¡¯ve fought me to my death for the bristled novelty, purple skin or not. Broken Steel - Part 8 I decided to explore the rest of Farmer Michael¡¯s house to work up my appetite. A quick search for the essentials. It took me the entire two hours before I tired, but at least I found myself a pair of shoes that fit, some change of clothes, and a better and sturdier backpack to keep everything in. I searched for a flashlight, batteries, or candles for tonight, something inconspicuous, but no luck. I didn¡¯t need another scraped knee from how uncoordinated I was becoming, so I headed back to my room to get a mid-evening nap. With borrowed sheets from the other house set on my bed, I prepared myself for a nap except I forgot one more thing. A stealthy bath. I tried removing all my clothes but my shirt and bra were fused to my back as if superglued. So I sat in the tub with my fused clothes, filled a bucket with warmed water, and as silently as I could, dunked the first bucketful over my head. The water helped and I removed my clothes in forceful tugs like a bandaid. My clothes were ruined with some burnt tar residue in the same two vertical lines as the bark in the forest. At least I wasn¡¯t turning into a spider as these weren¡¯t leg holes and the leak from the staff was contained. It¡¯s just a fluke, I¡¯m safe now. I lied to myself. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Grabbing a bar of soap, I set to scrubbing down the grime. I gave myself another rinse. Once I opened and applied the shampoo, I felt myself relax. A nice earth essence of forest herbs and mountain flowers. I closed my eyes and almost drifted off, dreaming of a magical forest and not the scary forest trek that I just escaped. Another two rinses later and I was clean. After drying myself off, I wore a nice clean set of clothes. I had food, shelter, and my staff was laying beside me in bed, time for my much needed nap. Except sleep didn¡¯t take me. I tossed and turned in my bed. I should have finished my soup. Easier to fall asleep on a full stomach. My bed wasn¡¯t this saggy before. Based on the severity of the body indentation on the mattress, some heavy old balding Goldilocks had taken my bed for some time. It could have been anybody. They could be coming back here at this very moment, and then I would be the intruder in their bed. The moment of panic came and passed. Whoever used my bed was long gone. The old sheets lay musty, dusty, and caked with dirt. Plus, from my mini harvest, I got the feeling that I had the whole farm for myself, and nobody ventured to this place anymore. Finally, my leaden eyes sealed shut, and sleep overtook me. I slept maybe an hour or two when I was woken up by a big boom and the shaking of the bed and window. Not Orcas but Orcs - Part 1 Nothing like an explosion to remind me that I¡¯m alive. I jumped out of bed fully clothed¡ªold prison habits¡ªand put on my sneakers. I grabbed my shoulder pack and staff and ran out of the house. I looked to my right¡ªwest¡ªin the direction of the blast. I stood for a moment to decide. Do I want to go check what caused this? Is it still safe to stay here? Raised voices and cries of alarm sounded in the distance. I wanted to stay hidden, but curiosity won me over. Time to peek at the newly wreaked havoc. Reality happens to be stranger than fiction. Depending on what it is, I may have to admit this is becoming my new normal. Lurking in ninja-style, I sourced the blast to the decommissioned iron mine. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. The entrance in the hill grew far wider¡ªas if two school buses had rammed the entrance side-by-side. Scaffolds and train tracks went in and out of the place, lacing it in a network of wood and iron. The floor near the opening glistened wet and red with rusted iron deposits. Another ground-shaking boom sent a gust of debris out of the entrance. I tried slowing my breaths, not knowing what or who might be there. Unless I was here to steal dynamite, this probably wasn¡¯t going to help my situation. Yet I was dying to know what happened. Soldiers directed miners out as if escaping a war zone. Except there was no sign of the enemy. In the chaos, I was nearly invisible. I huddled over to the entrance. To my surprise, teenage miners, with their orange vests and goggles sitting atop their white miner helmets, rushed out like startled ants. Each carried combat weapons, not shovels or pickaxes. Squinting, I saw traditional weapons like swords, staves like mine or spears, scepters or wands. But one thing was common¡ªa purple glowing gem. Maybe the explosion was an accident, but why did they all have weapons? Not Orcas but Orcs - Part 2 I crept closer and concentrated on the teenagers, trying to recognize any of them. Sweat and blood dripped from beneath their helmets as more miners ran out. Larger army men came from nearby tents and pulled the wounded out from the mouth of the cave. Unconscious injured young adults, by the look of it. Another miner piled two smaller, limp bodies into a minecart. He thrust against the cart with a starting run. As they escaped, an arm hung loose outside the cart, dripping blood. Hidden with the crowd, I spotted a long red-haired miner late. She had a steady trot like on autopilot. The brief side profile looked like...Alleya! The bundled hair was tied as high as the helmet allowed and you had to look past the dust to see the red. I sprinted towards her from behind. ¡°Alleya, is that you?¡± I clenched my jaw, grabbed her shoulder to turn her so she was facing me. Please, at least Alleya and Johnathan¡ªthe last two teenagers that were taken. My touch turned the teenager from a dead-eyed robotic soldier to a triggered slayer. Her eyes filled with burning animosity. In that split second, a sharp pointed blade stopped just below my nose. Oh sh- The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. My mind blanked. I forgot to breathe. The boy next to her had caught her by the wrist but my focus stayed on the blade until it was placed back into her scabbard. I almost got myself killed! The boy, my savior, had calmed her down and now was redirecting her attention to the tents. Now that the blade was safely stowed, I looked into his gray eyes and uttered a weak thanks. He gave me a disgusted look and walked off with the redhead. I made myself small again, scanning the teenagers¡¯ faces. None of them looked like anybody I knew. Besides, most had glassy eyes. Their disconnected minds ran on autopilot. Some ¡°woke their witches.¡± One swatted around his head. Another covered his ears. They were either reliving the horror or hallucinating. Just like some of our Allegan prisoners, the ones punished by sleep deprivation. Or it could have been something even more sinister. Everything cried of the wrongness of it all. Not Orcas but Orcs - Part 3 They carted away the unconscious men to the sleeping bags lined under market stall tents. With a shock, I realized that the wet ground wasn¡¯t mud-colored red from iron deposits. It was blood. The explosion''s aftermath covered everything in blood. The dragged men were dead. The bags were body bags. I stood there cupping my mouth, horrified. I puked. Moments passed and I couldn¡¯t stand there forever. That would stick out more than running and screaming nonsense. I squirmed closer to hide behind the next cart a few feet from the mine. ¡°Orc!¡± I looked up to the source of the young voice. It came from a boy a little older than me, with spiked hair the shape of a candle¡¯s lit wick, standing precariously on a scaffold above the mine entrance. The boy shouted louder, ¡°Clear out!¡± He pulled a spiked ball on a stick from his side. Pulling the stick, he extended the length. He held a mace with sharp spikes with a telescopic hilt. Purple light emitted through the junctures of the hilt, and through the metal spikes. A magic mace! This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Yelling theatrically, he jumped out and my heart stopped for a second. He jumped from twenty feet above the mine, to fall to his death. But, from the shadows of the entrance, a huge green and squarish head emerged and the boy¡¯s mace connected with the skull. A bulky green giant with a humped back stumbled forward, howling in pain. It¡­ He was 7 feet tall, the tunnels had stunted its¡­ his growth. The forms of a bodybuilder and Quasimodo mashed and twisted together to mold the monstrous figure. The swamp green creature had thick, acid green stretchmarks. It trailed up his torso to his face. He wore nothing but a poor excuse for homemade shorts and was riddled with old pink scars. The orc donned a new sizable dent in his protruding forehead. Blood from the holes from the mace¡¯s spikes leaked onto his orange eyebrows. The wound area and his blood turned a moldy gray. When he yelled out in pain again, all I could do was stare at his sizable jaw that was part piranha with huge yellow teeth. Everybody else stood watching in equal fascination and horror as I did. Some curious and daring souls approached to take a closer look at the fallen orc, pushing and jostling me. Worse, in the frenzy, I felt a yank at my shoulder, and following that, my shoulder pack started to slip. I¡¯m being robbed! Not Orcas but Orcs - Part 4 ¡°My pack!¡± I yelled as I turned to my robber, grabbing a hold of the strap before I completely lost it. I had a loose grip on it now, holding both the strap and staff. I knew I should¡¯ve changed packs! I cursed. A much smaller kid than me looked at me with a grin, yanked one last time on the pack, grabbed it, and started running. That little¡­ I chased after the weasel at once. I bumped into the gathering crowd left and right, following the small thief. My elbows might have connected with some soft parts. People started shouting at me. Once they saw my purple tan, they were grossed out even more. They ended up shoving others around them hoping that they would reach me like a domino effect. What a scary bunch. The chase went on, with that lowly thief weaving through the crowd while I stumbled upon human boulders, getting further behind. I had to hand it to him. He sure knew how to run and how to lead a good chase using every advantage of his compact frame. I didn¡¯t know what I would do when I caught the thieving runt, but I needed that dagger and feather. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. I followed him as he ran uphill to the edge of the forest, panting and foaming from tiredness and anger. I was losing to the runt. I needed to stop for a breath; I was in a terrible shape to start with. Even the thought of losing my pack and all my belongings couldn¡¯t fuel me with energy I didn¡¯t have. As I started to fall behind, panting and bent over fighting not to wretch, I heard a shout of pain and surprise up ahead. Must be the small thief. Serves him right, that little punk. The wave of nausea ebbed as I walked in the direction of the struggle. Does that mean that somebody else caught the thief? Would that person give me back my pack or would they steal it themselves? Panic and anger made me push through the tiredness and I ran again, pushing as hard as I could to reach where the sound came from. Turning the bend of the trail, I made a sudden stop. I almost keeled over because, right in front of me, was another orc. I watched the creature with wide eyes and trembling lips, as it held my pack in the air with the boy attached to it, shaking them to get one loose from the other. The boy bobbed up and down, hanging precariously onto the pack. This kid was desperate. Did he know it held a Malvao weapon? Was it worth his life? Not Orcas but Orcs - Part 5 ¡°Hey!¡± The word tumbled out. I cupped my mouth and froze. The pale green, lean orc stopped shaking the pack for a second and turned his attention to me. He tilted his head in confusion. My courage ran out. I was alone out here. At his gaze, I held my staff in front of me, shaking. What am I doing holding a weapon in front of a monster who could snap me like a twig? This orc might have been smaller and leaner than the one at the mine, but using a wild animal¡¯s strength, he half-jumped and half-climbed up the tree, dangling the poor screaming kid behind him. I looked as the monster kept shaking the pack with the boy for another few seconds, then he pulled the pack to its nose and took a long whiff. Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. That¡¯s right, you big oaf, there is no food in there. Just drop it. The same goes for you, you crazy stubborn thief. I looked at the hysterical kid hanging for dear life. Do you have a death wish? If you continue clinging to my pack, the orc¡¯s next meal''s gonna be you, thief. I lowered my staff and watched the ridiculous sight. The orc grabbed the boy¡¯s shirt collar and lifted him to eye level. I gasped. He looked the kid dead in his eyes and casually flung him away. The kid fell into the bushes below. Was he ok? I saw movement there and let out a sigh of relief. The throw from the orc wasn¡¯t filled with anger or a show of strength. Nor did he see us as food. The orc locked eyes with mine. There was intelligence there. He was watching for what I would do next. Still, the boy could need help. I looked away from the orc to check on the kid. He scrambled backward, silent with soiled pants. At least he suffered no broken bones. Not Orcas but Orcs - Part 6 ¡°What the¡ª?¡± I did a double-take on the kid¡¯s face. Up close, the kid turned out to be a short-haired girl. She shook her head, trembling on the floor, unable to pick herself up. I grabbed her shoulder and gave her a small shake. ¡°Are you alright?¡± She nodded silently. My moment of concern faded and my anger bubbled up again. I should have been more worried about the Orc, but no one steals from me. No one. ¡°Did you take anything from my pack?¡± I kept my hand on her shoulder as she squirmed. I looked her in the eye and held her other shoulder too. To show her I meant business. My close physical contact scared her. This purple phobia served as psychological warfare. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°No, I swear!¡± Her voice was high. ¡°D-didn¡¯t have the chance to.¡± She frequently looked beyond me to the orc. She didn¡¯t try to stand. I didn¡¯t know whether it was from her paralyzing fear or from the pain of being hurled to the ground. I looked at the terrified girl and lifted her up by her armpits, avoiding having to touch her. She numbly stood there. ¡°Go! Go already!¡± I yelled at her. ¡°What are you waiting for? An invitation to dance?¡± The girl looked from me to the orc. She froze for a second, and then she bolted from the scene. Before she got too far, I cried out, ¡°Tell the people at the mine that there¡¯s an orc on the loose. They might be able to handle this. Hurry!¡± She looked back only once to nod to me, then she vanished among the trees. I sighed. I had to get what was mine from Mr. Orc himself. I paced back and forth, all the while looking at the orc. I needed to get this bag back before help came or else they would take it for themselves, maybe even my staff too. I was just another monster to them, just a different color. His eyes never left the spot I stood. If he was going to communicate through magical spit like Spiderzilla, he could¡¯ve done it while I was distracted with the thief girl. The orc¡¯s shoulders drooped. He grunted, pulling the bag closer to him and shaking his head. This orc was trying to communicate something to me first. Maybe he was mute. I tilted my head. Not Orcas but Orcs - Part 7 Tense and on edge, I pointed to the pack, and second, to myself. ¡°Mine.¡± The word came out rude and demanding. His body slumped in a depressed posture. He climbed down with the pack over his shoulder. I backed away a bit, trying for diplomacy as I¡¯d be no match in strength. "Hey, Mr. Orc,¡± I called at him when he came down. ¡°The bag,¡± I pointed at the bag. ¡°You must have smelled it.¡± I pointed at my nose and scrunched to sniff at the air. ¡°I saw you put it near your face. You know it is mine. It has my scent on it.¡± I pointed at the bag, took a big sniff, pointed at myself, and inhaled some more. The orc started exaggeratedly sniffing the air with his mouth open like some animals do. He growled and grimaced. At my smell, I¡¯m assuming. Again, his mouth widened. If he opened his mouth any wider, he¡¯d swallow the bag. Nostrils flared, he let out a huge sneeze. He didn¡¯t like that one bit either. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. Neither did I. He took one step towards me, luring me with my bag. I took one step back, gesturing the tossing motion. We were at a stalemate. I didn¡¯t want to get any closer to this big monster, and he didn¡¯t want to toss me my bag. He gazed away from me into the horizon. Then he turned and looked at where the girl ran. If he was as intelligent as I thought, he must have realized that I told the girl to bring help. He looked again at me, and he kind of nodded. I wasn¡¯t sure if orcs nodded in the first place. The orc backed away, guarded, to the nearest tree, all while keeping constant eye contact. But the moment he reached the tree, he turned and darted. "Hey!" Ugh. I really didn¡¯t need another chase. But what could I do? I sprinted to follow. I went further into the woods. I didn¡¯t know how far I had to follow, how safe were these woods, or if I would get to meet an orc village for a nice family dinner. But I wanted the jewel-encrusted dagger and magical feather back. My grandmother¡¯s survival hinged on bartering the dagger and the feather was my backup support. I had to get my pack back. Almost a Clown - Part 1 The orc¡¯s long strides left me in the dust. I pushed as hard as I could, following the deep imprints of his footsteps on the ground. My tired feet were breaking into Andrea¡¯s old gym shoes, and the cushion didn¡¯t help the fact that I still had to keep running. My knees gave out, and I landed in the dirt, crying for breath. I lay by a fork in the trail, completely spent. Not like I could just venture into either trail without knowing what waited for me there anyway. A family of hungry orcs who were less picky about their meals, maybe? The orc was long gone, and continuing the pursuit seemed like a lost cause. I lost my pack and with it, my bargaining chip for my grandmother¡¯s freedom, the jewel-encrusted dagger. My staff dug into the dirt as I tried to stand and failed. I bit my arm to muffle my scream. How could I let this happen? The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. After a few gasps for air, I scooted to a tree and sat there, propped against the trunk in a desire to look normal. Grandma¡¯s freedom, I need to secure it in some other way. But how? I was out of ideas but that wouldn¡¯t stop me. I won¡¯t throw in the towel. I¡¯ll be hanging onto anything that¡¯s mine, even a metaphorical towel. I wiped my sweat, stood, and begrudgingly backtracked in the vague direction of the mine. I wasn¡¯t lost for long, as the sounds of drunken soldiers yelling guided me through the woods. Soon after, I entered the mine camp area, taking note to avoid the drunkards. Five soldiers along with five teenage minor miners¡ªbad joke¡ªplayed ¡®keep the canteen away¡¯ from an even drunker, short and stocky miner. He sported a lot of facial hair for a teen. How long had he been growing that beard? They tossed and caught the canteen, taking swigs before the stocky miner could get close enough to snatch it from them. I thought the entire camp was drunk by the amount of noise they made. Glad to see that was not the case. Almost a Clown - Part 2 I dragged myself towards the side as some soldiers passed¡ªmy burned-out body refusing to listen to my brain¡¯s insistence on hiding. They passed without giving me a second glance, which was strange as purple complexions tended to require a double-take. I shuddered and sighed with relief. Guess I¡¯m not the only freak of the town anymore. I looked for more soldiers, hoping they¡¯d rush to the forest. Did the girl not get help? That slimy little urchin! Sure enough, another couple of soldiers followed the first group in the direction of the forest, led by a white shih tzu. The small fluffy dog sniffed at the ground, then the air, and yipped at them, urging them forward. Is this really the best that they could do? I couldn¡¯t help but chuckle. Or... maybe it¡¯s a magical shih tzu? An image of a flying shih tzu with a billowing cape, like the famous Mighty Mouse, was what finally caused my much delayed mental breakdown. My chuckle morphed into an unwarranted fit of laughter. A jingle played in my head. Here comes Mighty Shih Tzu to save the day! It was sappy, sing-songy, and happy-go-lucky. I was laughing so hard and couldn''t stop. My weakened muscles forced me on my knees again. My mental image had a flying Shih Tzu zooming past, back and forth, fast enough to give everyone whiplash. I imagined its ¡°mighty¡± high pitched bark and the orc family shivering in fear. I lay on my back again, staring at the sky, laughing like a lunatic. The sudden episode of uncontrolled laughing made me sick to my stomach, or the stomach pain simply could¡¯ve been from laughing too hard. Laughter in prison was rarely without a victim. Prison was no laughing matter. Laughter was a sign of hope, and neither had a place in our prison. Wannabe comedian Jack got a punch for every punchline he shared until they got fed up and stuck him in an isolation chamber. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. I heard my own laughter and cringed with dread. But I couldn¡¯t stop. My pent-up feelings of desperation and lack of power, such as when denied the power to laugh when I wanted, burst through my laughter. There was no threat to my life laughing here. Turning my head, I looked to the forest. Good luck, Mighty Furball. I wiped the tears that welled my eyes, sobering up at the sad thought that maybe a place with real monsters was better than the human monsters in prison after all. Wheezing, I crawled and rested against a gallon barrel for a couple of minutes to catch my breath before I proceeded to the mine entrance. The place was almost empty. Where did everybody go? Everything was calm and orderly with only one guard at the mine. Why wasn¡¯t everyone panicking over a possible orc invasion? No sign of the orc¡¯s dead body, just tire tracks of a cart leading back to the mine. Seeing how powerful and sturdy the first orc was, I was glad for the existence of these bejewelled, all-powerful weapons capable of inhuman destruction. My mind swam with images of orcs falling and crashing to bits with the touch of a magic weapon, something like Humpty Dumpty, ready to fall and crack at will. My overactive imagination made farm life and prison life bearable and sometimes unbearable. Never mind. It was mostly unbearable. Now, because of an uncontrollable mind, I starved for some eggs. I thought of all the ways they can be cooked and how delicious they¡¯d be¡ªto have some right here and now. My stomach grumbled in protest. I looked around me to see soldiers about and open tents, but I wasn¡¯t one to venture. I was too tired anyway, so I went home, dragging my dead legs with my staff as my crutch. Not to mention, the grueling walk was filled with stomach cramps. My broken body entered the house, and the first thing that I did was eat the stew directly from the cold pot. Once finished, I started to have cramps from overeating. Give me a break, stomach! I lay still in my indented bed which felt like a coffin. My cramps ended and I slept. Almost a Clown - Part 3 I woke up from a decent nap with a startle. Prison habit, where even pure silence could jerk me awake. A glance at the window showed the full moon. Night had just begun. My desire to check on the orc situation urged me outside. I might even get my dagger back. I grabbed my new, empty backpack and my staff. I walked to the outskirts of the mining camp to see if I could extract any new info, but there was only a bored-looking military officer standing guard with a regular spear and a horn. Are they all out of guns and walkie-talkies? On the scaffolds of the mine, half-broken Christmas lights lit the scene. Below, on the ground, were glowing stones. It¡¯s not even Christmas. I shook my head and bent down to inspect it. I hovered my hand over the stone for a second and then laid my palm on it. Cool to the touch. I looked around, wondering if I could take one without anyone noticing. Opposite of the tents lined near the mountain, somebody in a cloak and hood sat by a real campfire, not those barrel fires, trying to warm himself. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. His dark cloak glistened dew and reflected the fire slightly, giving him a halo that made him look ethereal and otherworldly. I didn''t mean to stare, but the stranger was staring at me as well, and I was pinned by his gaze. An air of danger hung above this stranger just like his cloak hugged his body. For as long as I looked at him, he never blinked. With a fierce gaze, his painted eyes had an intensity¡ªhis black eyes steady and strong as if he was looking right through me. Like shattering glass, I broke out of the trance and backed up slowly to avoid the dangerous sharp edges. The outer ring of his eyes rimmed in darkness like black eyeshadow. Why did his eyes follow me whenever I took a step in any direction? Hunger in his piercing eyes intensified and he reached into his cloak, stopping me in my tracks. I knew that you should avoid people with this eagerness spilling all over from them. It was like this sticky door-to-door salesman who would put his shoe in your door as you opened it. Except I could be face-to-face with a murderer and his cloak could be hiding a weapon. I wanted to challenge my feelings, I wanted to stare down or even face his burning gaze, even though every part of my being screamed against it, it urged me to run away from him. I couldn¡¯t help it, I turned and ran. I bolted down Fifty-sixth Street as it was reasonably well lit. But I ran without a target, destination or plan, I just ran and shivered with every leaping step I took. Almost a Clown - Part 4 I took one look behind me. He¡¯s tailing me! Is he going to kill me? What did I ever do to this guy? I zipped around the corner, took a right, then a left. I pushed hard on the ground until my calf muscles were ready to explode. I took a quick breath as I stood in front of Andres Grocery, wishing the bright lights would scare him away. Should I scream for help? Nah, I thought, shaking my head. I can''t go crying for help; that''ll only get me into trouble. He lingered by a lamppost at the edge of my sight, waiting. Waiting for what? What was his deal? What was his game? I scanned the area; no one else was around. I could''ve ducked into the store, but then I''d be on edge, waiting for him to pop up again. After waiting for what felt like forever and feeling a bit silly, I gained courage. Being near a store I could dash into if things went wrong helped. I turned around to confront him. ¡°Hey, you! Why are you following me? What do you want with me?¡± I trembled, but not with fear. I shook with indignation. In this lawless town, who knows how many grody creeps there are? He must¡¯ve chosen to stalk me ever since our eyes met. Another Tracy that feeds on another person¡¯s fear. He didn¡¯t answer. After some seconds, he approached me with slow, catlike steps. "Answer me!¡± I shouted to get rid of some nerves. ¡°Why won''t you talk?" I shifted the staff to my left hand, freeing up my right hand to act like a puppet, demonstrating how talking works. "That''s what your mouth is for. Talking." I opened and closed my mouth like a fish out of water. He stayed tight-lipped. "Are you deaf? Mute? Or just playing dumb?" My frustration bubbled over. Yes, I might''ve sounded rude, but hey, talking to a stalker is pretty weird. Not talking is even ruder I guess. "Do - You - Un-der-stand - My - Wor-ds?" I exaggerated each word. The hooded dude didn''t seem bothered. He just strolled toward me like he owned the place. Nope, not a single word registered with him. I rolled my eyes. Stopping arm''s length away, he suddenly stopped in his tracks. His mischievous black eyes sparkled, and it hit me ¨C he had me exactly where he wanted. He reached into his cloak again. I stepped back, ready to scream at the sight of a weapon. As he delved into his cloak again, I took a cautious step back, fearing a weapon. To my relief, he slowly withdrew... Nothing. It was like witnessing an empty magician''s trick, a deliberate move to avoid scaring me. Then, he lowered his hood, unveiling a brilliant smile. Stolen story; please report. Now that I could see the person¡¯s androgynous full face, it was both handsome and beautiful. Maybe it was a girl. The slim face with gentle features and hair like a vibrant rainbow, each curl showing off colors from vivid red to shiny purple, made me wonder if I''d guessed the gender wrong. Let¡¯s just say it¡¯s a he. Cheeks glowing, flawless skin¡­To top it off, his eyebrows were manicured and his lips were rosy red with a hint of luster to them. He looked like a doll. Wait, he also had pointed ears? He did have the most unusual ears, and they were indeed pointy, just like Mr. Spock¡¯s ears. Were elves a thing now? But he seemed so... human? Confusing. Humans have flaws, right? Other than the ears, he was too perfect. Was it movie makeup magic? I think I forgot to breathe for a sec, as I gasped for air. With his smile still so wide and beaming, he dug into his robe and pulled whatever was on his shoulder and held it out for me. Was that... my pack? My lost-and-never-expected-to-see-it-again pack. So that was what he wanted to show me from under the hood! I was over the moon! I went for it but he held my wrist with his other hand. He gripped me with direct skin-to-skin contact and a force so strong, something no one but Grandma would dare not to do ever since I turned purple. My skin burned in his grasp and the heat spread to my cheeks. He moved closer, placing his other hand on my shoulder. I didn''t resist. His touch was safe and comforting. For the first time in years, someone touched me without treating me like a purple freak. He let go and raised both hands to my forehead. I shut my eyes, expecting something crazy. Nope, just a gentle touch. I opened my eyes to find him deep in concentration. He was deep into something that I didn¡¯t get or understand. We stood like that for what felt like an eternity. I coughed with embarrassment. Or something in the air. Okay, it was out of embarrassment, we looked so weird and awkward. He opened his eyes, a hopeful deep look that turned into disappointment. His smile faded when he didn¡¯t find what he was looking for in my eyes. Clearly, something was supposed to happen but it just didn¡¯t. Maybe he was considering a do-over, regretting that whole forehead thing. I wished for a do-over too, one where I didn''t act like a total goof. He smiled again, gesturing at my pack with an open palm. I looked puzzled. Was he waiting for payment? Did I need to inspect the contents? He just kept smiling, sincere and reassuring. Opening my pack, I found my dagger where it belonged. I smiled back, relieved. At least I still had my ticket to a better future, something to help my grandma. That was my hopeful wish. I nodded as I mouthed, "Thank - You." I searched deeper for the Tengu feather. Just as if Pom-Pom Hair could read my mind, he twirled the black feather by the hollow shaft, showing it off. I didn''t even catch when he took it from his robe. He pretended to sniff the feather and wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Alright, not a fan of the smell. I can see that," I said with a shrug. "But it''s mine, so you don¡¯t have to worry about that.¡± When I tried to grab it, he lifted it higher than my short arms could reach. Ugh, I hate being short. Frowning, hands on my hips, I threatened, "Do I need to hang on your arms till you give it back? Cause I''ll do it, you know." But he wasn''t paying attention. His gaze shifted to the direction of the mines where a stray cat strutted toward us like it owned the street. Pom-Pom''s face turned serious. Maybe black cats were a bad omen for him too. The stray cat locked eyes with Pom-Pom too. Pom-Pom reluctantly handed back my feather, placed two fingers on his forehead, then on mine. With a gentle push, he urged me away from the mines. Once he let go of me, I turned around. He was already halfway down the street, zooming away. He was the fastest graceful thing I''d ever seen. Each strange encounter was topping the last. Even the crow-man and the orc didn''t come close. I started walking home, thinking that the wonders in my life were just starting. This was my new normal, and I couldn''t escape it. Pom-Pom Head wasn''t bad. I wouldn''t mind seeing that perfect figure again. Raine I woke up feeling worn out. Totally beat. Ugh, gravity was heavy through the blanket, like it had doubled overnight. I lay in bed, gazing at the gloomy world outside through the crack in my curtains. Farmer Michael''s rooster used to wake me up at the crack of dawn, and that was no biggie, even when I was pulling overtime. As I lay still, I found myself missing that chatty bird and his sunrise jam. I''d bet that semi-cool rooster was the first to bite the dust during this gnarly apocalyptic change. As I lay there for what seemed like forever, the gloom never lifted. Normally, by this time in the summer, I would have finished all my chores before the sun got too hot. But today was different. My hesitation tugged at me, a bit like Farmer Michael''s rooster crowing in my head. Years of hard work had trained me to keep moving, keep earning. Time was slipping away. I racked my brain, tugging at a few strands of hair, trying to figure out the best way to assemble a rescue party. I cleaned up my kitchen, loaded two trash bags, and realized I had no plan. First, the military was the one who messed things up and locked us up, so I had to steer clear of them. Second, approaching the teenage miners was risky business. Redhead Demon Slayer was off-limits. Third, the other survivors seemed even more lost than me. Think...Think, brain, think! I massaged my temples. Intel. I needed intel. I gripped the trash bags and made my way to the back door. And power. Someone powerful. I dropped one bag, paused with my hand on the doorknob, and raised an eyebrow. Spiky candle flame head! Maybe recruiting him was the answer. The town clinic should have plenty of helpful or idle people. Or maybe an injured person would be bored enough to talk with me. Someone¡¯s bound to know more about Candle Flame. So, I munched on a breakfast of more droopy carrots, packed my backpack, and started walking to the local clinic. Lined in front of the clinic, open tents lay barren with empty blood-stained beds. This was the same clinic I took grandma in for check-ups. I walked the steps and opened the door. The familiar scent of disinfectant was gone, replaced by a strange mix of unpleasant odors¡ªblood, pee, poop, and throw-up. The throw-up stench hit me hard, and I felt queasy, afraid I might add to the mess on the freshly cleaned floor. My gaze fixated on the windows as I took small breaths to avoid the unpleasant smell. Even with the place being cleaned recently, the place seemed too old to shake off its lingering odor. My attention then shifted to the large figure in the room, draped in a hospital gown that exposed his back, and sporting an adult diaper. I could only glance at the windows and breathe cautiously. Patients groaned and rolled in their makeshift beds littered in the hallway and the waiting room. Knowing the layout, I walked down the narrow hallspace to open the door to the first patient room and peeked in. A grieving family and a towel on the patient¡¯s face. Uggh! I closed the door. Nope. Wrong room. I was never here. I shook my head to erase my memory. I had enough of that trauma in the concentration camp. In the next room, there were flowers, a big gift basket, and a man with not much hair watching TV. I noted the preferential treatment since no TVs were allowed here before the military takeover. He must be a big shot with no real friends. Money with no real influence. I¡¯ll leave him as a last resort. Ready to open the third room, I overheard the doctor. ¡°If Mr. Robinson can¡¯t follow his instructions for bedrest, you¡¯re welcome to sedate him, Nancy.¡± Uh-oh! I let go of the doorknob and stepped back. Afraid of getting kicked out, I walked down the hallway, turned left, and aimed for the restroom near the exit. The restroom was locked. To avoid more suspicion, I acted like I was waiting, standing near the corridor''s end where teenagers were sitting or lying on the floor. When they all looked my way, I sat down too, putting on a serious face like theirs. Examining their faces, I noticed peculiar abnormalities alongside their injuries. One guy displayed peeling, protruding scales on his cheek, resembling a fish out of water. Another person exhibited sores adorned their mouths and earlobes. The bluish-grey boy bore a striking resemblance to my dad and me during the initial stages of turning purple; his hands sported the darkest shade, reminiscent of an ''80s gradient. With my own purple skin, I seamlessly blended in, and everyone assumed I was a patient too. Their eyes, no longer narrowing in suspicion, were now brimming with sympathy, thinking I must be sick. Despite being new, their compassion gave me some hints about what happened last night. Turns out, the orc wasn''t dead, and the guy who hit it with a weird mace was a local hero named Raine. Raine was a big deal among the mine workers in Steel. He hit the orc and somehow didn''t get hurt. But all I saw was a guy with a big magical stick hitting a giant. Not too smart, if you ask me. Jumping down from the scaffold to hit an orc? Really, what was that guy thinking? According to my informants, um, I mean, the kids in the hospital, the elves grabbed the orc and locked it up in some special cage. So elves were real! Pointy ears and all! But there was more ¨C the whole town was taken over by a couple of elves, and everyone seemed to be happy about it. Some even said the elves were the best thing to happen to the town in years. Did they not care about the filth? No, newcomers in the town show little regard for its upkeep, treating the aftermath as a temporary concern. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. When I inquired about the mute elf with the colorful hair, nobody seemed to have any information about him. Strange, right? However, they quickly redirected my attention to Raine. "If you''re looking for that hero guy, Raine, you might find him hanging around the old high school gym." After nearby towns were cordoned off by the military, the mine began providing numerous jobs for those willing to take the risk. Patients signed up from nearby towns to work as miners, which led to the town feeling taken over by strangers. Similar to me stepping in to manage my dad''s farm, these kids had to leave their own farms after some farming crisis in 1980, apparently happening all over the States. There was money to be made in Steel; It was the gold rush all over again. People dragged their families to Steel just on the rumor of work. A lot of Steel¡¯s houses took in several families to accommodate the large number of immigrants. Immigrants with large families of teenagers. I clenched my fist and worked up the courage to ask, "So, where are the teenagers being held?¡± The sick teenagers stared at me, trying to figure out if I was serious. Then they laughed. Scaly Cheek answered, ¡°Good one!¡± Scaly Cheek told me no one forced them to work; they came to survive like everyone else. He also told me that youths were welcomed more than older people, as the purple-tinged weapons with their purple gems like the one used by Raine, were only activated by teens. Weird, but they all insisted that it was true. Once a teen was recruited by the military, the elves would use every way to entice the kids to try the weapons. The purple gem-powered weapons could be activated by teens, but less than two in ten could actually use what they activated, resulting in horrible accidents for most teens hoping for an easy job of guarding the mine with one of those weapons. One teen had a bandaged stub with purple stripes and veins going up the arms. A recent try at handling a weapon. Three months of elven green mead, if you could stomach the horrible metallic raisin taste, would regrow the hand, but the purple condition would stay. Some were in deep sleep like a coma. The unluckiest never got to live to be disabled like those ones in the sick ward. Some of these poor kids fell during their first battle with orcs and would never walk again. I listened to their stories, trying not to cry for them. As much as I was dying to see new elves and ask about their rainbow-haired friend, I decided I had to avoid meeting the new elf leaders at all costs. I could be next on their list for weapon trials, and I didn''t want to be part of their sick game. Thankfully, Raine usually stayed away from them too. I could meet Candle Flame on the other side of town, training in the old high school gym. ¡ª I strolled across the football field, making my way to the gym on the outskirts of Steel High. Standing before the gym door, I braced myself for what awaited inside. Did the gym carry the musky scent of effort and nerves? Would it be a place filled with the echoes of friendship and rivalry? I wondered if I¡¯d find myself lost in the shuffle, isolated and alone amidst groups of friends and cliques. Breathing in deeply, I swung open the door. The quiet entryway echoed with the squeak of my shoes¡ª a sound strange to me. A list of endless farm chores echoed in my mind, a constant reminder of why I never got to experience school like other kids. Burying my longing for a regular life, especially after the isolation from the concentration camp, I soaked in the surroundings. It reminded me of the first time I entered a library. Faced with the books in shelves towering over me, I was full of awe and wonder. I yearned for the simplicity of a normal childhood, away from the purple skin. I worked hard to learn every subject school would teach, even if it meant falling asleep after just one paragraph. Sadly, the time for books was gone. If I could go back and tell little me that I''d turn purple and meet a giant talking spider, a crow man, and an orc, I''d probably think it was a cheap version of Dorothy and the Wizard of Oz. What''s next? Melting in the bathtub? My journey felt like a fantastical adventure, and I could only hope for a happy ending, leaving behind the comfort of books. The gym floor was not the yellow brick road. It was so glossy that I half expected to skate on it. Another experience I¡¯ve never had. The gym was nowhere near the warm, locker-filled busy hallways I had imagined. Instead, there was a lot of open space. I strolled into the gym as there were no military personnel around. Just a bunch of kids my age. I found Raine. He was flexing his muscles like he had someone to impress. Raine was doing this crazy handstand on his makeshift teeter-totter, a wooden plank on a barrel, swinging like a human pendulum. His arms finally gave out and he dropped down on the mat. The whole crew erupted in cheers. Alright, that was a tad impressive. His buddy set down a bag of rocks to free up his hands, then tossed Raine a towel. I guess this was what school was supposed to be about, friends teaming up and having each other''s backs in PE. I wish I could have experienced that camaraderie and friendship. Finally, a shrill whistle cut through the air, and the gang of friends spilled out of the gym. I hung back, waiting for them to clear out before making my move. Now, it was only Raine and his towel-wielding buddy left. But just as I was about to step forward, a bold white-faced possum with a glossy black body climbed the nearby rope, fixing its daring gaze right on me while hissing. What was a possum doing here, scaling the rope to get closer eye contact, acting like it owned the place, a little furball gangster in the making? While I puzzled over the possum''s nerve, Raine, now standing on the balancing plank, shouted my way, ¡°Ahoy there!¡± He waved like he''d just found hidden treasure, even after managing a teeter-totter headstand with what seemed like exhausted arms. This wasn''t suspicious at all¡ªa super-friendly guy and a possum thug staring me down. Should I drop my guard and join the party, or keep my wits about me? Now that purple skin was practically the norm, did it mean I was safe from discrimination? No way. I eyed Raine''s buddy, who seemed cautious despite the cheeriness. Too many years of being purple warned me not to trust Raine too easily. He might seem friendly, but who knew if he was an elf agent after my staff? I wasn''t falling for it. His friend chuckled, "This dude''s been watching too much Popeye." In response, Raine playfully swung at him, causing Raine to lose balance and eliciting more chuckles from his friend. Raine hopped off the teeter-totter, wiped his forehead, and took a deep breath. "No, you doofus, that''s from planking. Pirates use planks. So, when you''re a high seas person, how do you greet someone new?" He spread his palms wide. "Ahoy there!" Raine grinned at me and turned to his buddy. "Time to wake up, Will." His buddy, Will, coughed, holding back a smile. Despite my attempt to focus on the boys, something in Will¡¯s belt pouch started pulsing, drawing my attention. The pouch''s opening loosened, and a thin, pale stick wiggled out, as if it had a mind of its own... hold on, not a stick, but an arm? Then, a tiny human with nearly translucent wings popped out. Its wings fluttered for a second. Wait, was that thing alive? I shot a bewildered look at Will, and he responded with a slight smile. This guy was clearly enjoying my confusion. Raine - part 2 Will turned toward Raine, a barely-there smirk playing on his lips. His head tilted back, obscuring the expression from my view. ¡°Whatever you say, dude,¡± he fake-yawned. Clearly, Raine¡¯s antics were a regular occurrence. Suddenly, a flying figure¡ªa boy, perhaps¡ªwearing a white tunic materialized and landed on Will¡¯s shoulder. The newcomer regarded me with curiosity. Will exchanged a quick smile with his diminutive companion, and in that instant, all eyes were on me. Introducing myself to two imposing guys and two enigmatic creatures wasn¡¯t exactly my idea of a great time. I weighed my options. Should I play the vulnerable lost soul seeking help, or should I channel my inner tough survivor girl, capable of biting through steel for breakfast? The tiny, winged figure zipped towards me, a blur of curiosity in my peripheral vision. But before I could fully turn my attention to this fascinating development, the possum hissed. Its beady black eyes, fixed on me with unwavering intensity, sent a shiver down my spine. I couldn''t ignore the primal threat in that unwavering stare. It scrutinized me, as though deciding whether I was worth nibbling on for a snack. I held its gaze. ¡°Do you like what you smell, little guy?¡± I asked, maintaining a steely smile. ¡°It¡¯s called essence de malvaos.¡± Cooperation from these two boys was crucial. Okay, scratch the damsel-in-distress routine. Let¡¯s go for sweet instead. ¡°Do I smell delicious to you, possum?¡± I continued, keeping up my sugary approach. Turning to Raine, who seemed more approachable, I complimented him. ¡°Hey, that was really cool. Gnarly, even. I¡¯ve been a big fan since your epic battle with the orc. You were a total hero!¡± I mimicked swinging a make-believe mace over my head, just like he did during the fight. Raine grinned and rubbed his head, while his buddy emitted a snort. Words threatened to escape me, and I stared at them as if my marbles had rolled away. I needed their help with the prison situation, but why would they care? The smiles on our faces felt increasingly forced, and I sensed Raine felt it too. Time ticked away, so I decided to spill the beans. "So, you guys are like big-time heroes, and I guess your buddy there too." I pointed my chin at Raine''s friend. "I''m Saya, and I could really use the help of some strong guys like you to bust some old folks out of prison." Not being great at buttering people up or asking for favors, I fidgeted in the awkward silence and blurted out, "I''m new in town, originally from here, and ended up in the slammer with everyone else. I''m kinda new, but also old, if that makes any sense..." Their eyes bore into me, like I had sprouted horns or something. "Alright, listen up!" I blurted, my voice shaky with desperation. "You guys are supposed to be the muscle with a heart, right? Here''s the thing ¨C I need some serious help. We''re talking busting some old folks outta jail! Can you dig it?" Ugh, real smooth. The plea tumbled out in a rush, and I realized how unconvincing I sounded. On top of that, "big"? I kept calling them big. They weren''t giants, just taller than me. But those weapons with the glowing purple gems ¨C those definitely screamed power. Maybe Raine could supercharge them with his powers or something. At least, that''s what I hoped. Will''s head swiveled like a confused owl, his bushy eyebrows practically climbing his forehead. Then, in a move that made me blink hard, his gaze snapped from me to the opossum perched on a nearby crate. It was so freaky. Raine''s eyes darted to my gaping mouth and wide eyes. "Uh, yeah," he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. "See, Peter talks... well, in our heads, since we''re linked. I''ve been trying to teach him how to speak out loud." He gestured toward the hissing possum, its fur bristling and tiny claws bared. ¡°Say hello to the gorgeous Saya, Peter.¡± Suddenly, the possum shimmered and glowed, its form warping and twisting before my eyes. In a blink, the aggressive creature was replaced by a tiny winged human, his face pinched in a grumpy frown. "Hi Saya," Peter grumbled a low tone. Gorgeous? Was he attempting to sweet-talk me? My instincts screamed not to trust him. Something about Raine set off alarm bells deep within me¡ªa primal warning. Tiny Peter, despite his newfound human form, still managed to pout. He fluttered closer, almost nose-to-nose with me. "Raine mean human!" he declared in a tiny voice. "No human should ever force a fairy to speak. It feels like a twisted mouth." This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. I regarded the "fairy" and marveled at the surreal turn my day had taken. And to think, it conversed! The fairy, still radiating a bit of leftover possum aggression, zigzagged through the air. He then drew closer to my ear, his voice like a thousand tiny bells. "Raine''s thoughts are impure," he confided. "He fixates on your lips. Yucky kissy kissy, he imagines." His giggle resonated right next to my ear. Abruptly, he spun around, panic etching his tiny features. "I in trouble! Must leaving now!" With nervous laughter, he darted toward the basketball hoop. I shot Raine a quizzical look, while his friend Will doubled over, laughing his guts out. "Ha ha ha," Raine echoed, then gestured dismissively. "Peter''s always a handful¡ªmischievous most of the time, a perpetual goofball. Believe it or not, he spins tales constantly. Once, he convinced the locals that I consumed orc meat for special powers." Raine swallowed. "Took me an entire week to set the record straight." I couldn''t help but join in with Will¡¯s laughter. Orcs¡ªthose foul-smelling, ooze-covered creatures¡ªwere as far from appetizing as one could get. The idea of eating their meat was downright absurd. Raine babbled like a broken water fountain. He kept spilling out words about everything Peter supposedly said, trying way too hard to prove it wasn''t a lie. The more he talked, the funnier it got for Will. Will watched his friend squirm, barely able to breathe through his laughter. Finally, with a strangled snort, he managed to stop. Raine, red-faced, gave him a playful punch on the arm. Just then, Will''s expression switched from intense scrutiny to a grin. It was so unexpected, it almost looked...innocent. His dark eyes, which were usually narrowed like a detective''s, crinkled at the corners in a crescent moon shape. I could trust maybe trust those eyes...maybe. Will chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye. "Raine could talk about Peter all day long," he said, "until the cows come home, if you don''t shut him up!" ¡°Does he normally flatter all girls?¡± I ask. Will chuckled. "Nah, not really. In fact, this might be the first time he''s actually serious. You must''ve made quite an impression." My cheeks flushed a little as I met Raine''s gaze directly. "Funny," I said, trying to sound casual. "You happen to be the first person to ever call me gorgeous." Instead of the playful response I expected, Raine''s expression turned serious. He took a step closer, but seeing me tense up, he stopped short. "There''s something you should know," he began, his voice low. "We''re not exactly free to come and go as we please. We''re stuck here, just like the folks down in the mines." Intrigued, I leaned in to hear him better. He pointed towards the tiny fairy now clinging to Will''s arm. "If we ever try to leave the designated area," Raine explained, "these little guys can telepathically contact the elves." My breath hitched. "Elves? What happens if they find out?" I whispered. Raine sighed, a dark shadow clouding his features. "They''ll hunt us down. Just like the orcs, but worse. Much, much worse." Just then, Will strolled over, his curiosity piqued by our hushed conversation. "So, where are we going on this little trip?" he asked, a playful glint in his eye. Raine shot him a pointed look. "Out of town," he said curtly. Will whistled. "That''s a tough one. Almost impossible, actually." "Almost?" I echoed, a spark of hope igniting in my chest. Could there really be a way out of this place? "Well, there are the dungeons," Raine blurted, his voice dropping to a secretive whisper. Will''s eyes widened like saucers. "Dude! Those are top secret!" he hissed, shooting a panicked glance around. "Okay, now I really want to know all about those dungeons," I blurted out. Will explained cautiously, "Even if you were allowed in, it''s very dangerous." "I need to know to decide for myself," I sighed. "The entrance is in the mine, right?" "Yes, and supposedly they are all connected," Raine added. "We worked the mines in Monte Cristo. We were so close to LA, and they wouldn''t even let us sightsee." "How do you know they''re all connected?" I asked. "The older folks who worked the mine told us that since the holes in the fields appeared, something happened to the mines. Holes in the earth connected them," Raine explained. "It looks like we have to help you sort this out," Will conceded. "Thanks to the ever-smart and creative Raine." I couldn''t help but smile. "Now what?" I asked. "Now we take a walk," Raine said, and Will nodded in agreement. A Cowbird, a Tale, and a Map - Part 1 Will¡¯s pace was too fast for Raine and me. He darted ahead and vanished amidst the trees¡¯ shadows, leaving us struggling to keep up. Despite his speed, Raine stayed by my side, his presence offering some comfort amidst the growing darkness. A nervous knot grew in my belly as I tried to match Will¡¯s pace. ¡°Wait up, Will!¡± Raine called out, his voice echoing off the trees. ¡°Where are we even going? Aren¡¯t the mines that way?¡± He gestured back the way we came, but Will kept on, his determination pulling him forward, leaving us behind. ¡°Trust me, Saya¡¯ll need her own communicator for the mines,¡± Will replied, hastening forward. Communicator? I threw worried glances at Raine. Who mentioned anything about communicators? Before I could shout again, the two fairies of the boys flew directly above our heads. They chirped and buzzed excitedly, the sounds oddly reminiscent of laughter. Will, however, didn''t share their amusement. His brow furrowed, and a flicker of worry crossed his strained expression. He shook his head and the two fairies talked amongst themselves at Will¡¯s expense. Is this how they communicated mentally? Mind-reading? Great. Just what I always wanted - people knowing my every thought. Suddenly, one of the fairies, a tiny creature with iridescent wings, dipped down and landed on my outstretched finger. He grasped my hand with both his impossibly small ones, his dark eyes sparkling with an urgency that mirrored Will''s. Gently, he tugged, urging me to follow. So, this wasn''t Peter. Unlike the chatty fairy who''d insulted Raine, this one remained silent, relying on gestures and perhaps some form of telepathy to communicate. The tiny fairy flitted towards one of the tents, then dipped inside as if beckoning me to follow. Inside, the air hung heavy with a strange mix of floral scents and stale incense. A woman with eyes that looked like they could pierce through stone sat hunched over a cluttered desk. Behind her, an entire wall shimmered with dozens of glass vials, each containing a fluttering, captive fairy. With a scowl permanently etched across her brow, she looked me up and down but didn¡¯t say a word. She finished scribbling something and set the paper aside. Afterward, she gestured for me to approach, as though about to share a secret. As I bent down to listen, Ouch! She plucked a hair from my head! Is hair a common currency in the magical world? She placed my hair into a small vial filled with a shimmering liquid and gave it an unenthusiastic swish. The transparent liquid transformed into a vibrant shade of purple. A hush fell over the room as the captive fairies seemed to collectively hold their breath. The woman''s eyes narrowed as she scrutinized the vial, a faint frown creasing her brow. With a start, a tiny figure dashed out from behind the woman''s shoulder, briefly cracking her grumpy exterior. It was her own fairy companion, quite pale. Come to think of it, most of the captive fairies were also white. This creature was slightly larger than the others, with shimmering iridescent wings. It darted towards a specific jar on the wall, buzzing insistently. The woman''s scowl softened a touch as she followed the lead of the assistant fairy. Her gaze fell upon the jar, revealing a smaller but stockier creature with dark, glossy wings ¡ª a subtle detail easily missed in the dim light. A flicker of understanding replaced her annoyance. "Ah, a cowbird," she muttered, a hint of something akin to empathy in her voice. "You will find that you two have more in common than you think." With a practiced flick of her wrist, she dipped a finger into the purple liquid and dropped it onto the paper covering the jar. The paper sizzled and melted away like hot wax. With a shrill whistle, the woman summoned the fairy, who landed on her outstretched hand. The woman''s hardened exterior seemed to crack for a brief moment. She carefully scooped the cowbird fairy from her hand and, with a surprising gentleness, placed it in mine. "She will lick you," the woman said, her voice gruff but not unkind. "Let her do it. It''s how she forms the mental link." As I pulled my hand away, allowing the fairy to flutter free, she sighed. "Come on, it''s not as unpleasant as it sounds. And their saliva contains the substance that binds you mentally. It''s how it works." I hesitated for some moments then I offered my hand, the fairy flew down and licked the tip of my thumb. It itched a bit, like being stung by a mosquito. ¡°Don¡¯t scratch, or it won¡¯t take.¡± The woman said in a bored voice. I fought the urge to scratch my thumb for some seconds, but then the itchy feeling went away. Then I heard something in my head, a small, hesitant chirp that gradually morphed into a slow, chirpy voice. "[Hello, human!]" it chirped, pausing for a beat for every two words. "[My name! Is¡­]" Another pause, followed by a series of chirps that resembled the plinking of water droplets. "[But you!]¡± Pause. ¡°[Call me!]¡± Pause. ¡°[Lyanna Mooncrest!]" The tiny fairy on my shoulder puffed out her chest with a proud flutter. A wry smile touched my lips. Was my fairy broken? ¡°[I''m not slow. You can talk to me normally, you know.]¡± I thought, trying to project the message back at the fairy. The fairy''s surprised response was immediate, flutters and trills and all. "[Wait, a full connection already? That''s unheard of!]" The fairy¡¯s excitement seemed to further irritate the disgruntled woman. The disgruntled woman, who had been watching me intently the entire time, leaned back in her chair with a scoff. Her amusement had flickered, now replaced by a flicker of something akin to disappointment. It was as if she''d expected me to writhe on the floor, frothing at the mouth, but instead, I met her gaze, my hand steady. The woman''s lips thinned into a hard line. Seeing I was perfectly fine, she grumbled ¡°Oh, look at the brave girl, all unaffected! How impressive..." and something about "toxin taking time to hold" and retreated to her mini TV, which was blaring an episode of The Lucy Show. I didnt appreciate her comment dripping of sarcasm but perhaps I was lucky the "toxin" wasn''t as potent as she''d anticipated. Probably a toxin that affects the brain like sniffing lead paint. Great. Is my fairy mind link exposure going to kill me? A flurry of activity erupted outside the tent. Even the caged fairies seemed interested. The sound of buzzing wings filled the air as a dozen or more fairies swarmed through the entrance. My guess is Lyanna''s announcement about our instant connection spread like wildfire through the fairy network. "Listen up, buttercup. This ain''t a social club. Scram!" The woman used her binder to fan away at the fairies circling and inspecting me. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. I stepped out into the sunlight, blinking away the sudden brightness after the dim tent to join the boys. My brand-new communicator, a tiny blur of dark wings and buzzing delight, flitted around my head. It seemed positively thrilled to escape the confines of the jar and revel in the open air, darting about with newfound freedom. Not to be a wet blanket but I had to ask. ¡°You didn¡¯t tell me it involved a toxin in my brain? Thanks?!¡± My voice raised with every word directed at Raine. ¡°Their venom is the only way you can communicate with fairies, elves, orcs, or any other species from their world.¡± Raine smiled to me a reassuring smile. ¡°You will need that to deal with the elves.¡± I was so angry, but it was already done. Probably doomed to have a fairy in my head for all eternity. ¡ª- ¡°Come on, we have to move now, it is almost time.¡± Will started heading briskly, again, in the opposite direction of the mines. ¡°Hey, so are we going to head into the mine next to find a way out?¡± I ask. We walked through the tented area until we reached the outer edges and stopped in front of the second largest tent. The only tent with smoke coming from the top. A shiver snaked down my spine as the tent flap rustled open. A figure emerged, clad in military fatigues ¨C my blood ran cold. It was Tracy, the monster from my prison days. His greasy hair remained his signature touch, even beneath the unfamiliar uniform. Gemma followed him out, a stark contrast in her clean clothes and gaudy purple necklace. Unlike me, the branded "P" was absent from her back. She flashed a predatory smile in my direction. Tracy''s eyes met mine. The same sadistic glint I loathed flickered in his cruel smile. The boys, however, seemed oblivious. They greeted him warmly, shaking his hand. I remained rooted to the spot, a knot of conflicting emotions twisting in my gut. Were they blind to the monster I recognized? Should their friendliness taint my perception of them? Will gestured for me to join them. I clenched and unclenched my fists, my body moving on autopilot as I approached the group. Stopping an arm''s length from Tracy, I overheard him discussing the guard schedule. "...two-minute window between shifts." He studiously avoided my gaze. Silence strangled the scream that clawed its way up my throat. I yearned to shout, "Look at me, you monster! Your victim, not a ghost, stands before you!" "This is Saya," Will interjected, gesturing towards me. "Our new friend.¡± He then turned to me, ¡°Saya, this is Tracy, an old colleague from Monte Cristo." Fear, a cold metallic fist, clamped around my heart. My knuckles shone white from the unrelenting grip I held on my anger. The weight of his stare was a tangible force, pinning me in place. Before I could stop myself, the words tumbled out, "Was he a sadistic torturer back then too?" Raine''s confusion mirrored my own. "What? You two know each other?" Tracy''s gaze locked onto mine, hard and unwavering. "We do," he confirmed. "Well enough. She''s the reason I lost my last job." The dam within me broke. In a blur of motion, I lunged. A single, desperate blow aimed at his smug face. Will reacted faster, his strong arms wrapping around me mid-jump. I thrashed and grunted, fueled by a primal rage. Raine shoved Tracy back, a wall against the sudden violence. "Saya, please! Calm down," Will hissed in my ear. "This won''t help." He held on with a surprising strength. Defeated, I slumped against him. His grip relaxed, and I stole a glance. Guards were approaching, drawn by the commotion. With a sigh, I conceded defeat. By the time the guards reached us, we were all faking laughter. ¡°Is there anything to report?¡± One of the guards addressed Tracy. ¡°Nope, nothing but some good fun around friends,¡± Raine said with a big smile as he held Tracy in a headlock, giving him a noogie. The guard ignored him and looked at Tracy, searching for dissent. Before the guard could question some more, the other guard said, ¡°Come on Bill, we don¡¯t have time for this. We could lose our jobs if you take any longer.¡± Reluctantly, the challenging guard joined his colleague and left to their posts near the entrance of the mine. ¡°When did you arrive here?¡± Raine asked Tracy. ¡°They brought replacements of my team the same day you and the others escaped.¡± Tracy pointed at me, ¡°You cost me a very comfortable job. And now, I¡¯m stuck back here, risking my life again.¡± I smiled, at least I did something to make his life that little bit more difficult. ¡°What was your job, Tracy?¡± Raine asked him slowly. ¡°I led the prison guard just after we left Monte Cristo.¡± Tracy crossed his arms. ¡°And I was darn good at it.¡± ¡°You worked as a guard to keep your own people in prison for the elves?¡± Will¡¯s nose flared and his lips trembled. ¡°Not for the elves. For our men at arms, the military.¡± Tracy¡¯s words came with foam and spittle. He turned to face Will and poked him for each word, ¡°Get. That. Right.¡± ¡°Did you really torture people in your job?¡± Raine, who held Tracy¡¯s shoulder, asked him in a low voice. ¡°I did what I had to do to prevent people from running away.¡± Tracy pushed Raine away. ¡°I was just doing my job.¡± ¡°No way!¡± I interjected. ¡°He would torture us regardless!¡± Several new guards looked our way. Shut up, Saya. Getting jailed here is not the answer! I held myself in my arms. Will''s eyes darted back to the approaching soldiers, a silent curse escaping his lips. Turning back to Tracy, his voice dropped to a low growl. "We''ve been looking after Arthur, keeping him safe, Tracy. Maybe you should return the favor and tell him all about your little stint as a prison ward. I''m sure he''d be¡­ disappointed to learn his big brother enjoys picking on the weak." The fairies hovered above, alighting on the peak of a nearby tent; their delicate wings recoiled from the stench emanating from the one directly in front of us. The sweet, pungent aroma of someone smoking hung heavy in the air, a sickly perfume compared to the floral-scented tent from which we retrieved the winged Lyanna. We ducked into the offending tent, its dim interior a welcome refuge from the approaching guards and the brewing storm outside that was Tracy. Inside, a melody drifted in, a haunting tune that felt impossibly out of place amidst the swirling clouds of flavored smoke. It sent shivers down my spine. "He''s waiting," Raine offered, a sly smile playing on his lips as he winked at me. He reached for the tent flap, and as he did, his hand brushed mine ¨C a fleeting touch, yet it felt like a spark had ignited on my skin. Heat flared across my cheeks, a stark contrast to the chilling fear that usually gripped me in these situations. Most people avoided contact, fearing the purple splotches on my skin were contagious. But Raine... his touch felt deliberate, almost welcoming. Pom-Pom Head and now him? What secret messages were these unexpected interactions sending? My gaze darted around the dusty interior, a knot of apprehension tightening in my stomach. Despite the unexpected warmth, the mission remained my priority. "Who?" I whispered, my voice barely a breath. "The reason we came here in the first place," Raine murmured, his voice a conspiratorial hush. His hand, warm from the brief contact, remained close for a beat longer than necessary before he pulled back. Inside, a figure sat bathed in a shaft of sunlight filtering through a gap in the fabric roof. He strummed a guitar, the music weaving with the melody we''d heard outside. He wore a long tunic and super wide pants, his long brown hair obscuring most of his face. "Hello sweet Raine, hello soft and gentle Will," he hummed in a low voice that made my skin crawl. "Hello, Max," both boys chimed in. A Cowbird, a Tale, and a Map - Part 2 A bizarre creature sprawled before us, a grotesque fusion of features I had never encountered. His most striking abnormality was a long beak-like nose that jutted out dramatically from his face. It looked like something out of a fever dream, defying any creature I''d ever seen or heard about in hushed gossip. The rest of his face, flushed a deep crimson, could have been a permanent condition or simply the effect of the potent liquor swirling in his bulbous, gourd-shaped flask. He gnawed on something leathery and brown, a far cry from the familiar roasted meats, with a disturbing relish. "Come closer. Gather round, new and old friends!" Max boomed, his voice unexpectedly deep for his short, stocky build. Dwarves, whispers in the back of my mind recalled, were known for their stature and their dexterity in the mines. A wave of his hand, adorned with a chunky silver ring that gleamed in the filtered sunlight, sent a tremor through the dusty floor. My skin prickled. Despite the heat, the sight of the elongated nose and the reeking snack churning in his mouth sent a wave of nausea through me. The boys, however, seemed unfazed, pulling me closer to the strange, pungent figure. "Here, here," Raine said with surprising familiarity, stepping forward and placing a hand on my shoulder, his touch a grounding force amidst the strangeness. "Max may look a bit¡­ rough around the edges, but he means well enough. He''s part dwarf, of course, explains the love for tunnels and trinkets. But there''s definitely something¡­ unusual about him too." Raine''s words sparked a flicker of unease in me. The long nose, the crimson face, the way he moved ¨C it all felt unsettlingly out of place. The only explanation I could grasp was a strange human condition, some sort of bizarre illness that contorted his features. "Aye, a touch of something special runs through these veins as well," Max chugged, his voice thick with amusement. "Keeps the old fellow going, wouldn''t you say?" Max did little to quell the unease churning in my gut. But if he wasn''t curious about my purple face, I wasn''t about to ask about his red one. "New one, come closer," Max slurred, his gaze locking onto me with a predatory intensity. He didn''t even rise, but his upper body twisted on the elaborately carved bed frame, one arm extended with a beckoning hand. The gesture felt like an obscene invitation, a violation of my personal space. "Let me feel your¡­ warmth," he rasped, his voice dropping to a low, magnetizing hum. A cold dread slithered down my spine as the crimson on his face deepened, a sickly flush that mirrored the unease churning in my gut. I recoiled, shaking my head vehemently, unable to force a single word past the lump in my throat. This man, easily my mother''s age based on the network of wrinkles etched on his face, exuded an unsettling aura. What secrets did he hold beneath that crimson mask of a face? He gave me a wide smile and shrugged as I maintained standing. ¡°So, boys, what do you want with old Max?¡± Max attempted to put his arm around Raine, but Raine just shrugged him off. ¡°We want to go through the dungeons,¡± Will said as he swallowed, he must have had the same sense of dread I had. ¡°Big move, big move.¡± Max leaned too close to me; I almost bolted, but instead, he pulled some kind of hose from around my ankle and tugged hard on it. ¡°You know that¡¯s orc territory, right, boys?¡± ¡°That¡¯s why we¡¯re here, Max. We need to know a bit more about what we will be facing down there.¡± Raine inched a bit away from Max as he blew a lot of smoke from his hose. ¡°Alright then, gather around and hear the shrill tale of the lost miner.¡± Max gestured for us to come closer with the hose, but none of us moved. He pulled his guitar and strummed a few notes, then he put it down. ¡°Tales of a time beyond time speak of a man who decided to descend the very bowels of the earth and dare the elements.¡± Max finished and picked up his hose, dragging on it. "Some say it was only a year ago, some say it was an eon ago, but who am I to judge the ultimate truth?" He started to giggle, then he coughed, and the coughing turned into a whole fit of coughing. All three of us scrambled to cover our faces. We all snatched a cloth from the elaborately carved table. Just my luck¡ªmine was an old sock! Disgust warring with nausea, I flung the sock aside just in time to dry heave, the stench of Max''s "alcohol" assaulting my senses with renewed vigor. Raine, ever the resourceful one, yanked Max''s oversized shirt off the back of a chair. He shoved it at me, the movement jerky despite his attempt at nonchalance. "Here," he rasped, his voice muffled by his own makeshift cloth barrier, "use this! Less... sentimental value than your sock, I''d imagine." A hint of amusement flickered in his eyes, a welcome spark of lightness amidst the chaos. "He went through the mine yonder and tricked the guards to go down as far as he could, where no man had ever been admitted." Max wiped the drizzle of his spit with the hem of his weird tunic. Yuck. ¡°But then he went missing for a long time, some say it was a full decade, and some say it was far longer.¡± Man, this guy really had a problem with his storytelling sequence, the man in the story went down the mine a year ago, but it was before time, and he came back a decade later. What the heck was he smoking?! "One day, as the old shift went and the new shift came in its place, the miner came back¡­ missing an arm and a leg he was." He paused, the silence thick and heavy. ¡°And that, my friends, is why you don¡¯t go to the mines alone.¡± Max nodded to an unseen audience that apparently sat behind us. I had to look behind me to be sure! Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. ¡°The old miner, barely nineteen," Max began, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "lay dying, but in his last breath, he spoke of a hidden world. A place teeming with weapons beyond imagination, enough to arm an entire legion." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "He warned of a seductive power, of the orcs who guard these treasures, and the dangers of succumbing to their allure." Max''s gaze darted nervously behind the tent flap, sending shivers down my spine. I scoffed, amusement battling with rising skepticism. "The old miner who was only nineteen? And in his last breath, he managed a whole speech about elves and dungeons? Sounds more like a bar tale than a true story." Max''s crimson face flushed a shade darker. He cleared his throat, his gaze flickering nervously. "Well, maybe not a whole speech," he mumbled, "but a lot for a dying man, that''s for sure! He spoke of trials, of losing limbs in exchange for the perfect weapon. A chilling tale, wouldn''t you say?" He strummed a discordant chord on his guitar, the sound echoing through the dusty tent. "That, my friends," he declared, a forced smile on his lips, "is the story of the miner." He winked at me, a wink that sent a cold tremor down my spine. The weight of Max''s story, and the chilling detail of the kid''s death, hung heavy in the air, thick and acrid with the lingering scent of hookah smoke. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows through the gaps in the tent fabric, painting the interior with an eerie, golden twilight. Silence stretched, oppressive under the fading light. "So," Will finally spoke, his voice low, "assuming there''s any truth to this business, do you have any idea where their¡­ dungeon exits might be located?" I could only assume he deliberately avoided specifying "orcs" or "elves," unsure of Max''s allegiances. Max strummed a thoughtful tune on his guitar, the dying light of the sun glinting off the strings. Blue curls of hookah smoke danced in the air around him. "Well," he drawled, his voice laced with a hint of amusement, "a map wouldn''t be the easiest thing to come by. The orcs and elves," he added, a sly glint in his eyes, "are secretive creatures, you see. Don''t much appreciate folks barging into their backyards." I scoffed. "Look, Max, we''re not exactly on a treasure hunt. A simple sketch, anything to point us in the right direction, would be helpful." I gestured vaguely with my hand, the movement momentarily disrupting the smoke. Max''s gaze flickered to me, a sly glint in his eyes. "Help comes at a price, little one. What can you offer an old dwarf like me?" Raine stepped forward, his voice firm. "Information. We can share what we''ve learned about the recent tremors and the strange readings coming from the lower levels. It might be valuable to you and the elves, wouldn''t you say?" Max stroked his beard thoughtfully, considering their offer. He puffed on his hookah thoughtfully, smoke curling from his lips. The tension stretched thick and heavy under the haze. "Intriguing," he finally muttered. A sly grin finally spread across his face. "Information for a map, sounds fair enough. Tremors and strange readings, you say? Tell me everything you''ve got." Will cleared his throat. "The tremors started a few weeks ago. They seem to be localized around the entrance to the old mine shafts. They''re not strong enough to cause any major damage, but they happen frequently, and the rhythmic pattern is unsettling." "The readings are even more puzzling," Raine declared, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He punctuated each word with a jab of his index finger, air quotes forming around ¡°orcs." "Our instruments are picking up unusual energy fluctuations emanating from the lower levels. It''s unlike anything we''ve encountered before. But of course, the elves blame it on ¡®orcs¡¯ getting restless, hungry, and bigger in number. Convenient, wouldn''t you say?" He leaned in conspiratorially, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Instead, I think it''s connected to something far more¡­ botanical. Its vines are thick and entwined, pulsing with an emerald glow right before a tremor hits." Raine''s eyes narrowed. "The energy readings could be a sign of its power growing, and the tremors, its restless stirring. If the elves get their way and blame the orcs, they''ll have an excuse to seize control of the mines. We need to stop them." Will chimed in, "Exactly. That''s why this information is valuable. If you can help us understand these new plant forms and their connection to the tremors, we might be able to prevent a catastrophe. In return, we''ll offer you the map you seek, along with a share of any resources we find down there." Max''s eyes gleamed with a newfound interest. He set his hookah down with a deliberate thud, the sound echoing in the dusty room. Reaching under the table with surprising agility for an old dwarf, he pulled out a rolled-up piece of parchment and placed it squarely on the table before them. The map lay there, a tangible promise of answers. Relief washed over them, and instinctively, Raine''s hand darted forward. Max''s grip tightened on the parchment a beat too late. The playful glint in his eyes vanished, replaced by a sly smile. "Hold on there, young adventurers," he said, his voice tinged with amusement. "Seems you''re eager to put this newfound knowledge to use. Won''t you stay for a hug, a tune, or some good vibes from my hookah?" Raine stood, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Some other time, Max. We appreciate the information." He carefully peeled his fingers away from Max''s, taking the map with him. Max, with a sigh that seemed to deflate him slightly, finally relented. "Very well," he said, leaning back in his chair. "But remember, adventurers, the path ahead won''t be easy. Even the most detailed map can''t account for all the surprises that lurk beneath the earth." Relief washed over us as we secured the map. With a final thank you, we emerged from the dusty tent. Excitement crackled in the air, and I stole a glance at Raine. He held the map rolled tightly in his hand, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. ¡°What was that all about?¡± I shivered as I asked the boys. Raine''s smile faltered for a brief moment, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features. "Around eight or nine months ago," he murmured as we moved away from Max''s tent, "a kid somehow slipped past the guards and made it down to the dungeons." Will added, his voice thoughtful. "That story bears a strong resemblance to the one Max just spun. And he does seem to be the epicenter of every rumor and tale swirling around the mine." A knot of unease tightened in my stomach. "So, we should be prepared to..." I trailed off, unable to voice the horrifying possibility. Will picked up the unspoken thought, his voice grim. "Lose limbs? Not exactly the welcome party we were hoping for." "Agreed," Raine said, his earlier cheer replaced by a steely resolve. "Losing limbs isn''t exactly on my to-do list. But speaking of limbs," Will continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "the miner Max mentioned losing limbs during a trial? That didn''t happen to the kid who got past the guards. He came back, but tragically died within two days of returning, as if some poisonous miasma clinging to the depths had seeped into him. I remember his two siblings holding each other for comfort, their tear-streaked faces etched in my memory." The weight of his words hung heavy in the air. "Creepy!" I finally managed, a shiver running down my spine. "Tell me about it," Raine snorted, but the humor sounded forced. A Tent Full of Trouble - p1 The thrill of getting the map turned into a gnarly knot of worry in my stomach as we sneaked away from Max''s tent. Four grim-faced guards materialized around us, their expressions leaving no room for negotiation. Leading them, a familiar figure stood with a smirk that could curdle milk. Tracy. Tracy strutted towards us, his boots crunching on the gravel with a smug cadence. His smile stretched wide, revealing teeth that gleamed like polished bone in the waning sunlight. "Well, well, well," he drawled, his voice dripping with mock surprise. "Look who decided to play rebel. Mr. By-the-Book Will himself, defying orders. Didn''t fancy reporting the little runaway to the pointy-eared folks, did you?" His gaze flicked to me for a fleeting moment, then returned to Will, a glint of malicious pleasure flickering in his eyes. "Seems like someone''s got a taste for trouble now." My stomach clenched. Tracy, the arrogant know-it-all who''d ridiculed us at the prison, once again held our fate in his hands. Raine''s hand instinctively tightened around the map, the only tangible victory from our encounter with Max. Confusion battled with a rising tide of apprehension as we were ushered towards the largest tent in the encampment. The air inside was surprisingly crisp, without the heavy incense I thought would be there. Instead, a cheerful tune floated through the air, played on a lute by an elf lounging on a fancy chair with lots of carvings. Perhaps he thought himself a king. He had a double chin to match the stereotype of the indulgent. The figure ¨C a male elf with skin that shimmered faintly with an orange glow ¨C was clad in vibrantly colored clothes that clashed in a way that somehow worked. His white hair stood out against his skin, fashioned into a silly pompadour that defied gravity with an alarming amount of hairspray. Sparks darted beside his head ¨C a tiny, shimmering fairy with iridescent wings, flitting back and forth with an air of concern. Another elf stood beside him, his hair the color of ash. Neither of these elves fit the stereotype of pretty elves. His grey ears stuck out at odd angles, and he fidgeted with his gray clothes, trying to straighten them. One of his eyes, a striking brown, was slightly larger than the other, giving him a perpetually skeptical look. A faint scar snaked across his cheek, adding a touch of world-weariness to his otherwise unremarkable features. Unlike the flamboyant elf, this other elf exuded a quiet competence, his gaze flitting nervously between us and the orange elf. Despite his wide grin, Orange exuded an unmistakable air of authority. As his flashy fingers danced across the lute strings, the melody swelled with increasing flourish. His stiff posture hinted at his place in the hierarchy. While Orange exuded flamboyant confidence, Gray seemed constantly on edge, his gaze darting nervously between us, the nervous fairy, and Orange as the lute''s melody ended with a flourish. ¡°Ah, Will and Raine! Such a delightful surprise!¡± Orange threw his head back and let out a booming, self-satisfied laugh that echoed through the tent. ¡°Did you bring me more¡­ entertainment?¡± His voice, dripping with theatricality, carried far too much volume for the confined space. He gestured dramatically towards me, his blue-lavender eyes gleaming with an unsettling hunger for information. ¡°Tell me, little one,¡± he gestured his fairy to poke me as he poked the air, ¡°what brings you to grace my humble abode? Lost, perhaps? Or perhaps you possess some¡­ value our dear friends here neglected to mention?¡± He paused, his gaze flickering back to Raine, Will and the gray elf. One corner of his mouth lifted in a sly smirk. ¡°Grise, look at Raine being shy. Even Will is not speaking up. And I say, ¡®Don¡¯t be shy, folks. We wouldn¡¯t want any¡­ misunderstandings, would we?¡¯ No, we wouldn¡¯t. So, speak up, be bold!¡± Will straightened his throat. ¡°Lord Lune, sir. If I may speak freely. You told us that all of us are here by our own free will. However, news has reached me about the, well, restricted environment Saya came from under Tracy''s supervision.¡± A barely audible shiver rippled from the other side of the tent. Even Will flinched at the sound, his gaze drawn to the source. A flicker of movement caught his eye behind a heavy tapestry hanging along the back wall. The fabric rustled, then two figures emerged from behind it. It was my mom and sister. What were they doing here? What happened to Grandma? I panicked. Was she okay? I dared not confront the elves. These elves, with their haughty expressions and unsettling gazes, were the ones who controlled Tracy and the prison. My voice was still in prison here. Will continued, his voice low but resolute, ¡°As Tracy reported to you, wouldn''t that make you ultimately responsible? A loyal soldier also strives to ensure justice, and keeping someone against their will raises concerns.¡± Lune''s grin faltered for a brief moment, but he recovered quickly. "Restricted environment? My dear Will, you seem to misunderstand. We simply offer... opportunities for growth at that camp. Perhaps Saya wasn''t forthcoming about all the benefits you humes enjoy." He swept his gaze around the tent, his eyes lingering pointedly on the tapestry. Another rustle from the tapestry snagged my attention. A flicker of hope, a desperate yearning, had me picturing Grandma emerging. Instead, a third figure stumbled out, yanked unceremoniously by a soldier''s grip on her arm. Little Miss Thief appeared before us, her messy light brown hair cropped into a pixie cut that framed a face etched with defiance. Will''s jaw tightened slightly, a flicker of suspicion crossing his eyes. It seemed he knew Tracy had a certain... flexibility in interpreting orders, especially when it came to me. Clearing his throat, he addressed Lord Lune with a respectful nod. ¡°Lord Lune, sir. You must be talking about increasing compatibility with Phite weapons. To match Saya¡¯s claims, there must have been some oversight. Could Tracy perhaps clarify the extent of Saya''s freedom within the camp?" Lune''s smile faltered slightly. "Freedom within the camp, you say? Guard Tracy, perhaps you can elaborate on the daily routines and limitations our... recruits experience." Tracy stepped forward, his voice smooth but laced with a hint of forced cheer. "Absolutely, Lord Lune. As for limitations, well, we strive to create a focused environment for optimal growth. Daily routines involve rigorous training exercises, skill development sessions, and ¨C most importantly ¨C a strong sense of camaraderie that comes with shared purpose." He throws Saya a pointed glance, a silent reminder of her supposed lack of cooperation. "Speaking of which, we''ve had some... unexpected transfers this morning. It seems Saya''s mother and sister have been, ahem, reassigned to new duties here at the camp.¡± Tracy looked to my mother and forced a cough. My mother stepped forward, a forced smile plastered on her face. Her eyes, however, darted nervously towards me. "Yes, Lord Lune," she stammered, her voice unfamiliarly high-pitched. "We requested a transfer to be closer to our¡­ ailing grandmother who requires constant care. It''s been¡­ difficult being so far away." She cast another furtive glance at me, her gaze pleading for cooperation. The sudden arrival of my family was disorienting, to say the least. Just a moment ago, I was bracing myself for further questioning by the elf. Now, I had the gnawing suspicion that something wasn''t right. Beside her, Sadie mirrored our mother''s forced smile, but her dark eyes held a flicker of defiance. She chimed in nervously, her voice barely a whisper. "We wouldn''t want to be far from dear Baachan in her time of need, would we, Mama?" Her voice held a subtle edge, a hint of a question directed at me more than Lune. Eight and already threatening my cooperation for the sake of Grandma. Typical Sadie. The thought sparked a flicker of annoyance, quickly extinguished by a wave of icy dread. My attention snapped towards the imposing figure of Lune, who had remained silent throughout this charade. His amusement, however, had vanished. In its place, a cold fury simmered in his eyes, a fury that seemed to settle not on my mother or Sadie, but directly on me. A chilling realization dawned ¨C their arrival wasn''t just a coincidence. It was a weapon aimed straight at my resolve. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°How is this dirty humanself already outfitted with a Phirollite weapon and fairy?¡± He gestured sharply towards me, his amusement swiftly twisting into something far more dangerous. This was more the line of interrogation I was expecting. Until addressed, I dare not let out a peep but my mind went back to when interrogated by Mr. Crow for ¡°stealing.¡± He¡¯s accusing me of stealing, isn''t he? Tracy responded, ¡°She stole from the unresponsive weapon stash at the prison¡­camp, sir. The broken staff.¡± Of course he would say something like that. I wished so badly I could talk back. Explain Spiderzilla and everything. Spiderzilla¡¯s mental images, the map and the illusion of the guard cocoons¡­ Just then, a jolt shot through my connection with my assigned fairy. It chirped in amazement, the sound echoing strangely in my head. The surprise she felt coursed through me. The mind link? It felt like the link I had with Spiderzilla. The images Spiderzilla had once sent to me had spilled out in a torrent of uncontrolled visions ¨C the illusion of the guards, the map, the terrifying sight of Spiderzilla in all her glory. My vision blurred, unsure if it was tears or the overwhelming effort of the unintentional mental projection of my worst nightmare. In the quiet, the assigned fairy chirped again, this time a rapid, excited trill. A moment later, it spoke, its voice a high-pitched whisper in my mind, laced with awe. [Fang! You are¡­ were connected to Fang?!] The nearby fairies all erupted in a melody of high-pitched whistles, as if a thousand tiny flutes played in perfect unison. A stunned silence followed. Lune''s sneer faltered, replaced by a furrowed brow. Even Tracy seemed speechless. The fairies had shared the news with them as well. Lune cleared his throat, narrowed his eyes, jutted out his chin, and puffed out his chest. "Fang, that dastardly spider," he growled, "loved its freedom. It released a prisoner ¨C er, a cadet, did it not? The eight-legged buffoon couldn''t be trusted with a thimble, let alone the safety of the training camp." "But," he continued to grumble, "one must consider the limitations of these invertebrates. Self-preservation, that''s the name of the game, isn''t it? Even the most overrated spider has a natural instinct for its own hide. Honestly, can you blame the creature? Stuck in that weapons shed with a broken Phirolite weapon, facing potential doom... well, I daresay even the mighty I might have made a similar, albeit unfortunate, decision. "The point is, we can''t be too harsh on the overgrown arachnid. It acted in its own best interests, just like any sensible creature would. Besides, a living Fang benefits us far more than a squashed one, wouldn''t you agree? Fang''s alive, and finally tethered to a human now." Lune raised his goblet, the rich crimson liquid swirling within. He took a sip, savoring the vintage at first, then surprisingly gulped down the rest. "Now, Tracy! Those mmm''s! I need a bag, and quick!" Tracy shifted nervously on his feet, clutching a napkin in his hands. "Actually, sir, I believe it''s pronounced M&M''s." Lune waved a dismissive hand. "M&M''s, shm&m''s! Just get them for me, double-time!" ¡°Right away, my Lord.¡± Tracy, realizing the urgency of Lune¡¯s demand, quickly ran out the tent. Sadie and my mom also used that time to rush out, however little Miss Thief wasn¡¯t so lucky as she was held back by the guards. "Ahh, if it isn''t my two weapon thieves together in one tent," Lune sneered. Miss Thief and I exchanged glances. "You took back the Phite weapon my sister needs. She''s sick! Give it back now, or I''ll make you''ll regret it!" She fought with the guard, trying to release her hands from his grip. Her high-pitched voice dripped with venomous intent, yet her slight frame and wide eyes made her look as harmless as a lost puppy. Lune ignored the struggling girl entirely, his gaze fixed on me. He leaned closer, his playful demeanor replaced by a predatory intensity. A slow smile stretched across his lips, revealing a hint of sharp canines. "Oh, the little hume has some fight left," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down my spine. "But defiance without power is a fleeting spark, wouldn''t you agree?" His amusement flickered momentarily to the girl, her outburst seemingly forgotten. Then, his eyes snapped back to me. "Guards," he commanded, his voice sharp, "keep an eye on our young thief. Let''s see how long this human bravado lasts." His positive mood kindled a small flame of hope in my chest. Just then, a flicker of movement at the tent entrance caught my attention. In sauntered Tracy, chest puffed out, brandishing a bag of M&M''s like a knight offering a sacred chalice. Lune took the bag without breaking his gaze from me. He ripped it open, popped a few M&M¡¯s into his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully. The moment stretched on, the tension palpable. Finally, he spoke again, his voice colder than before. ¡°You were found with a Phirollite staff, a broken weapon. But I see something even Fang couldn¡¯t handle has been repaired. This is...suspicious.¡± ¡°All it needed was a bit of sunshine and a spit shine,¡± I smiled, feigning innocence. My heart hammered against my ribs. ¡°I¡¯ll be the judge of that. Tracy, bring Max, our weapons expert in.¡± He grabbed the table in front of him in eagerness. ¡°Let¡¯s bring in our fairy expert too!¡± To that, his fairy voiced many shrill bells twinkling, reminiscent of bike bells. Lune and his fairy shook their heads at each other. He returned his attention on me again. ¡°Shelly refused to come again. I tried firing hume, believe me, but that left a dozen fairies and humans drooling comatose on the floor. Not good. Hume¡¯s the only one who can handle them. Hume¡¯s also said that they¡¯ve never seen any human take up a mental link that quickly.¡± His grin tinged with skepticism, where his lips curled slightly in a pucker as his eyes narrowed, conveying both amusement and disbelief. Two of Tracy¡¯s men barged in, each holding one of Max¡¯s arms, his feet skimming the ground. Max''s body hung limply between them, his arms draped over their shoulders for support. They placed Max in front of Lune and Max promptly turned around, showing Lune his back, and sat down crosslegged in defiance. Lune gestured at Max¡¯s back. ¡°Tried firing that guy plenty of times, but what can I do? But he¡¯s our only connection to the Tengu, being a mixed breed and all. We need him, unfortunately. Can¡¯t afford to lose the Tengus favor.¡± Lune gestured to Grise, and Grise grabbed my staff to show to Max. That¡¯s what it was. He was mixed with Tengu blood. That red face and long nose reminded me of the Tengu guards! Max''s eyes, usually glazed and disconnected, snapped into focus. The dullness that often clouded them vanished, replaced by a spark of pure, unadulterated fascination. He stood and held the gemstone up to the light, mesmerized by the way it refracted. He tilted it back and forth, watching as the light played across its surface. He became completely mesmerized by its hypnotic beauty. He traced the smooth outer surface with a single finger, a sense of wonder washing over his face. Then, he followed the contours of the gem¡¯s broken and repaired section, examining it with a focused intensity, as if in a trance. Grise spoke then. ¡°Max, regale us with your thoughts on how this gem was fixed. You told us Fang would have trouble with this gem, so how did a mere human fix it?¡± Max, his eyes wild and unyielding, traced the contours of the gemstone with a gnarled finger. ¡°This gem,¡± he rasped, ¡°was once an egg¡ªa vessel for hidden power.¡± His voice held the gravity of untold mysteries. "Two malvao fruits, fused in their shared destiny, fueled its magic. The seam, once a mere fracture, had become a complete break, a chasm of unleashed energy." He leaned in, breath sour and eyes ablaze. The room faded, replaced by the gem¡¯s pulsing glow. "The setting," he murmured, "the creator made a nest woven by fate, perhaps foreseeing this rupture." His obsession consumed him, oblivious to the world beyond the fractured gem. "Look at this," he murmured, his voice barely above a breath. He pointed a finger at the top of the gem. "There''s a sealant applied right here, where the malvaos'' combined form weakened. But see how rough it is? It wasn''t polished after application. Looks like an amateur job, rushed and desperate." A sigh escaped Max''s lips, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. "This whole thing is a real puzzle, isn''t it?" Lune''s gaze flickered between Saya and Max for a long, probing moment. Finally, he addressed Max directly, a hint of disdain lacing his voice. "Is this repair stable, Mutt? Won''t cause the staff to detonate in her hands the moment she tries to activate it?" Max''s lips twitched, a hint of amusement battling with the annoyance in his eyes. "Of course, your Lordship. The staff''s as stable as a newborn dragon, wouldn''t dream of it turning into a glorified firework in her hands. Trust me, I wouldn''t risk putting a faulty weapon in anyone''s grasp, least of all a delicate one." Lune¡¯s snort echoed through the chamber, devoid of amusement. ¡°Amateur work,¡± he scoffed, his tone dripping with condescension. ¡°Wonderful.¡± His eyes bore into Saya, assessing her with the disdain of a seasoned merchant. ¡°The gem is repaired, yes, but it remains our property¡ªa potent one, at that.¡± He leaned in, his breath carrying the weight of unspoken threats. ¡°Perhaps a trade is in order.¡± A Tent Full of Trouble - p2 At his gesture, a soldier drew back the curtains, revealing a rack overflowing with ornately decorated weapons¡ªstaffs tipped with glowing crystals, blades etched with strange symbols, and instruments that hummed with unseen energy. Another soldier shuffled forward, shadows obscuring his features. He held out a red velvet cushion, its once vibrant color dulled by grime. A single, skeletal claw of impossibly dark purple wood peeked out from beneath a tattered cloth draped over the cushion. The cloth, once pristine white, was now marred by the same ooze, hinting at the horror it concealed. Curiosity battled with a primal fear as I inched closer, unsure of what awaited beneath the fabric. With a deep breath, I lifted the cloth, revealing the full horror of the Malvao branch. Its deep purple hue wasn''t simply a color ¨C it seemed to actively devour the meager light, swallowed by an inky blackness. A grotesque canker marred the Y-shape, a pulsating boil of sickly grey ooze leaking from its center. The color resembled a fading bruise, but the slow, rhythmic throb beneath your touch spoke of something far more disturbing - a life of its own, festering within the ancient wood. The wood itself held no comfort. Grotesque, tormented faces contorted from the knots and twists, their silent screams echoing in the darkness. Their expressions were a chilling tableau of agony and hunger, a glimpse into the unimaginable torment this branch must have endured. Lune watched my reactions, his face lit up with amusement. ¡°Handle the dowsing rod with care,¡± he advised. ¡°Grasp it too firmly, and it may seek to graft its wood into your flesh.¡± He let out a chuckle, as though he were savoring a memory of someone¡¯s misfortune, before quickly putting on a fake look of seriousness. ¡°Excellent,¡± he drawled, ¡°it will guide you to a weapon most suited to your¡­ unique capabilities.¡± My fingers brushed the proffered Malvao branch, and a jolt of unnatural energy surged through me. This wasn''t a tool, it was a writhing entity; its twig-like fingers seeming to writhe and pulse with a malevolent life of their own. It felt like grasping a skeletal claw reaching from a forgotten abyss, a conduit to realms beyond human comprehension. Revulsion surged through me, a cold dread that eclipsed any allure of power. With a deep breath and steeled resolve, I pointed the rod at the cabinet. Instantly, every weapon inside began to convulse with a terrifying life. Blades rattled in their sheaths, their edges buzzing with an unseen energy that seemed ready to burst free. Sword hilts pulsed with a sickly purple glow, casting eerie symbols that writhed like phantoms on the dusty air. Maces and axes clattered against the cabinet walls, their metallic clangs echoing through the chamber like the death throes of a giant. It felt like the weapons'' souls, dormant for who knows how long, had suddenly been awakened by the Malvao branch, their excitement a cacophony of violence. Then, a sharp gasp sliced through the metallic din. It was Miss Thief ¨C a flicker of movement barely discernible in the gloom. Her normally composed face must have been etched with terror, but I couldn''t tear my gaze away from the horrifying display before me. A thick, metallic tang filled the air, mingling with the acrid stench of the ooze to create a noxious cocktail that clawed at my throat and burned my eyes. The air vibrated with a low, rhythmic hum, a pulse that seemed to emanate from the Malvao branch itself and resonate deep within my bones. My hand, gripping the branch, felt like it was being consumed by a cold fire. The twisted faces carved into the wood seemed to writhe in delight, their whispers a chorus of dark promises growing louder, urging me to unleash the chaos within the cabinet. Disgust battled with a primal fear that threatened to consume me whole. This wasn''t a dowsing rod; it was a conduit to a nightmare. My fingers, slick with a cold sweat, began to lose their grip on the branch. Resolve? It felt like a flimsy shield against a tidal wave of terror. A glance at Lune confirmed my worst fears. Disbelief flickered across his features, quickly morphing into something far more unsettling ¨C a flicker of something predatory, a hunger that had been held in check until now. The weapons'' reaction was unexpected, a potential he hadn''t anticipated. Suddenly, Will materialized from behind me, his face etched with concern. He gestured towards the branch, his eyes pleading for me to let go. My salvation. With a trembling hand, I released the Malvao branch. Relief washed over me as I released the Malvao branch. It clattered back onto the red velvet cushion with a sickening thud, the weapons within the cabinet falling silent as abruptly as they had awakened. A jolt of realization shot through me. The soldier who had brought the branch, previously obscured by shadows, now stood clearly in view. His hands, encased in thick, leaden gloves, moved with a practiced efficiency born of fear. He didn''t hesitate. With a practiced flick of his wrist, the same dirty white cloth, stained with the same sickly ooze that marred the branch, descended over the pulsating wood once more. This time, I noticed a tremor in his gloved hands, a hint of the raw terror simmering beneath his practiced movements. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. His gloved fingers folded the cushion, his every movement deliberate and careful, as if handling a container of radioactive waste that could burst open at any moment. The reverence, tinged with a palpable fear, radiating from his every action sent shivers down my spine. This wasn''t just a weapon; it was a terrifying entity demanding such extreme measures for containment. He wasn''t finished. Another cloth, clean this time, was produced with a rustle. This one was wrapped tightly around the first, entombing the Malvao branch completely. No hint of its skeletal form or pulsating ooze was allowed to peek through. The reverence with which he treated the bundled branch sent shivers down my spine. It wasn''t just fear, but a chilling respect for the power it held, a power that demanded such extreme measures for containment. I may have escaped the immediate danger, but the encounter left a lingering sense of unease. The Malvao branch, with its dark allure and promise of power, had brushed against my soul, and the memory of its touch would stay with me for a long time to come. I shuddered. "Well, well," Lune said, his voice dripping with a mix of curiosity and intrigue. "This is highly irregular. Unforeseen, even." He clasped his hands together and pursed his lips. Suddenly, Will materialized from behind me, his face etched with concern. He gestured towards the branch, his eyes pleading for me to let go. My salvation. With a trembling hand, I released the Malvao branch and the chaos stopped. Relief washed over me as I released the Malvao branch. It clattered back onto the red velvet cushion with a sickening thud, the weapons within the cabinet falling silent as abruptly as they had awakened. A jolt of realization shot through me. The soldier who had brought the branch, previously obscured by shadows, now stood clearly in view. His hands, encased in thick, leaden gloves, moved with a practiced efficiency born of fear. He didn''t hesitate. With a practiced flick of his wrist, the same dirty white cloth, stained with the same sickly ooze that marred the branch, descended over the pulsating wood once more. This time, I noticed a tremor in his gloved hands, a hint of the raw terror simmering beneath his practiced movements. His gloved fingers folded the cushion, his every movement deliberate and careful, as if handling a container of radioactive waste that could burst open at any moment. The reverence, tinged with a palpable fear, radiating from his every action sent shivers down my spine. This wasn''t just a weapon; it was a terrifying entity demanding such extreme measures for containment. He wasn''t finished. Another cloth, clean this time, was produced with a rustle. This one was wrapped tightly around the first, entombing the Malvao branch completely. No hint of its skeletal form or pulsating ooze was allowed to peek through. The reverence with which he treated the bundled branch sent shivers down my spine. It wasn''t just fear, but a chilling respect for the power it held, a power that demanded such extreme measures for containment. I may have escaped the immediate danger, but the encounter left a lingering sense of unease. The Malvao branch, with its dark allure and promise of power, had brushed against my soul, and the memory of its touch would stay with me for a long time to come. I shuddered. "Well, well," Lune said, his voice dripping with a mix of curiosity and intrigue. "This is highly irregular. Unforeseen, even." He clasped his hands together and pursed his lips. "The Malvao branch is a fickle guide. It reacts to potential, but not always to purpose. However, its response is undeniable. You have the potential for greatness, but greatness needs direction. If only you had held on longer, perhaps we would have an answer.¡± He shook his head and sighed. I spotted Miss Thief huddled on the ground. Her face was ashen, her body trembling like a leaf caught in a violent windstorm. Her eyes darted between me and the cabinet, a silent testament to the terrifying display we''d just witnessed. Grise exchanged a glance with Lune. A flicker of frustration crossed Lune''s face. Mind link? I thought it was just a fairie thing. Grise was unfazed, yet Lune remained animated with his facial expressions getting more sour by the minute. Grise, unfazed by Lune''s souring expression, turned to me. ¡°Lord Lune would like for you to keep the staff. You have shown your potential and should wield a powerful weapon. Perhaps it has already bonded with you like you have bonded with your fairy.¡± Lune scoffed. "BUT," he interjected, his voice sharp, "we still hold the reins here. The staff and fairy are gifts bestowed upon you by our good graces. By accepting them, you''ve entered a binding contract with us." "A contract?" I echoed, apprehension creeping into my voice. "What kind of contract?" Lune''s eyes narrowed. "The specifics will be discussed later," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He gestured to a nearby soldier. "Aubrie," he addressed the soldier, "escort Miss Saya to hume¡¯s quarters. Hume will need time to adjust to hume¡¯s newfound¡­ responsibilities." The soldier, Aubrie, inclined her head in silent acknowledgement. I hesitated, a thousand questions swirling in my mind. The staff, the terrifying reaction within the cabinet, this ''contract'' ¨C none of it made sense. Yet, I couldn''t deny a strange sense of power thrumming beneath my skin, a feeling inextricably linked to the Malvao branch. It moved from my hand to my shoulder blades. With a deep breath, I met Lune''s gaze. "What exactly is it that I''ve gotten myself into?" I asked, my voice stronger than I expected. A flicker of something akin to respect danced in Lune''s eyes for a fleeting moment before his usual mask of arrogance settled back into place. "That, my dear," he drawled, "is a story for another time." The Contract and the Knife - part 1 A suffocating silence pressed down on me within the confines of my assigned quarters. Unlike the cramped solitary confinement cage I knew all too well, this was a spacious tent furnished with a simple cot and rough cloth rugs. A pitiful upgrade, considering I was a prisoner. Again. I groaned. Still, a yearning for Grandma gnawed at me. How was she holding up? Had they taken her to get seen by a doctor yet? The worry etched on Lyanna''s face mirrored my own. Was this the effect of the mind link? The small fairy, no larger than my fist, flitted restlessly around the tent. She circled the tent, looking paler with each pass. Through the connection, I felt a surge of Lyanna''s struggle and fatigue. As vivid as how my stomach felt fuller when Spiderzilla devoured that giant moth. Abruptly, the fairy stopped. Her wings drooped, and with a defeated sigh, she dove headfirst into the pillow. Captivity had clipped Lyanna¡¯s wings, both literally and figuratively. Extracting information from her was a pain ¨C a mix of coaxing and deciphering muffled words from when her face was burrowed in the pillow. Those weren''t jars; they were cages, denying the fairies even the most basic freedom of movement. How long had they been trapped here, their magic choked, their wings clipped not just by captivity, but by the despair the captivity creates? Apparently, the longer they were confined, the more their colors leached away, leaving them pale as ghosts. Lyanna¡¯s only link to Steel, our town, came through whispers gleaned from a network that pulsed between captive fairies, a communication web as intricate as any human phone system. It was a power only fairies had. Elves and humans only had the capability to communicate with one, so they had to choose one with the best chance of connection. That connection, however, offered little comfort in the face of my empty stomach. I stared at the deflated pouch on the table, the meager offering of dried fruits and nuts long consumed. Aubrie, the unexpectedly gentle giant guard, must have sensed our despair. Before they ushered us inside, she had left this small pouch to complement the flatbread and water soup. It wasn''t much, barely enough to sustain a sparrow, but in the face of captivity, it felt like a lifeline. The food was gone, but the feeling lingered ¨C Aubrie cared. Lyanna, perhaps sensing my flicker of hope through our bond, perked up. It was a small source of comfort, but it set the wheels in motion. She then offered a glimmer of hope of her own. Orcs, apparently, couldn''t wield Malvao weapons ¨C the power within the metal was too heavy for them, like a different force of gravity acted upon them. Yet, weapons were vanishing from the tunnels, a mystery as if the very dungeon itself was conspiring against them. Exhaustion, both physical and emotional, finally claimed me, and I drifted off into a restless sleep. Morning light, filtered through the translucent fabric of the tent, roused me from my slumber. Lyanna was still asleep. Throwing back the flaps, I was met with the stern gazes of two young guards. One was sporting a green muscular right arm that made him look lopsided. The other, his face etched with a permanent scowl, kept his arms crossed, his entire posture radiating an air of disapproval. Each held a slender staff crossed before them, barring my exit. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. "Where can I find Raine or Will?" I demanded, frustration already bubbling under my skin. "I need to know what''s happening." Their expressions remained stoic. One of the guards, his brow furrowed in what seemed like concentration rather than thought, finally spoke. "The bosses are in the tunnels," he mumbled, his voice thick and lacking in inflection. "They go fight Orcs every day." Disappointment washed over me. Every day? But Raine had seemed so eager to explain the deal they''d struck. Just then, a flash of movement caught my eye. A figure, cloaked in midnight blue, materialized beside me with a rustle of fabric. Before I could react, she was inside the tent through a small, expertly cut seam. It was Miss Thief! Her eyes were clouded with worry. ¡°I¡¯m Simone,¡± she stammered, her voice barely audible as she scratched the back of her head. ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m sorry about before. I didn¡¯t mean any harm. The dagger¡ªit was just a moment of desperation. Please, don¡¯t call the guards.¡± Simone¡¯s eyes pleaded with me, and for a moment, I hesitated. What secrets did she carry? And why did her vulnerability tug at my heart? Simone winced, clutching her side. ¡°You see, my sister¡­ she overused the Malvaos power. It¡¯s a double-edged sword, that purple fruit. Grants you incredible strength, but if you push it too far, it starts leeching your own life force. I¡­ I have a secret power. No one can know. Can you promise me that you can keep a secret?¡± I nodded, intrigued. ¡°Go on.¡± Simone hesitated, her eyes darting around the dimly lit tent. ¡°I¡­ saw that you had two Malvao weapons. Even though you kept the dagger hidden, I can still detect Malvao weapons. No one¡¯s been able to handle two before.¡± My mind raced. Simone¡¯s revelation held more weight than I¡¯d anticipated. What secrets did she harbor, and how could her unique ability change everything? She sank onto my cot, her breath shallow. She pointed at the general area where I had hidden my backpack, right underneath her. "The gem in the hilt, it''s¡­ it''s like a safety valve. It absorbs back some of the excess Malvaos energy, keeps the wielder from burning out completely. But without it¡­" She trailed off, her face contorted in pain. "The elves took it, saying it was too dangerous. But they don''t understand. It''s the only thing that was keeping my sister from succumbing to the purpling Malvaos'' curse!" ¡°That dagger was originally my sister¡¯s. But after the staff and more weapons from the same lot were causing problems, they took them all shipped out for repair. Then they gave her a less compatible weapon and watched her suffer seizures.¡± "She¡¯s been trippin¡¯. Messed with the Malvaos¡¯ mojo way past her limits. That purple fruit? It¡¯s like a gnarly gift, gives you mega power, but if you overdo it, it¡¯s a total wipeout. Now, Drea, she''s getting wiped out by purpanosis." Simone explained, her voice trembling. "The Purp, it steals your life force bit by bit, leaving only a frail shell behind. The gem in the dagger¡­ it acts like a filter. Absorbs some of the excess Malvaos energy, keeps the user from crashing entirely. But the elves¡­ they took it, saying it was too dangerous. They don''t understand, Saya! It''s the only thing keeping Drea alive!" Pushing aside the flap, Aubrie entered. Simone, eyes red-rimmed, jumped in surprise. "Aubrie!" she stammered, nervously clutching her hands.