《Bum Magic: A Tale of Sludge and Slime [Progression Fantasy | Action | Comedy]》


 1: I Dont Think That Was Communion Wine

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    I¡¯m gonna kill that motherfucker Mickey Torke.


    ¡°Uhhhh, sir? That¡¯ll be $3.82.¡±


    A nervous gas station clerk looked down at my Big Gulp and Doritos and then back at me. I could tell he was trying his best not to look at my mark, which was throbbing and red on the back of my hand. I tried my best not to look at it too. Every time I saw it, I thought of that motherfucker Mickey Torke and how I was going to kill him.


    ¡°Right,¡± I said and dug through my pockets for coins. I made a pile of nine quarters, six dimes, three nickels, and eighty-two pennies, and pushed it his way. He put it in the register without counting and told me to have a good day. I wouldn¡¯t.


    I crushed the Doritos in about three seconds and hopped on my electric scooter, Big Gulp still in hand. I didn¡¯t know where I was going, exactly; I just kept moving west. Thanks to the aforementioned motherfucker, a gang of religious nutjobs were hot on my ass and would probably sacrifice me on a pyre or something if they ever caught up to me. He¡¯s also the reason I have this tattoo making my hand itch like a freshly herpe¡¯d crotch.


    I was marked about a week ago. It was Tuesday night, so we were hanging out under the bridge. It was me, Mickey, and Beth, my former partner in crime. We had a pretty decent setup under the bridge, with plenty of blankets, a tarp to keep us dry, and a fire pit we nabbed off someone''s back porch. It was a misty Autumn evening, and I was relaxing in my tent when Mickey came back from god knows where with his trademarked shit-eating grin on his face. He always acted like he was smarter than everyone else even though he was a bum who slept under a bridge. I should¡¯ve known something terrible was going to happen when he pulled a strange bottle out from his dirty corduroy jacket. It looked like some shit out of a fantasy movie: it had a bulbous bottom and a long, narrow neck, with a silvery floral pattern climbing up from its base and a loose cork sticking out of the top.


    ¡°That a fucking potion?¡± I said to him.


    ¡°Communion wine,¡± he said with a grin that revealed his missing canine. ¡°Nabbed it from the church off Warsaw Street. Dumbasses just left it right out in the open.¡±


    Beth shook her head and laughed at the same time. She always had more tolerance for Mickey¡¯s nonsense than I did.


    ¡°Whelp, if we weren¡¯t going to Hell before, I guess we are now,¡± she said and took the bottle from him. She popped the cork, took a mighty gulp, and gagged a little as it went down.


    ¡°Damn, that shit must taste terrible. It ain¡¯t easy to make you gag,¡± I said. She didn¡¯t say anything, just shoved the bottle into my chest. I thought Mickey was the bum of all bums for stealing from a church, especially if it was just some shitty wine, but I¡¯ve never been one to turn down free drinks. I took a swig, and the taste was even worse than I thought it would be. It was thick and went down like a slimy milkshake with coagulated chunks that gave it the texture of day-old blood. The taste was some combination of fish sauce, sweaty socks, and strawberries. Now I was impressed that Beth didn¡¯t gag more. I damn near threw up in the river.


    ¡°I think this shit¡¯s expired or something,¡± I said to Mickey after I was reasonably sure I wasn¡¯t going to hurl. Looking back, I doubt expired wine would taste this bad, but I never claimed to be the brightest man in the world, especially after a couple of Miller High Lifes.


    ¡°Are you stupid? Wine doesn¡¯t expire. It just ages. Give me that.¡±


    He snatched the bottle from my hand and chugged the rest of its contents. He attempted to hide his disgust, but the green tinge of his skin gave him away. I wasn¡¯t feeling too hot myself. I felt like there was a big mound of earthworms fighting in my stomach, and my entire body itched from the inside. Beth collapsed where she was standing, and soon I did the same.


    I woke up to the sound of screaming that turned out to be my own. All of the itching seemed to concentrate itself on the back of my right hand. It was so bad that I probably would¡¯ve cut my hand off right then and there if I had something besides a pocket knife to do it with -- and if I was able to do anything besides writhe on the ground and clutch my wrist.


    The itch did die down eventually though, and I was able to regain some composure. I propped myself up against a pillar and panted heavily. Beth and Mickey must¡¯ve had the same itch because they were doing the same thing.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think that was communion wine,¡± I said. Neither of them responded to me. Mickey was only barely conscious, and Beth was fixated on her hand, her eyes wide and bloodshot. I looked down at the back of my own hand and saw a faint black ring that seemed to be getting darker by the second. It was barely visible at first, but it grew and darkened like melanoma, and dark blobs raised from my skin and covered the rest of my hand. I looked like a fucked up lava lamp.


    Mickey needed to wake up faster, so I got up and smacked him in the face.


    ¡°Where in the hell did you get this shit? What is this?¡± I showed him the back of my hand.


    ¡°I already told you,¡± he said through gritted teeth. ¡°I saw it through the window of the church off Warsaw Street and I took it.¡±


    ¡°What church off Warsaw Street?¡± I said.


    ¡°There isn¡¯t a church on Warsaw Street,¡± Beth chimed in, still not looking away from her hand.


    ¡°I said it was off Warsaw,¡± Mickey said. ¡°It¡¯s a ways down a dirt road off the street, but it¡¯s a big church. I know you guys have seen it before.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t say I keep up with all of the churches in Leesville,¡± I said, ¡°but I think you stole from the wrong one.¡±


    Mickey stood up and grabbed my arm to look at it more closely. He put his marking next to mine.


    ¡°Hey, why does yours look different than mine?¡± he said.


    It was true. Both of us had rings on our hands, but he had jagged zig-zags covering the rest of his hand. Curiosity got Beth to finally stand up and come over to us. She had the same open circle, but the rest of her hand was almost black from a series of tightly packed spirals that made me dizzy after looking at them for a couple of seconds.


    A voice came from behind us.


    ¡°Father, I found them.¡±


    We turned around to see a young man with a white button-up shirt and neatly combed blonde hair. He had a walkie-talkie in his hand and a look of repulsion on his face.


    ¡°The audacity of you three, to steal from us,¡± he said. ¡°Do you even know what you¡¯ve just done to yourselves?¡±


    I thought it was pretty clear that we didn¡¯t, and he didn¡¯t wait for us to answer anyway. He pulled a gun from his coat and fired wildly at us. The first bullet clanged against the pillar between me and Mickey. The three of us scattered in different directions. He followed Mickey with the gun first, unloading bullet after bullet, putting holes in our blankets and causing stuffing to fly into the air, but he somehow managed not to hit him. Mickey jumped into the river, and the young man decided to turn his attention to me. He moved closer, not wanting to miss again, until I was pinned against a wall. Looking down the barrel of a gun, my mind went blank.


    I was ready to die when Beth came up from behind and grabbed his arm, which gave me just enough time to get my pocket knife out and stick it in his upper thigh. He screamed, and Beth snatched the gun from his hand. She pointed it at him but didn¡¯t shoot. She had never killed anyone before, as far as I knew. With the hole in his leg, he wasn¡¯t in any condition to run after us, so we ran to my scooter and took off.


    ¡°You think Mickey¡¯s alright?¡± Beth asked, holding my waist tightly as we went down the empty road. She always hated riding on my scooter, but it sure as shit beat walking.


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    ¡°I don¡¯t give a shit personally. He¡¯s the one who got us into this mess in the first place,¡± I said.


    I looked around for a place to hide ¡ª I was pretty sure ¡°Father¡± would be on our ass at any moment ¡ª but I had driven us into a sprawling suburb. I¡¯d probably have to worry about some rich, waxy-faced fuck calling the cops on me just for existing before this Father person even got to me.


    Sure enough, an old lady stepped out of her little doll house to gawk at us, her pug-like face contorted into a grumpy frown. She reached into her bathrobe, I assumed to get her phone and call the cops, but she had a goddamn gun too.


    ¡°Are you fucking serious?¡± Beth yelled. My thoughts exactly. The wrinkled hag unloaded at us, but her shaky hands meant she was more of a threat to any birds flying by than she was to us.


    But she wasn¡¯t the only resident of this suburb who wanted us dead. It wasn¡¯t long before half the neighborhood was taking potshots at us from their front porches. Either they were in cahoots with this Father guy or they really hated homeless people.


    But again, we came out of the neighborhood unscathed, though there were a couple of bullet holes in the side of my scooter. I love this fucking scooter, man. I bought it from a junkyard for ten bucks. It was a complete pile of shit then, completely busted, but slowly I fixed it up, and now it runs like a dream. I swear I can get up to thirty-five on it if I¡¯m on a straight road. Fortunately for us, it¡¯s pretty hard to hit someone zigzagging on a scooter. Still, we were pretty lucky.


    There was nothing but trees beside us and highway ahead of us now. It was early in the morning, so traffic was pretty much nonexistent, but we had a few people angrily swerve around us and give us the finger. I gave it right back to them. There still weren¡¯t any signs of anyone I would¡¯ve thought was Father, but it was obvious that they wouldn¡¯t just leave us alone. We had done something bad, apparently. Really bad. A lot of very unstable people were very upset that we had this shit growing on our hands.


    We continued down the highway for at least twenty minutes. The empty road and gray sky put me into a trance. I completely zoned out, which is why I didn¡¯t see the man standing in the middle of the road until Beth punched me in the shoulder. He had long white hair that flipped around in the wind, he wore a perfectly tailored navy blue suit, and his entire body was covered in tattoos, with patterns so intricate that new ones kept popping up the longer I looked at him.


    ¡°Apologies for my idiot son,¡± the man said. ¡°He should have known better than to shoot at marked men, even ones¡­ like you. He¡¯s lucky you ran instead of fighting him.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m guessing you¡¯re Father then?¡± I said. ¡°What was in that wine?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m Arthur¡¯s father, yes, but most people call me Reverend Alec Humphries, or just Alec. And that wasn¡¯t wine, you moron. It was an elixir for my boy, and y¡¯all stole it from me. Both of you, it seems. What a waste. It takes over two decades to make an elixir. We started whippin¡¯ up that one when Arthur was just a boy, and you just snatched it out of my damn church.¡± He shook his head.


    ¡°Actually, we weren¡¯t the ones that stole it,¡± Beth said. ¡°A buddy of ours snatched it, and ¡ª¡±


    ¡°You shut your fucking mouth. I don¡¯t care who did it. You got those little scribbles on your hand. Y¡¯all clearly drank it. I can''t do nothin¡¯ but take you out.¡±


    My asshole clenched shut. The old man disappeared in a puff of white smoke and instantly reappeared at the tree line on the side of the road. He touched the ground and it started to bubble like boiling cheese. The grass broke apart. Clay rose from underneath it and formed itself into the shape of wild dogs. At least twenty clay hounds charged at us at once. There was nothing around us but asphalt, grass, and trees ¨C we couldn''t hide, so we had to fight.


    The first one came at me, snarling and gurgling and flinging wet clay from its mouth. I kicked at it and separated two of its legs from its body, but that didn¡¯t stop it from coming for me, pushing itself towards me with its two back feet, chest sliding on the ground, snapping at my legs. One kick to the head finished it off, but four more hurled themselves at me in its place. Handling one was no problem, but when they all came at once it was impossible to avoid their gnashing teeth. A set of jagged orange-brown fangs sank into my arm and another one got a mouthful of my calf. I¡¯ve been bitten by dogs before ¡ª stray dogs, even ¡ª but this was much worse. The bites burned with an infection that quickly started to spread through my body.


    I was brought to the ground, and I saw that Beth wasn¡¯t faring much better. She was surrounded by her own pack of dogs that were tearing at her flesh. She was done for. Fuck. Large chunks of her arms and legs were already gone, and they had moved on to her torso, biting and tugging until more pieces came off of her. The sight of her being ripped apart was more painful than all of the holes in my flesh. The one person on this planet that gave a shit about me was dead, and soon I would be dead too. Fuck.


    Strangely, out of everything I felt at that moment ¨C searing pain, complete and utter despair, bitter hatred ¨C I still noticed that I had a belly ache. At first, I didn¡¯t know why something so insignificant took center stage in my mind, but then the belly ache got worse, and worse, and worse ¨C until I popped.


    Clear viscous pus oozed from my pores and covered my entire body. It was everywhere, and the clay hounds were hopeless to cope with it. Their bites glanced off of me and filled their mouths with slime that made them wretch. They struggled to keep their balance and fell over as if they were on ice. I crawled away from them for as long as I could ¨Cwhich wasn¡¯t very long¨C and the snail trail I left behind made it hard for them to follow me. It was surprisingly easy for me to move around in the slime, though. It seemed to actually make things easier, like it was carrying me to safety. It felt good on my punctured skin, too. It had a cooling sensation and kept the dirt out of my open wounds, though my blood was still burning as it coursed through my veins.


    I inched across the grass trying to make it back to the road. My scooter still sat in the middle of the highway. I crawled for what felt like an hour, but I finally made it to the old shitmobile. I got on top and almost cried with relief, but my luck was short-lived. Alec appeared a few feet in front of me with a disgusted scowl on his face. The markings on his body pulsated.


    ¡°This is what happens when a bum is Marked, I suppose,¡± he sneered. ¡°They get even dirtier. At least my dogs cleaned one of you up.¡± He looked over at Beth, who was barely more than a red smear on the grass. I threw up in my mouth from the sight but swallowed it before Alec could notice.


    ¡°Fuck you,¡± I said. It was all I could think of at the time.


    I cranked the handle of my scooter and took off away from him. He put his hands on his belly and laughed. I probably would¡¯ve laughed too in his situation. I was going pathetically slowly compared to someone who could teleport. Still, it was the only plan I had.


    An impressive trail of slime followed me as I went down the empty road. I really wish that would fucking stop. I¡¯m gonna break my damn neck riding over grease. I thought, and suddenly, the slime stopped flowing from my body. Immediately, the road felt easier to navigate, and I felt just a little bit of confidence.


    Alec appeared in front of me with a big clay rod in his hand and swung it at me. I swerved quickly to avoid it and almost fell in the process. He did it again, but I was ready for it; I ducked under the swinging rod and continued down the road without slowing down. But I knew that I couldn¡¯t dodge him forever.


    My belly started to ache again. The slime was building up inside of me, begging to come out. All I had to do was give it permission and it would explode out of me, but I didn¡¯t let it, not yet at least. I held it in, despite its protests, until Alec appeared in front of me again. This time, I didn¡¯t swerve, and I didn¡¯t duck. I barrelled straight toward him, and when I was as close as I thought I could get, I let it all out. A wave of thick liquid shot out of me in every direction and covered Alec from head to toe. I kept moving and didn¡¯t look back, but I heard an angry roar that faded into nothing as I took the nearest exit.


    Drenched in slime, covered in blood, riding a scooter decorated with bullet holes, I made my way through town. I had lived in Leesville for almost three years ¨C the longest I''d stayed in one spot since I was a kid ¨C so I knew the roads well. I took a back road that led to a dirt road that led to a hiking trail that nobody used. It was just wide enough to ride my scooter through, but the overgrown roots and vines made it difficult. I would¡¯ve just pushed it if I had the strength, but even walking seemed impossible. Eventually, the trail opened up to a small clearing. It wasn¡¯t much -- just a little patch of flat grass in the woods -- but at that moment it looked like home.


    I slid off my scooter and curled up in a pile of leaves, waiting for Alec to appear and finish me off. I wanted to sleep more than I¡¯ve ever wanted anything in my life, but I couldn¡¯t. He could show up at any second. I just sat there for hours, waiting to die, but he never came. Sleep came to me by force, but it was far from restful. I would blink and the sun would be lower in the sky and before I knew it, it was dark outside.


    I figured I was as safe as I was going to get. If Alec knew where I was, he would''ve killed me by now. But he hadn''t, so I ventured off the hiking trail back onto the dirt road. A little creek ran alongside the road, and I jumped in it to wash the slime off of me. My wounds stung in the murky water, but it felt good to not be covered in slick gunk. I didn''t like the sight of the ominous red streaks that climbed up my wrists all the way to my shoulders though, or the way the mark on my hand glowed and throbbed. I needed antibiotics. Luckily, I knew just where to get them.


    I swung open the door of Peter¡¯s Pet Supply like I owned the place. Peter looked like he saw a ghost. His normally rosy cheeks turned white at the sight of me.


    ¡°Damn, Gus. What the hell have you got into?¡± he said.


    ¡°No time to explain. I need antibiotics,¡± I said.


    ¡°Well, are you gonna be able to pay for them? Last time I gave you some on credit and you ¨C¡±


    ¡°If I don¡¯t get these, I¡¯m going to die. Probably tonight. Maybe in front of your store. Can you just get them?¡±


    He stammered for a moment, but the more he looked at me, the more he knew I was right. Plus, Peter''s a good guy. He wouldn''t let someone keel over in front of him if had the means to help. Without another word, he shuffled down one of the aisles and came back with a bottle of canine Amoxicillin. I snatched it from him and swallowed a handful.


    ¡°Can you tell me what happened now?¡± he said. He seemed genuinely concerned. I probably should''ve humored him and told him what was going on. I should''ve told him about Beth, at least. He was always happy to see her.


    But I was already halfway out the door before he finished asking his question. I wasn¡¯t in the mood to talk. I hopped back on my scooter and headed west. Mickey had some friends in Tennessee, and I figured that¡¯s where he would go, and I intended to meet him there. It was his fault we were in this situation. It was his fault that I was being chased by a psychopath. It was his fault that I had this shit on my hand, and it was his fault that Beth was dead. So I headed west, to Tennessee, to kill that motherfucker Mickey Torke.

 2: Maybe the Slime and I Could Be Friends

    The holes in my body scabbed over, and the red in my arms faded away, but the tattoo on my hand looked worse than ever. The black marks were raised up and had a bright red aura around them, and the ring in the middle ballooned up like a giant red blister. It was pretty disgusting to look at and it itched like a motherfucker, but I tried to ignore it and just keep riding towards Tennessee.


    It was a nice day, all things considered. Fall had come around, so the air was cool and dry, and there wasn¡¯t a cloud in the sky. It was a perfect day for riding, and I needed to make the most of it. It¡¯d take damn near a week to get to Tennessee on a scooter, taking the back roads, and I still needed to figure out where in Tennessee Mickey¡¯s friends lived. All I knew was their last name ¨C the Futrells ¨C and that they were somewhere near Chattanooga.


    Fuck, my hand itched though. It made me think of when I first drank the elixir, and when this thing first appeared on my hand. I didn¡¯t know itches could be so bad. I felt like I could¡¯ve scratched straight through my bones and the itch still wouldn¡¯t have went away. It wasn¡¯t quite back to that point yet, but it was getting there. I was all out of canine antibiotics, and it seemed like the rest of the infection had gone away, so I surmised that this was some other hocus-pocus bullshit from the tattoo itself ¨C conventional medicine wasn¡¯t going to cut it.


    I was deep into the country, so it was pretty easy to find a spot where nobody was around. There was an old building that looked like it hadn¡¯t been touched in centuries; the side paneling was gray and peeling, the roof sank into itself to form a V shape, and the windows were busted clean out. It was perfect. I parked my scooter behind it and went inside so that I could try to do something about this itch.


    Scratching it didn¡¯t help, of course. It didn¡¯t even make it more red. It didn¡¯t do a damn thing. I was afraid to touch the blister in the middle. It looked like it would sting like a bitch if I touched it at all, but I gave it a tentative poke anyway, and it was fine. Pressing it felt kind of good, actually. It was a lot more solid than I would¡¯ve thought, like it was filled with memory foam. The more I pressed it, the less intense the itching got. I pressed it all the way down and it flattened like it had never been there in the first place, and the itch went away completely. I sighed with relief. I hadn¡¯t realized just how much it was bugging me until I didn¡¯t have to deal with it anymore. The redness didn¡¯t go away though. It got worse. The borders of the marks turned fire hydrant red, and the marks themselves started to bob up and down.


    God, what the fuck have I done now?


    The itch came back with a vengeance. It was almost as bad as it was the first time. I screamed and contorted on the ground. If anyone drove by, they probably would¡¯ve thought I was an OD¡¯ing junky or something. If only I were that lucky. Instead, I got all of the pain with none of the buzz ¨C just mind-shattering itching that crawled up from my hand to my elbow. As it crawled, it brought new melanoma splotches along with it. Soon I had bumpy black amoeba-looking marks going halfway up my arm, and the itching stopped all at once.


    I stumbled outside and splayed myself onto the house¡¯s uncut front lawn. Bugs crawled all over me, but I didn¡¯t have the energy to give a shit. I laid there, breathing hard, looking up at the clear blue sky, damn near wanting to cry.


    My hands started to hurt. A pressure built up inside of them.


    Fuck. Not this again.


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    It was just like when I was trying to get away from Alec. The slime had come back, and it wanted to come out. This time, it all seemed to take up residence in my hands. It wasn¡¯t going to take no for an answer, so I got up and ran back inside the house. I couldn¡¯t let anyone see me do this. If they did, they¡¯d probably have me sent to Area 51 or some shit, and I wouldn¡¯t blame them. I got into the house at the exact right second; as soon as I got in, explosions of slime shot from both of my hands at once. It damn near put holes in the floor. The blast covered half of the living room floor and kicked up a huge cloud of dust. I fell right back out of the house, hacking up a lung and spitting out gray gunk.


    My hands were slick with slime, but the rest of my body remained unscathed. That was a relief. The only creek I¡¯d seen recently looked like Willy Wonka¡¯s Chocolate River, so bathing was a no-go. If that happened on the road, though, I¡¯d end up painting the asphalt red with my face. Up until this point, the slime had been nice enough to leave me alone since I left the pet store. It seemed to know when it wanted to leave me alone and when it wanted to annoy me. It didn¡¯t seem like it had a mind of its own, really, but like there was a separate part of my own mind that told it what to do, a part of my mind that I couldn¡¯t quite control. It seemed to be open to suggestion, at least. When I politely asked it to fuck off while I was running away from Alec, it listened. Maybe the slime and I could be friends.


    I shut my eyes and thought as hard as I could.


    Give me some more slime in my hands. Just a little. I¡¯m not trying to lube up an orgy.


    And just like that, pressure built in my hands again. When it felt like enough, I held up a clenched fist, and a kickball-sized glob of goop splattered onto the side of the abandoned house. An unfamiliar feeling crept up inside of me: excitement. I shot another glob, a little harder this time. It was shockingly easy to control, like I had been shooting slime from my hands my whole life. I went around back and did some target practice. First, I shot it through the windows, but that was too easy. There were some old discarded cans lying around, white from being in the sun so long, and I gathered them and put them into a line on an intact part of the back porch railing. This time, I made a finger gun and a little squirt of slime shot from my finger. Gross. Before too long, I was able to knock every one of them down from twenty feet away.


    Time slipped away from me. The sun was getting lower in the sky; it had to be at least 3:00 pm. The reprieve had been nice ¨C I was almost having fun for a second ¨C but I had to keep moving. Who knows how far Mickey could¡¯ve gotten already, and who knows how close behind Alec and his boys were. I hopped back on my scooter and continued down the twisting country road.


    I tried to take advantage of the quiet drive to piece together what just happened: my mark glowed red, then I pressed down a blister, then new marks were added to my arm, and then slime shot out of my hands. It was like the mark told me it was ready to progress farther through my body, but only did so when I gave it permission. And when it progressed, I could finally control it a little bit. It was like I had earned some of its respect, some of its trust, and in return it gave me a gift. For the first time, I actually sort of felt like this mark was a gift, though I had to pay way too much to get it. I didn¡¯t know which part of my brain was speaking, the part I controlled or the part the slime controlled, but it seemed obvious that, if I continued to show that I could wield the slime properly, I could become very powerful. I could become as powerful as Alec ¨C even more powerful, maybe. The thought made my heart race. One day, I¡¯d show that old fuck what happens when you fuck with a bum.


    But first, I¡¯d show Mickey. If I¡¯ve discovered the potential of this mark, I¡¯m sure he has too, so I¡¯d have to be careful. There was no low Mickey wouldn¡¯t sink to. I once saw him rob an old lady at knifepoint for her glasses. He said he needed to read, but then he just threw them in the river the next day. He loved doing shit like that, just for fun. It made him feel like he had power over people or something. Now, with that shit on his hand, God himself can only guess what he¡¯s up to.


    Hopefully Tennessee isn¡¯t destroyed by the time I get there.

 3: Thanks for the Warm Welcome

    My luck was finally starting to turn around. Nobody had tried to murder me in at least three days, the sky had been clear all the way up into the Smoky Mountains, and I even found $30 in some guy¡¯s wallet. The sun was coming down, and I had some pocket change, so I stopped at a bar in Bryson City.


    Compared to the shithole that I came from, this town was a sight to behold. There wasn¡¯t much to it, but that¡¯s what made it so nice; there was just enough civilization to keep the bears away but not enough to detract from the mountain views. The main street was just a row of little brick coffee houses, mom-and-pop shops, and dive bars. It was cold as all hell, but that¡¯s one of the many problems that liquor can fix, and I had money to spend.


    I managed to find the dingiest dive bar in town on my first try. The walls were peeling and the floorboards creaked as I walked on them ¨C my kind of place. I was the roughest looking person in the building, but not by much. A gang of weathered-looking men sat at the bar, taking up every seat but one. They all had matching shirts that said "Schole and Son Construction" on the backs. I took the last available stool and ordered a glass of Wild Turkey. I threw it back in one gulp and ordered another.


    ¡°Looks like you¡¯ve been havin¡¯ a tough time of things,¡± the man next to me said. He was even more weathered up close and had a salt-and-pepper beard with a little bit of beer foam in it. ¡°Name¡¯s Artie Schole. Where you from?¡±


    ¡°Gus McCall. Nowhere in particular,¡± I said. It felt strange to have a conversation after spending so much time alone on the road. I finished my second glass of whiskey hoping that it would loosen me up a little.


    ¡°That your ride over there?¡± the man pointed out the window to my shitmobile. I nodded.


    ¡°You must have some stories to tell,¡± he continued. ¡°You runnin¡¯ from the law, or somethin¡¯ worse?¡±


    ¡°Worse,¡± I said. I decided to switch it up and order a Natty Light. I was going to have to drive later, after all.


    I piqued the interest of a couple of other guys at the bar. One of them, younger looking than the guy next to me and rocking an impressive brown moustache, looked down at my arm. I put it down at my side so that he couldn¡¯t see it anymore.


    ¡°Like something you see?¡± I said. I didn¡¯t appreciate being stared at.


    ¡°Yeah, those crazy ass birthmarks or whatever they are,¡± he said. It honestly didn¡¯t seem like there was any malice behind what he was saying, but it pissed me off anyway.


    ¡°You think I was born with this on my arm? Man, you¡¯re dumber than you look,¡± I said, and took another sip of my beer. His expression changed immediately. The whole group had their attention on me now.


    ¡°Someone else came around here not too long ago with somethin¡¯ like that on their arm,¡± Artie said. ¡°Killed a man in broad daylight, took the jacket off his body, and ran off.¡±


    ¡°Yup, sounds like Mickey,¡± I said. That was not the right response. I probably should¡¯ve assured them that I was not like him, that I wouldn¡¯t end someone¡¯s life because it was a little chilly outside, but I was too tired and buzzed to care about what these people thought of me.


    ¡°Y¡¯all friends?¡± the moustached man asked.


    ¡°Actually, I''m on my way to kill him. Did he say where he was going?¡±


    I couldn¡¯t win with these people. I tell them that I¡¯m going to enact some vigilante justice on the man who just murdered someone in their quaint little town, and they start looking even more nervous. Give me a fucking break.


    ¡°Naw, he didn¡¯t, and I think it¡¯s best you head on out of here. We don¡¯t need this in our town,¡± Artie said. All five of the men looked at me through squinted eyes, anticipating my next move. I took another sip of my beer.


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    ¡°Look, I¡¯m just trying to relax a little,¡± I said. ¡°So how about you guys just shut the fuck up and let me black out in peace, alright?¡±


    They all stood up at once. Most of them were bigger than I thought they''d be, though the moustached man was a full head shorter than everyone else.


    ¡°Boy, if you don¡¯t get out of here, you¡¯re gonna be sorry,¡± Artie said. It didn¡¯t sound like a threat. He really just wanted me to leave. But fuck him; who the fuck is he?


    ¡°It¡¯s a free country. I can drink wherever the fuck I want,¡± I said. I went to take another sip of my beer, but it was empty. I probably would¡¯ve been on my way out anyway if they hadn¡¯t said anything to me. Not anymore.


    I stood up, stumbling a little, and looked Artie in the eyes. Two of the men put their right hands behind their backs, ready to pull out their guns if the situation called for it.


    ¡°What are you gonna do?¡± I said, ¡°Shoot me for sittin¡¯ here drinkin¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Naw, we wouldn¡¯t do that,¡± Artie said, ¡°but I bet the law would have a few questions about how you got those holes in your scooter if we called them up. I think you better get out of here before that happens.¡±


    I looked at the two armed men. ¡°I bet you guys have some nice guns,¡± I said. ¡°I bet the serial numbers aren''t filed off or anything. If you''re gonna go around threatening people, I hope you know how to use them.¡±


    With that, our conversation was over. The moustached man pushed Artie out of the way and swung at me. But his swing was slow, clumsy, and easy to dodge, even after a few drinks. You don¡¯t live long on the streets if you can¡¯t handle yourself. I¡¯ve dealt with much worse than this guy. He swung again, and I dodged it again and countered with a punch to the gut. The little guy fell to the ground and curled into a ball, acting like he couldn''t breathe. I wondered if he had ever been in a fight before.


    The others decided at that moment that they didn¡¯t want to brawl anymore. The two armed men pulled their guns out and pointed them at my chest. I put my hands up and they started to throb.


    ¡°Woah, woah,¡± I said. ¡°He swung first. I was just defending myself.¡±


    ¡°Get out of here, NOW, or I swear to God I¡¯ll shoot,¡± one of the armed men said. He was bright pink, and his sweaty blonde hair clung to his forehead. The other one breathed hard through his open mouth and shook his head up and down vigorously as if to emphasize his friend''s words.


    I held my hands up a little higher and put on a half-assed smile. ¡°Alright, how about we all just calm down? Let¡¯s all just breathe and count to three. It helps with anger management. My school counselor taught me that. Let¡¯s just try it, ok?¡±


    They did not look like they wanted to do any breathing exercises, and they did not lower their guns.


    ¡°1¡­¡±


    They shook their guns at me.


    ¡°2¡­¡±


    They started to squeeze the trigger.


    ¡°3.¡±


    Two thick streams of slime shot from my hands and knocked the men into the table behind them. The people sitting there screamed and ran into the bathroom, locking the door behind them. I got closer to the fallen men and hosed them until they were completely unable to get up, slipping in a pool of slime every time they tried. The pink one fell hard on top of the mouth breather, and their guns slipped from their hands and out of reach.


    The last two men came at me ¨C Artie from my left and a young, skinny boy from my right. I made double-barrelled finger guns and shot them both in their eyes. They screamed like dying animals. It must¡¯ve burned like mace the way they were hollering ¨C or they were just pussies. While they were blinded, I slicked the floor beneath them and they fell, cracking their heads on the hardwood floor.


    I casually walked up to the slime-soaked table, picked up the two guns, and tucked them into my pants.


    ¡°Thanks, never know when you might need one of these,¡± I said. ¡°See you boys later. Thanks for the warm welcome.¡±


    Goodbye, Bryson City.


    It wasn¡¯t too far to Chattanooga now; just another day or so, and one good thing came out of this pit stop: I knew Mickey had passed through here and that I was on the right track.


    I rode through the night, trying to get as far away from that place as possible. In the dark, I could see that my markings were glowing a faint red. Taking on five men at once wasn¡¯t quite enough to impress the slime this time, it seemed. Something about knowing it wanted more from me made me want to do more. I wanted to see what the next level was, what new power I would be given. I thought about stopping at a few more towns and getting into a few more barfights before I got to Tennessee, but I figured that killing Mickey ¨C another marked man ¨C should be enough to satisfy the slime.


    Now I had two reasons to kill that motherfucker.

 4: God Damn, Chattanoogas Going to Shit

    ¡°What in the world do you want with the Futrells?¡±


    A horribly skinny man with a distended belly looked at me like I was crazy. His eyes were wide, and his mouth hung open a little when he wasn¡¯t talking, making him look like a bloating corpse. I made it to Chattanooga, and he was the first man I saw who looked like he would talk to me ¨C a fellow bum. He was downtown in front of an ATM, leaning against a telephone pole on the sidewalk, attempting to look nonchalant but actually looking like he was struggling to stand. He had clearly partaken in something earlier that day. I figured I¡¯d ask him if he knew the Futrells anyway.


    ¡°Just wanna know if they still live around here,¡± I said.


    ¡°Well, if you¡¯re lookin¡¯ to buy, you can¡¯t just walk up to the Futrell House and ask for a bag of ice. It ain¡¯t a convenience store. You gotta find someone on the street unless you¡¯re friends with them, which I reckon you ain¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Do you know where they live or not?¡± I said. I hate it when people give me the run-around.


    ¡°Sure do, but I ain¡¯t gonna tell you,¡± he said with a condescending yellow-toothed smile. ¡°Well, kinda. I mostly know. I know people who know. The guys I buy from get it from them.¡±


    ¡°Alright, then point me to one of these street dealers,¡± I said. His wide eyes narrowed and he backed away from me a little.


    ¡°You a cop?¡± he asked. I actually busted out laughing. I couldn¡¯t help myself. It was the most ridiculous question anyone had ever asked me.


    ¡°Jesus Christ, I¡¯m not a fucking cop,¡± I said, still chuckling. ¡°Now tell me where the dealers are before I smash your fucking head into this pole.¡±


    He gave it some serious consideration. It was clear he was scared shitless of the Futrells. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if they actually did skin him alive ¨C you don¡¯t get into the drug dealing business because you¡¯re a nice person who wants to help people ¨C but they weren¡¯t standing in front of him. I was, and he could see that I wasn¡¯t playing when I said I would crack his skull on the sidewalk in broad daylight.


    ¡°Alright, alright,¡± he said. His hands were trembling and his voice was shaky. ¡°Go to the Bojangles on the east side of town at around three o¡¯clock. Look for a chubby black guy with a tattoo of a bison on the side of his head. He¡¯ll get you whatever you need, man. So we¡¯re good?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, we¡¯re good,¡± I said. I had about four dollars left over from my night of drinking. I took two dollars out of my pocket and handed it to him before I scooted away.


    I sat at a table in the corner of the Bojangles and stared at the door. It wasn¡¯t even one o¡¯clock yet, but I had shit else to do. It was crazy how these places all looked exactly the same -- brown tile floors, sticky wooden booths, a silver jug of sweet tea that was almost definitely empty. I got there around noon, slunk down into a booth and dozed for about an hour, and then I sat, waiting for the man with the bison tattoo on his head. An employee thought about approaching me, probably to ask me to buy something, but I gave him my best ¡°scary bum scowl¡± and he almost ran back to the kitchen. It wasn¡¯t busy anyway; they could spare the seat.


    Scaring idiots like that was so fun, honestly. It was one of my favorite pastimes. Back in Leesville, Mickey, Beth and I would go to the park and spook people like it was Halloween. We were homeless, but we never begged; we didn¡¯t need their shit. I was a Boy Scout once upon a time, believe it or not, so I knew what plants we could eat and what plants we couldn¡¯t. You¡¯d be surprised at the tasty shit that¡¯s growing in your backyard. It¡¯s not like we lived entirely off foraging though. Turns out, grocery stores give out free food as long as you don¡¯t mind that it¡¯s a little past the expiration date it¡¯s sitting in a dumpster. Beth was the best at slipping into a trash can and coming out in less than a minute with her arms full of good shit. Mickey was the one that got us booze, and that¡¯s about it. It¡¯s all he really cared about. We never asked him how he got it. It was better that way.


    I ruminated on the not-so-distant past as people trickled in and out through the door. We had a good thing going, not too long ago. We had everything we needed. We had fun. I even had a girl that actually enjoyed my company for some reason. Now she¡¯s dead, and the fun is over. I became agitated in my seat. I almost wished Alec and his boys would bust through the door right now; the action at least kept my mind occupied.


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    I was so happy I almost clapped my heels like a fucking leprechaun when a chubby black man with a bison head tattoo walked through the door. He wasn¡¯t just chubby; the man was huge -- at least six inches taller than me, and I''m not a short guy. The sides of his head were shaved clean, but he had a long dreadlocked mohawk tied into a ponytail, and he had droopy eyelids that made him look profoundly unimpressed with everything around him. The silky white dress shirt he wore tucked into his black pants made him look like an off duty bouncer. He ordered four cajun chicken biscuits and sat down at a booth at the other end of the restaurant. I didn¡¯t move, just kept an eye on him as he ate, careful to only look at him in my peripheral vision. He ate in silence and then walked out the door, and I followed close behind.


    He was pretty well dressed for a man whose work involved sitting at a bus stop next to a fast food restaurant. I crouched behind a row of bushes and peeked at him through the leaves. At least five people came up to him within the span of fifteen minutes, and none of them were waiting for the bus. They¡¯d sit next to him, have a short conversation, shake hands and walk off. Once it seemed like the opening rush was over, I took a seat next to him.


    ¡°How much you want?¡± he said the moment I sat down.


    ¡°How do you know I¡¯m not waiting for the bus?¡± I said.


    ¡°How much you want?¡± he repeated.


    ¡°None,¡± I said. ¡°I want you to tell me where the Futrells live.¡±


    ¡°Get the fuck out of here.¡± His expression did not change at all.


    ¡°Not until you tell me how to find them. I have business with one of their friends.¡±


    I still had the two guns I got from those kind fellows back in Bryson City. One of them was in the storage compartment of my scooter. The other was tucked into my pants. I pulled it out and jabbed the barrel into his ribs. I couldn¡¯t really shoot him. If I killed one of the Futrells¡¯ guys, Mickey would find out and scurry out of town like the rat he is ¨C but this guy didn¡¯t know that.


    ¡°What do you think you¡¯re gonna do with that?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Whatever I need to do,¡± I said. ¡°Now, where do they live?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯d do worse than shoot me if I snitched, so why don¡¯t you go ahead and pull that trigger? I wish you would. There¡¯d be fifty goons on your ass before the sun went down.¡±


    Fuck. He wasn¡¯t going to talk. I tucked my gun back into my waistband and held my open, marked hand in front of his face. His expression changed ever so slightly. He must''ve been shocked.


    ¡°Oh, shit. You have one of them too?¡± he said. ¡°God damn, Chattanooga¡¯s going to shit.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯ve seen Mickey?¡± I said.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t I tell you to shut the fuck up?¡± he said.


    ¡°No, you told me to get the fuck out of here.¡±


    ¡°Well shut the fuck up and get the fuck out of here.¡±


    He¡¯d already said too much. He had too much information for me to just walk away. I needed to know where to find Mickey and I needed to know what he was capable of, and the answers were right in front of me. I just had to pull them out.


    ¡° You ever think about what it would be like to drown?¡± I asked.


    He didn¡¯t say anything.


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it be even worse to drown in grease? Imagine, being stuck in a vat of lard or something, sinking to the bottom, and it filling up your lungs until you can¡¯t breathe anymore. Wouldn¡¯t that be an awful way to go?¡±


    A drop of sweat shot down the side of his head. He was one of the few people who knew what someone like me was capable of. He was probably shitting his pants internally, but the only sign of discomfort he showed was that little drop of sweat.


    ¡°You¡¯re just gonna have to kill me,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m not a fuckin¡¯ snitch.¡±


    I jumped up and covered his mouth with my hand. Slime gushed into his mouth and his droopy eyes opened wide. He convulsed under me and tried to scream, but I held him down and kept pumping slime into him. He looked desperate. Suddenly he wasn''t so nonchalant about the idea of me killing him. I didn''t want to kill him though, so I let go after a second and he fell to his knees. Slime shot violently from his mouth and streamed from his nostrils.


    ¡°Alright, alright,¡± he said between heaves, ¡°I¡¯ll tell you, god damn. They have an apple orchard about fifteen minutes out of town. It¡¯s called Paw Paw¡¯s Pickin¡¯ Orchard. It¡¯s a front. They live in the big house at the farthest end of the property. You¡¯ll know what I¡¯m talking about when you see it. Now please, leave me the fuck alone. I need to get my wife and kids and get the fuck out of town.¡±


    I patted him on the shoulder, which made him heave again. ¡°Sorry about that, but you know how it is out here.¡±


    ¡°I sure as hell don¡¯t know how it is out here, now that you crazy motherfuckers are in town,¡± he said.


    We walked together back to the parking lot, which was super fucking awkward, but we both needed to get to our rides. He got in his car and peeled out of the Bojangles parking lot, speeding into the distance. I wasn¡¯t in such a hurry. I was in a great mood. I¡¯d always wanted to go apple picking.

 5: There Was Nothing Left to Bury!

    I staked out Paw Paw¡¯s Pickin¡¯ Orchard for two days.


    From the outside, it looked like any other massive, idyllic plantation home. It was three stories high, with big white columns in the front and a balcony that wrapped around the house¡¯s entire perimeter. Hedges perfectly trimmed to look like apples sat on either side of the stairs leading up to the front door.


    I scoped the place out from the comfort of a tall oak tree. It was tall enough that I could see almost everything. People trickled in and out constantly, through the front and the back, but none of them looked particularly menacing; it was a lot of families with small children or old people holding hands ¨C which made me fucking sick for some reason. There was a road that led from the woods into the backyard of the house, and trucks that advertised ¡°Paw Paw¡¯s Apple Cider¡± on their sides came and went. I sat in that tree for twenty-four straight hours and didn¡¯t see a damn thing out of the ordinary. Worst of all, I didn¡¯t see any signs of Mickey.


    I needed to get closer. That night, I climbed down from the tree and twisted my torso to crack my back. It was stiff as hell after being in that tree for so long, and it popped like bubble wrap ¨C shit felt amazing. A cider truck was parked behind the house, and I took up residence underneath it. Nothing happened for hours at least. I started to wonder if that bison-headed prick had given me bad information until a black Escalade pulled up to the empty orchard at the break of dawn.


    Two men came out of the car. The driver was a pale, pie-faced dude with freckles covering his nose. The other guy had a much more chiseled jawline and a set of small eyes that went too far into his head. They both went to the back of the car and opened the trunk. A tarp covered the entire back half of the vehicle, and Mickey sat on top of it, covered in blood.


    ¡°Sorry guys,¡± Mickey said. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to make such a mess.¡± He got out of the car and shook his hands, spattering blood on the grass.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. At least we don¡¯t have to bury anyone. There was nothing left to bury!¡± the pie-faced man said. ¡°Now hose yourself off. You smell like shit.¡±


    The two men went into the house, and Mickey took off his clothes and began spraying himself off with a garden hose. He was right there, alone. I could take him out right now. Or could I? I didn¡¯t know what he was capable of, but it was enough to completely obliterate a person ¨C or more than one person. He¡¯s clearly working as an enforcer for the Futrells. I squinted in the faint morning light and saw that his mark had spread up his entire arm and wrapped around his shoulder. He was beyond me. I wasn¡¯t convinced in the slightest that slime would do a damn thing against him ¨C but maybe a bullet would. I pulled the gun from my pants, as quietly as I could, and pointed it at him. It was far away, and I¡¯m not a particularly good shot, especially while I¡¯m lying under a truck. If I tried to shoot him, I probably would¡¯ve just hit the house and pissed off everybody in a ten mile radius, so I put the gun back in my pants.


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    Mickey was done washing himself, and the sunken-eyed man came out and threw him a red shirt and a pair of jeans. He put them on and went inside, carrying his old bloody clothes with him. I lost my chance, so I was going to have to make a new one.


    I rolled out from under the truck, got up, brushed the dirt off of myself, and walked up the stairs into the big house, right behind a young couple pushing a set of twin babies in matching strollers. The entire first floor was a gift shop, with all of the useless apple-themed garbage a person could ever want ¨C apple keychains, apple t-shirts, apple mugs, you name it. There was no sign of Mickey though, or the two men he was with, which was to be expected. I looked around the shop, pretending to be a customer.


    ¡°Sir, can I help you find anything?¡±


    A bubbly teen girl sat behind a circular counter in the middle of the gift shop. Her smile was wide and gummy. Usually, people get nervous when they see a bum in a store. They know we don¡¯t belong in places like this. If she was nervous, though, she was good at hiding it. She looked positively delighted to see my disheveled ass.


    ¡°Just lookin¡¯ around,¡± I said and turned away from her.


    ¡°Are you Mickey¡¯s friend?¡±


    I paused for a moment, then turned around and approached the counter.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t go that far,¡± I said, ¡°but we know each other.¡±


    ¡°Gus?¡± she said.


    ¡°...yeah,¡± I said. I didn¡¯t like where this was going.


    ¡°He¡¯s been waiting for you,¡± she said. ¡°Come with me.¡±


    She came out from behind the counter and gestured for me to follow her. She led me down a narrow hallway to a maintenance closet that she punched a code into and unlocked. It swung open, and there were mops and brooms hung up on the left wall and a shelf of assorted items ¨C lightbulbs, toilet plungers, and cleaning supplies ¨C at the back. She pulled me in and closed the door. Once the door was closed, she tapped on the bottom of the shelf in a rehearsed sequence, and the entire back wall moved to reveal a set of concrete stairs that went so far down that it was impossible to see where they ended.


    ¡°You can take it from here. Mickey will be in the second room on the right. He¡¯s excited to see you. Have a nice day!¡±


    She smiled that gummy smile again and walked out of the closet. I had no idea what I was going to be met with at the bottom of that staircase, but I started down them anyway. I was pissed. Mickey must think he¡¯s hot shit now, inviting me in like this. He¡¯s always been a cocky son of a bitch. He must be absolutely un-fucking-bearable now. I couldn¡¯t stand the fact that his mark had grown so much more than mine. I couldn¡¯t stand the fact that he had all of these goons hanging around him. I don¡¯t know how he always got so lucky. Odds are I was walking straight to my death, and then he¡¯d have something else to brag about.


    But I¡¯m sure as shit not gonna make it easy for him.


    I felt like I was a mile underground when I finally got to the bottom of the stairs and saw the long concrete corridor. Jesus, these people sure love to fucking walk. I found the second door on the right; it was made of dark-stained wood and had a bear carved into its center. The smell of cigars wafted from behind it. I put my hand on the knob and twisted, and Mickey sat there, on a suede couch, with a cigar in his mouth.

 6: Its My Fault Youre a Goddamn Wizard, Gus?

    Mickey puffed his cigar and smiled. Smoke came out of the gap where his canine was missing. He looked happy as a fucking clam on that suede couch, feet propped up on a coffee table. His face was fuller, his curly black hair and beard were trimmed, and he was clean for the first time in years. I couldn¡¯t wait to splatter the room with his insides. I clenched my fist so hard my knuckles popped. He put a defensive hand up in front of his face.


    ¡°Before you try anything crazy,¡± he said, ¡°I just wanna say I¡¯m sorry. I shouldn¡¯t have run away, I know. But I panicked. I freaked the fuck out. There was a lot of shit going on, you know? Then, after it all died down, I didn¡¯t know if you or Beth were alive or not until I heard that Buffalo Bill fled the state and his dealing spot was covered in KY Jelly or some shit. They all thought there was a very brave rapist on the loose, but I suspected it was you.¡±


    ¡°Beth isn¡¯t alive,¡± I said. ¡°She was torn apart by dogs in front of me. Dogs sent after us by the guy you pissed off. You didn¡¯t panic ¨C you just never fucking think, Mickey. It¡¯s your fault that she¡¯s dead, and it¡¯s your fault that I have this shit on my arm. I couldn¡¯t give less of a shit about your apology.¡±


    His smile vanished. He took the cigar out of his mouth, snuffed it out on his knee, and stood up. I hate to admit it, but I was scared. On his absolute best behavior, Mickey is a crazy motherfucker, and I doubt his newfound power had calmed him down any. The scratchy zig-zags covering his entire arm triggered my fight-or-flight response, and at that moment, my body begged me to choose ¡°flight¡±. But I hadn¡¯t come this far just to run away like a bitch ¨C assuming it was even possible for me to run away at this point ¨C and part of me wanted to see what he could do, even if it meant I was blown to pieces.


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    ¡°It¡¯s my fault that you have that mark? It¡¯s my fault that you have awesome fucking magical powers, like most people dream of having? It¡¯s my fault that you¡¯re a goddamn wizard, Gus? In that case, you¡¯re welcome. I¡¯m sorry about Beth, I really am, but holy shit, look at what you¡¯re capable of now. We¡¯re some powerful sons of bitches now, dude. Just you wait til you feed your mark a little more ¨C the third progression is wild. And this is just the beginning. If we keep working, you and I could run shit, so why don¡¯t we just put all this bad shit behind us and start over?¡±


    The more I listened to him talk, the more pissed off I became, and the itchier my hand got. I pushed him and he fell backward onto the couch.


    ¡°Start over? Beth is fucking dead, Mickey!¡± I erupted. ¡°And the guys you stole it from are on my ass. If they find me, I¡¯m dead, and you¡¯d be next in line. This isn¡¯t a game. You¡¯ve fucked us all. All I want now is the satisfaction of being the one to put you in the ground.¡±


    I launched globs from both hands at once directly at his face, but he slid off the couch and onto the floor before they could hit him. He crawled towards me and grabbed both of my ankles. My legs instantly fell asleep and I fell to the ground. Then he grabbed my arms and did the same thing. Just like that, in a matter of seconds, I was useless, completely incapacitated. He got up and re lit his cigar.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± he said after a couple of puffs, ¡°you¡¯ll be able to use them again in a minute or two. I¡¯m gonna leave now, though. If you want to talk again, meet me at the other end of this compound, in the Executive Meeting Room. Don¡¯t worry, it¡¯s easy to find. There are signs. I hope I¡¯ll see you soon, man, I really do.¡±


    He stepped over my limp body and pressed a red button next to the door. Red lights flashed and alarms whooped on every wall. Mickey walked out of the room and left the door open. People were yelling down the halls, and a mob of goons started running towards me.

 7: Booger Bombs? Really?

    Fuck.


    The rumbling of footsteps grew louder and louder as the mob of goons approached me, and I was helpless to defend myself. I slammed the door shut with my shoulder and shimmied over to the coffee table like an earthworm. My limbs started to tingle a little bit, which was a good sign. I guess Mickey wasn¡¯t bullshitting ¨C I¡¯d be able to use them again in a couple of minutes, assuming I could survive that long.


    Using my head, I was able to flip the coffee table on its side to use as a barricade. It wasn¡¯t much, but it could buy me a couple of seconds, and at that moment, each second was worth its weight in gold.


    There was a knock at the door.


    ¡°Open up and we won¡¯t shoot,¡± a voice said.


    ¡°Do you really expect me to believe that?¡± I yelled. Why didn¡¯t they just kick it down and blast me away?


    ¡°Come on, just open the door. We don¡¯t need to resort to violence.¡±


    I didn¡¯t respond, and several people started to argue back and forth on the other side of the door. Then it dawned on me: this group of heavily armed hardened criminals were scared of me. They know what Mickey¡¯s capable of and they know I¡¯m like him. They think that I¡¯ll rip them all apart if they open that door.


    And maybe they¡¯re right.


    I was starting to regain feeling in my limbs. I could move them, but they felt heavy, like someone else¡¯s arms and legs had been sewn to my torso. I got on my feet and awkwardly crouched behind the coffee table.


    ¡°If you don¡¯t want to fight, why don¡¯t you all just fuck off?¡± I said. ¡°Go get a real job. I hear Wendy¡¯s is hiring.¡±


    There was some more chatter, and my limbs felt almost back to normal.


    The man sighed. ¡°Alright, if you¡¯re not going to come willingly, we¡¯re gonna have to take you out.¡±


    ¡°You sure you want to do that?¡± I said.


    Mickey fucked up. In the heat of the moment, he left his Zippo lighter wedged between the couch cushions. These guys fucked up too by not taking me out when they had the chance. I became nauseous, and not from the slime. Was I really about to murder god-knows how many people just to get to Mickey? Maybe I could knock them over and get out of here before they could catch me. I¡¯d whooped people¡¯s asses before, sure, but I¡¯d never killed anyone. Taking someone¡¯s life was heavy, and I was about to kill these people in one of the most brutal ways imaginable. But I knew that running was a stupid idea. They¡¯d catch me, or they¡¯d come after me. Plus, that would mean that Mickey won. Fuck that.


    I sent a stream of slime under the door. Groans broke out in the crowd, and there were a few thumps against the wall from people slipping. I kept the narrow stream flowing until I thought it was enough. Then, I lit the Zippo up and tossed it onto the snail trail.


    The slime lit up like napalm. A cacophony of terrible, horrific screams came from the other side of the door. I covered my ears, but the high-pitched wails pierced through my hands and penetrated my skull. They screamed wild, desperate screams, hoping that some benevolent force of nature would come to their rescue, but none did. Nothing could save them from the oily flames that I sent their way. After a few agonizing seconds, all of the screaming stopped.


    Once the flames died down, I opened the door. A dozen charred goons laid at my feet. Some of them were stiff, black corpses lying motionlessly on the floor, but a few unlucky bastards were still alive. They crawled away from me, skin sloughing off of their arms and legs with each movement. Holy shit, what have I done? The pain they were in must have been absolutely unimaginable. I wouldn¡¯t wish it on my worst enemy ¨C well, maybe my worst enemy ¨C yet I just inflicted it on these people that I didn¡¯t even know. I wished that they had just left me the fuck alone. They could¡¯ve handed me Mickey and this could¡¯ve never happened. I couldn¡¯t stand looking at these people anymore, pointlessly trying to escape. They were done. Why didn¡¯t they understand that?


    I took the pistol out from my waistband and shot them all in the head. One by one, I shot six people, and they looked happier because of it.


    I looked to my right, down the corridor. This place was huge. They must¡¯ve been supplying the entire southeastern United States with drugs. There were ten rooms just on this floor, and a staircase all the way at the end. There could easily be hundreds of people still alive in this compound, and Mickey was using them all as human shields.


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    Fuck them. They chose this life. They¡¯ve probably done worse to innocent people. I¡¯m doing a goddamn civil service, killing these lowlifes. I told myself, but I didn¡¯t believe it.


    I¡¯ll kill every last one of them to get to Mickey if that¡¯s what it takes.


    I believed that.


    <hr>


    Aside from me and the pile of corpses at my feet, the corridor was empty. All of the other doors that lined the hall were closed, and nobody dared to come out. Once the adrenaline left my veins, I noticed that my entire right arm was throbbing. The mark liked the taste of blood, I guess, because it was bright red, and three new blisters appeared in the fold of my elbow. Each blister had a crude picture in the middle; one had a nose, one had a foot, and one had a shield.


    The mark¡¯s speaking to me in goddamn hieroglyphics now. Great.


    I had no idea what it meant. Block foot smells? Nosey steppers afoot? I didn¡¯t have time for riddles, so I just pressed the first one to see what would happen. It flattened out into nothing, just like the blister on my hand did, and the other two followed without me touching them. The itch came back, covering my entire body, and the mark sprouted up to my shoulder, covering my entire arm with black blobs. It felt like I was in a bathtub full of fire ants, but the itching subsided quickly this time, and I didn¡¯t fall to the ground.


    Actually, I felt great. I felt fucking incredible. It was like I had instantly become ten years younger. I was lighter on my feet, and my body felt harder, more solid. Out of nowhere, my arms had some noticeable muscle definition for the first time in my lanky, skinny life. The mark was very happy with me today, it seemed. And all I had to do to curry its favor was mercilessly slaughter a group of people. Kinda fucked up, if you ask me, but I almost didn¡¯t even care. I wanted to go run a marathon.


    I was about to hop and skip straight to the elevator to shove Mickey¡¯s head into his own ass when the overwhelming urge to sneeze came over me. There was something in my nose, and it was completely blocking my right nostril. The urge to sneeze got worse and worse, but I never actually sneezed. It didn¡¯t want to come out on its own, so I covered my left nostril with my thumb and snorted as hard as I could. The largest booger I had ever seen in my life shot from my nose like a missile and splattered on the floor a few feet away. A second later, it exploded, creating a black crater in the concrete.


    Booger bombs? Seriously?


    That¡¯s what the mark had blessed me with this time: booger bombs. Mickey could make people¡¯s bodies useless with a single touch, and I could shoot out snot rockets.


    Okay, whatever. I had to keep moving. I didn¡¯t want to be in this weird ass industrial drug complex any longer than I needed to be. I walked down the hallway, slowly, expecting someone to pop out of one of the doors at any moment, but nobody had the balls to fuck with me now. I got to the elevator and pressed the button.


    LEVEL 2 ACCESS REQUIRED. PLEASE SCAN KEYCARD


    Damnit. Why can¡¯t something be fucking easy for once?


    I had to get a keycard. One of the losers on this floor had to have one. My patience was starting to wear thin with these people.


    I shouted down the hall. ¡°I bet you all thought you were real tough when you were roughing up junkies on the street, huh? Why don¡¯t you come and pick on someone your own size?¡±


    I picked my nose, flicked a booger at the door to my right, and blew it off of its hinges. Maybe booger bombs weren¡¯t so bad. Four men who looked like they were halfway through shitting their pants cowered behind a bar, barely peeking over it to look at me. They must¡¯ve ran to the bar in a hurry; broken liquor bottles littered the floor, and a deck of cards was scattered around their poker table. I had pooped their party, it seems.


    I flicked the Zippo open and held my hand behind the flame.


    ¡°Any of you move a goddamn inch and you¡¯re all getting roasted,¡± I said. ¡°Do any of you have a level 2 keycard?¡±


    ¡°He does!¡± one of them squeaked and pushed a little balding man out from behind the bar. I pointed the lighter at him.


    ¡°No I don¡¯t! What the fuck, Carl?¡± he said. ¡°Really, I don¡¯t I swear!¡±


    I wasn¡¯t going to deal with this bullshit. I burned him alive.


    He convulsed on the ground, screaming in agony, and I resumed my conversation with the other three.


    ¡°Did he really not have a keycard?¡± I said.


    ¡°I dunno. I thought he did,¡± Carl shrugged.


    I guess this was the room where they kept all the fucking morons.


    I turned around to leave, and a bullet flew by my head. I whipped my head around to see the pudgy young man to Carl¡¯s right shakily holding a gun, mouth agape. Three of them almost got away with their lives, but they just had to provoke me. I flicked a booger and it hit Carl right in the middle of his forehead. It popped his head like a water balloon and took an arm each off of the other two. I gave them some booger bombs of their own before I left the room.


    ¡°Alright, which one of you shitheads has a keycard?¡± I yelled down the corridor. ¡°Just come out and save everyone else. If you don¡¯t, you¡¯ll die anyway.¡±


    A door on the opposite end of the hallway opened up, and a rail-thin man wearing torn jeans and a mullet that went down to his ass crack came out with a massive burlap sack slung over his shoulder like he was Santa Claus for meth heads. He threw the sack down in front of him with a grunt and looked at me, then pulled a keycard from his pocket and waved it around.


    ¡°You want this? Come and get it, asshole!¡±


    He grabbed a grenade from his sack of goodies and hurled it down the corridor.

 8: …What?

    The grenade landed at my feet. I just barely had enough time to jump backwards before it exploded, sending shrapnel in every direction. Shards of metal tore through my pants and sliced my calf.


    Mr. Mullet took a bag of white crystals out from his back pocket and threw a handful into his mouth like it was candy, crunching down on it with his mouth open. He spoke so fast that I could barely make out what he was saying.


    ¡°You think you¡¯re real fuckin¡¯ tough don¡¯t you yeah fuck you and fuck Mickey too I¡¯m done with all of this magic wizard bullshit I¡¯m gonna blow you up and then I¡¯m gonna go down there to where Mickey is and blow his ass up too!¡±


    ¡°...What?¡±


    He threw another grenade. I was pinned at the end of the hall, my back pressed against the cold metal of the elevator door. I caught the grenade in the air with a blast of slime and knocked it backwards. It slid back to the middle of the hall and exploded. But he threw them too fast; there was no way I was going to get close enough to torch him or flick a booger bomb, and they¡¯d probably destroy the keycard anyway. I pulled out my gun and pulled the trigger.


    Click. Click.


    Of course. I wasted my last bullets on those medium rare goons. That¡¯s what I get for being nice, I guess. I was at a loss. It seemed like Mr. Mullet had an unlimited supply of grenades in his sack. He was relentless. I¡¯d blast one away, and two more were instantly flying at my head. The middle of the corridor looked like the surface of the moon from all of the deflected blasts.


    I deflected another grenade, but not quite far enough, and a spray of hot metal shards stuck into my thigh. Streams of blood trickled onto the floor. I needed to get out of that hallway before Mr. Mullet turned me into a damn pincushion. I slimed an incoming grenade with one hand, dug for gold in my nose with the other, and blew the door to my left open.


    ¡°Oh you wanna hide now like a little bitch what happened to all of that big talk huh come and get this keycard I fuckin dare you I fuckin dare you to fuck with Bartholomew Kensington III!¡±


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    ¡°Seriously? That¡¯s your name?¡±


    I kept calling him Mr. Mullet in my head.


    I limped hastily through the open door and was met with a magnificent kitchen and rows of tables. The counter housed an entire rack of ribs, a bowl of fried chicken, collard greens and mashed potatoes, but there was nobody in the room. It smelled fucking amazing. I was gonna have to come back here on my way out.


    Mr. Mullet continued to ramble incoherently and throw grenades, trying to get them through the door. I stood with my back to the wall and pushed out any that came close to hitting their mark. I was still too far away to do anything to him. Even in a kitchen, it felt like I would starve to death before he ran out of explosives ¡ª or meth. In a last ditch effort, I held my hand above my head and showered myself with slime. I made sure I was real sloppy, and I hobbled as quickly as I possibly could out of the room. When I had gained enough speed, I flung myself to the ground. I slid down the hall on my belly and held my arms in front of me like I was Superman.


    There were explosions coming from every direction, but I was sliding too fast; he couldn¡¯t hit me. My cheek skin started to flap from the sheer speed I had built up. Once or twice, I had to quickly lean on my side to avoid a pothole, but within seconds, I cleared the entire corridor and collided with Mr. Mullet¡¯s legs.


    I felt like I¡¯d been kicked in the teeth by an Olympic squatter wearing steel-toed boots. My head rang and sharp pain shot from the top of my head to the end of my spine, but it was nothing compared to what happened to Mr. Mullet. His legs were bent in twelve different directions, and his face was covered in blood from smacking into the wall. He didn¡¯t seem too upset about it, though. There was a smile under the mask of blood. He didn¡¯t have a single tooth in his head, but that might have been the case before he hit the wall. After a moment, he looked up at me and let out a raspy, clicking laugh that turned into a gurgle as his throat filled with blood.


    My head stopped ringing and I stood up. I flicked my hands to get the slime off and dug through Mr. Mullet¡¯s pockets for his keycard. I looked at his mangled, useless body and thought about putting him out of his misery. He looked back at me with sleepy eyes and continued to giggle in a disturbing monotone. It was like he was already dead and residual electricity was the only thing stimulating his body. I found the keycard in his back pocket and took it. Before I walked away, I delivered a swift kick to Mr. Mullet¡¯s head and it bounced against the back of the wall. There was a wet crunch and his laughing stopped.


    I walked around the craters and made my way down the hall. Thank fuck I didn¡¯t slide into one of those. I would¡¯ve been turned into a goddamn Pez dispenser. With the keycard in front of the scanner, the elevator produced an affirming beep! and its doors opened.


    LEVEL 2. GOING DOWN

 9: Not All Marks Are Created Equal

    The elevator opened, I stepped out into the empty lobby and fell to the floor. The shrapnel in my leg hurt like a sonofabitch and it was making it difficult to walk. I extended my leg and gingerly plucked out each piece one by one. Most of them were in there so deeply that I had to jiggle them loose before yanking them out, and each time one was removed a fresh stream of blood would gush from my leg.


    Still, I felt good, all things considered. Even with a dozen holes in my leg, I felt like I could move faster than I could before I came into this compound. The mark clearly gave me more than explosive snot rockets when it progressed further up my arm. It had affected my entire body. In an instant, I had gone from reasonably healthy to as fit as an athlete. It wasn¡¯t just my muscles either: my lungs took in more air and my heart beat slower. Mickey must¡¯ve experienced something similar, which is why he was able to dodge my glob so easily and grab my leg before I even had time to think.


    But now we were on even ground ¡ª mostly. His bitch-like tendencies just made it easier for me to kick his ass in the long run.


    I tore a strip of cotton off of the bottom of my shirt and wrapped it around my leg. With my do-it-yourself crop top and my ripped up jeans, covered in slime, I felt like a goddamn lunatic. There were no alarms down on this floor, only silence. In the dead silence, I thought about how absolutely insane this all was ¡ª that this was really happening to me. A week ago, I was living under a bridge drinking 40s, and now I was slaughtering my way through a drug den to have a wizard duel with Mickey. I looked at my hands, looked at my tattoo, and looked around the room; none of it felt real.


    God, I hate silence.


    ¡°Any other assholes want to risk their lives to protect that bum you¡¯re sheltering?!¡± I yelled. My voice echoed through the room and down the five hallways that surrounded the round lobby, but nobody responded. Of course. Why couldn¡¯t they all just charge at me and get themselves killed like they do in the movies?


    There were signs above each of the hallways: Manufacturing, Packaging, Training, Torture, and Executive Suites. I thought it would be an easy walk from there, just go down the Executive Suites hall and execute the motherfucker, but I should¡¯ve known that nothing is ever easy. The place was a labyrinth of hallways that branched off on both sides, and those hallways had branches of their own. Fortunately, there was a map on the wall at the first fork in the hall. To get to the Executive Meeting Room, I just had to turn left, then turn left again, pass through the Executive Offices, and take a right.


    I took the left and the other left and heard the faintest little pitter-patters behind me ¡ª just three little tap tap tap¡¯s, barely audible. I moved to the side just in time to dodge the thrust of a jagged hunting knife. I turned around, and the sunken-eyed man who had come out of the van with Mickey stood in front of me. He thrusted his knife again, but I dodged it without issue.


    ¡°You¡¯re one of the Futrells, right?¡± I said. He slashed at my face and I backed away a little.


    ¡°Look,¡± I continued, ¡°can¡¯t we just talk?¡± Another slash, another dodge. ¡°I don¡¯t have anything against you or your brother, alright? I don¡¯t give a shit how many drugs you sell. Just let me talk to Mickey and I¡¯ll be out of here.¡±


    He didn¡¯t respond. He just kept coming at me with his knife despite the fact that he clearly couldn¡¯t hit me. He was fast, and clearly experienced with a knife, but it didn¡¯t matter. Butchering a junky or a cop was one thing, butchering me was another. He swung the blade at me one more time, and I grabbed his wrist, sent slime up through his fingers, and slipped the knife out of his grasp.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°It¡¯s like you want me to kill you, I swear to God,¡± I said. ¡°Just walk away and I won¡¯t roast you alive like I did to your cronies.¡±


    But he chose to come at me with his fists instead. His sunken eyes were completely shrouded by darkness as he threw a flurry of jabs at my face. Just like the knife, I moved around them, no problem. But he wouldn¡¯t stop. He never said a word, just attacked me like a machine. I squirted one of his eyes with a finger gun, and he just squinted and continued to throw punches at me without slowing down. I squirted the other eye, and he came at me with his eyes closed. This guy was a fucking nut.


    ¡°Collum! Stop! It ain¡¯t worth it!¡±


    The shorter man from the van huffed and puffed his way down the hall, shouting between gasps for air. The sunken eyed man turned around, though he still couldn¡¯t open his eyes.


    ¡°He fuckin¡¯ ruined everything!¡± he said. ¡°Our whole business is fucked if he rampages down here like he did up there! I ain¡¯t lettin¡¯ that happen, Freddy.¡±


    Freddy Futrell finally made it to where Collum and I were standing. His face was bright red and he put his hands on his knees while he caught his breath.


    ¡°I won¡¯t kill anyone but Mickey if you just let me go to him. You survived without him before. Do it again,¡± I said.


    Collum threw another punch at me. This time, I slimed his feet and he fell over. I stepped on his chest and he punched at my calf, but there was no real force behind it. Freddy looked up at me from his crouched position.


    ¡°You¡¯ll destroy the whole compound if you fight out here. Half the first floor is fucked already just from one of you guys,¡± he said breathlessly.


    ¡°That was from your little meth head lieutenant chucking explosives all over the place. If you have a problem with that, take it up with him, though you¡¯re gonna need a Ouija board for that.¡±


    ¡°You really leave us alone if we bring you to Mickey?¡± Freddy said. ¡°Collum, chill the fuck out. Seriously. It¡¯s embarrassing.¡±


    Collum ignored him and continued to punch me in the calf. I kicked him in the ribs and he stopped for a second, but it only seemed to ignite his passion for fighting this losing fight, and his blows soon continued with more gusto than before.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± I said. ¡°He can tucker himself out if he wants. But to answer your question: yes, that is what I¡¯ve been screaming down your goddamn halls this entire time. I don¡¯t give half a rat turd about you guys. Walk away, and I¡¯ll try not to completely destroy your meeting room with Mickey¡¯s face. Alright? Sound good?¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡­ alright. We¡¯ll do that. I don¡¯t want any more of our guys torched,¡± Freddy said. ¡°Come on, Collum. Get up and be a good boy. We can rebuild our operation from here, I promise. Let¡¯s just get out of here while we can.¡±


    Collum finally stopped. He made no noise, but his chest was heaving up and down. I took my foot off of his chest and he got up. He opened the narrowest of slits in his eyes to glare at me. His eyes were so red from the slime that they almost glowed through the shadow of his deep eye sockets. He turned and walked away with Freddy.


    ¡°It won¡¯t be so bad, I promise,¡± Freddy continued saying to Collum. ¡°We¡¯ll get some new goons, and smooth over the floors, and ¡ª¡±


    Mickey met them at the end of the hall and grabbed both of them by the neck. They popped like jelly filled balloons, their insides painting the hall red. A sheet of Freddy¡¯s skin slapped against the wall and hung there like a painting, and mounds of organ and bone collected in the corner. Mickey wiped blood and brain matter off of his face and flicked it onto the floor.


    Holy shit. Not all marks are created equal, I guess. We were at the same level of progression now, but Mickey seemed so much more powerful. He could turn a man into a pile of mush with a single touch. How was I supposed to kill this guy?


    Mickey had a look of pure satisfaction on his face because of the look of horror on mine. It felt like he was taunting me. I shot a blast of slime at his head. It came at him like a cannonball, but I was too far away and he sidestepped it without diverting his eyes away from mine.


    ¡°I¡¯m gonna go take a shower,¡± Mickey said. ¡°Go sit in the Executive Meeting Room. It¡¯s just down the hall. I¡¯ll be there in a minute.¡±

 10: Bum’s Honor

    The meeting room was completely empty ¨C no chairs, no table, not potted plants to spruce up the place. It was just a gray windowless box with harsh fluorescent lights coming out of the ceiling. I had been in a similar room once when I was being questioned by the cops about a liquor store that had been robbed. I should¡¯ve ratted on Mickey then and prevented this entire debacle, but I had some sense of ¡°bum¡¯s honor¡±, which makes me wince to think about. Any bum that talks about honor is lying to you. They will kick their honor to the curb as soon as it doesn¡¯t personally benefit them anymore ¨C just like everyone else.


    I sure as shit wasn¡¯t going to fight Mickey with any ¡°bum¡¯s honor¡±, I could tell you that much.


    The meeting room door cracked open and I sent a slime blast before I could even see who it was. I hit the back of the door and it slammed on Mickey¡¯s face.


    ¡°You gonna let me in or what?¡± he said from the other side.


    I didn¡¯t respond, but I let him open the door and stand on the other side of the room. Then I blasted him again. I wanted to peel his skin off with a high pressure spray of slime, like a greasy pressure washer, but Mickey was too squirrelly. It was like trying to shoot a fly with a BB gun. He zipped back in a strange, twitchy dance and got around every one of my shots. It looked like he was being yanked in different directions by an invisible string. He spoke as he twitch-danced.


    ¡°Augustus, I don¡¯t want to fight you, buddy. Let¡¯s just talk for a second abou¨C¡±


    I stuck a finger into each of my nostrils and flicked a booger bomb on either side of him. He was paralyzed in his confusion, just for a second, and I blasted him in the chest with a cannonball of slime. He went flying and hit the solid concrete wall.


    ¡°Alright, asshole,¡± he said. ¡°If you don¡¯t want to listen, I¡¯m gonna fuckin make you listen.¡±


    He got up and ran straight at me, seemingly completely unaffected by the spine-bashing he just experienced. I shot another glob. He stuck his hand out, and the glob became a fine mist in front of him and rained down as a pleasant cloud. He was fast, much faster than I was, even if I had two fully-functioning legs. Each of my shots felt a half-second late, and before I knew it, my legs were asleep again, and then my arms too.


    Not this shit again.


    I laid on my stomach against the cold floor and Mickey sat down beside me. He could¡¯ve finished me off right then and there, but he didn¡¯t. I almost wished he would have. Being spared by Mickey of all people was not an embarrassment I wanted to live with.


    ¡°Wow. Your powers are¡­ really fuckin¡¯ gross, man,¡± he said. ¡°Still, you could be so powerful if you weren¡¯t such a miserable son of a bitch. Just try to have a little fun with it for once in your life. And listen to your mark, dude. You¡¯re clearly not listening to it.¡±


    ¡°What part of this has been fun to you, exactly?¡± I growled, baring my teeth like a surfaced piranha. ¡°The only person who could enjoy something like this is you, Mickey. You need to be a fucking psychopath. I don¡¯t want to be hunted down like a fucking animal. I don¡¯t want to be a goddamn freak. I don¡¯t want to kill anyone ¨C except for you.¡±


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    My arm started to tingle. He saw my shoulder jerk a little and touched it again. It didn¡¯t even feel like I had an arm anymore.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be hunted either, yet here you are, trying to hunt me. We can¡¯t be hunted though, because we¡¯re not prey. We¡¯re fucking predators, man. Look at how much more powerful you¡¯ve become just from making it through this compound. You¡¯re welcome for that. You¡¯re definitely not as quick as I am, but I bet you¡¯re as strong as a damn ox. I¡¯m fast, you¡¯re strong. I¡¯m deadly close up, you work best at a range. We¡¯re a natural team. If we work together, I bet we could fuck these guys up. What do you say? If you kill me, you¡¯re dead too. This way, we can both live.¡±


    I took in as much air as I could and snorted a cluster of booger bombs right at his feet. He jumped back and I rolled away, but neither of us were quick enough and we were blown in opposite directions.


    Mickey actually looked hurt this time ¨C at least a little. It took him a full minute to get up, and when he finally did, he was breathing heavily and holding his ribs like they had been cracked. Overall, it seemed to piss him off more than anything, though.


    ¡°Gus, you fucking moron,¡± he said, ¡°listen to me. I am the only person on this goddamn planet willing to help you. Those cult weirdos are gonna rip you limb from fucking limb if you try to take them on by yourself, and they¡¯d do the same to me. I don¡¯t want to kill you, but if you¡¯re not going to help me, I¡¯ll take you out right here, right now. You won¡¯t have to worry about them.¡±


    I had a lot to think about and no time to think about it. He was right about one thing: Alec and his boys would kill me as soon as they found me. There was no question about that. It had never crossed my mind that Mickey and I working together could take them on, though. It still seemed ridiculous. We had an arm each of markings, while Alec was almost black from the patterns covering his entire body. We only had a third of an elixir each, while the cultists almost definitely had a full one to themselves ¨C would that matter? Not to mention the sheer number of people that would be after us. Coming into this compound, I fully expected to be killed at some point ¨C by the goons, by Mickey, or later by Alec ¨C but I started to feel the slightest glimmer of hope that I could live, and that I could kill the man who killed Beth in front of me. I still wanted to kill Mickey for setting this whole thing in motion, but I had to admit, flaying that fucker Alec alive would be satisfying too.


    Fuck, I hated how Mickey always seemed to get out of things.


    ¡°Alright,¡± I said, ¡°Let¡¯s help each other out.¡±


    ¡°Holy shit. Gus actually listened to me. I need to mark this day on my calendar.¡± Mickey said. Then he kneeled down and touched my limbs and they instantly regained feeling. I got up and Mickey held out his hand. As much as I hated the motherfucker, I grabbed it and squeezed.


    I yanked his arm as hard as I could and flung him to the ground. His face smacked against the floor, and I kicked him in his already broken ribs. Feeling his ribs snap over the top of my foot was deeply satisfying. I wasn¡¯t going to kill him, but I couldn¡¯t let him get away scot-free yet again like he always does. Before he could get off of his stomach, I pistol-whipped him in the back of the head. I didn¡¯t want to touch him again, knowing what he could do, so I backed up and lit the Zippo. If he attacked me, I was ready to set the entire room on fire.


    ¡°If we¡¯re working together, I don¡¯t want any sly bullshit from you,¡± I said. He rolled over on his back and was still breathing heavily.


    ¡°That¡¯s fuckin rich, coming from you, right after that cheap shot. But alright, when this is all said and done, if we¡¯re both still alive, we¡¯ll fuck each other up fair and square¡± He put one hand over his heart and raised the other in the air like he was taking a solemn vow.


    ¡°Bum¡¯s honor.¡±

 11: Loaded Up and Truckin

    The story of the drug operation hidden underneath Paw Paw¡¯s Pickin¡¯ Orchard was all over the news within hours. The fattest, pinkest cop in the Chattanooga Police Department went on TV and said that they had been scoping out the place for weeks and that they sent their best men in to clear the place out ¡ª no mention of slime or exploded corpses. Works for me. It¡¯s no skin off my ass if they want to take all the credit. I sure as shit didn¡¯t want it.


    Still, it would have been stupid to stay in Chattanooga for much longer. I could never shake the feeling that Reverend Alec was close behind and closing in fast. He could be anywhere and could appear at any moment, so we had to keep moving.


    We snatched some supplies from the compound before we left. I took the rack of ribs from the kitchen, a few cases of ammo, and a nice army-green canvas jacket off of one of the bodies. Mickey took an assault rifle and two kilos of meth.


    Oh, and we grabbed an absolute fuck ton of cash.


    The Futrells weren¡¯t going to be using it, so we dug Freddy¡¯s keys out of the pile of gore that used to be his body, opened up their vault, and stuffed as many bills as we could fit into our clothes. We stuffed them into our shoes; we tucked our pant legs into our socks and filled our pants up; I took a second jacket and used it as a sack, slinging it over my shoulder hobo-style. I don¡¯t know how much we took, but it has to be in the six digits for each of us. Stepping out of that compound, we were the richest bums on earth.


    We threw all of our supplies in the back of Freddy Futrell¡¯s Escalade ¡ª we even had enough room to stuff the old shitmobile back there ¡ª and we rode west, the sunrise at our backs. It fucked with my head that it was still early in the morning. Had it really only been an hour or two since I went into the compound? Things had changed so much in such a short amount of time: I popped my murder hymen, I learned how to shoot bombs from my nose, I had entered into a temporary alliance with the man I was dead set on killing, and I got enough money to buy a house in the suburbs and still have enough left over to raise two shitty, middle-class children.


    It seemed my life had completely changed, again. My goals were much loftier now. Instead of killing a single bum wizard, I was going to take on half an army, assuming Mickey did his fair share, and I had no idea what I was getting into. How many cult freaks were out there? How many of them were marked? How powerful was Alec, a man whose mark covered his entire body?


    Now that I was really thinking about what we were up against, the notion that I had a chance to pull this off just because I had Mickey helping me felt unfathomably stupid. I looked at Mickey in the driver¡¯s seat, humming a tune to himself, arm hanging out of the open window, and I had the urge to yank the steering wheel and kill us both. I wasn¡¯t too keen on getting eaten by dirt dogs again. A car accident seemed like a better way to go. But I didn¡¯t want to go. I wanted to sit in my tent with Beth, drinking shitty liquor and eating foraged berries. I just wanted things to go back to how they were before we drank that goddamn elixir.


    ¡°So, why did you choose the snot rockets? Was that really the best thing your mark offered you?¡± Mickey spoke up, breaking me out of my melancholic trance. I shook my head a little and snapped back to reality.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know that the other two blisters would disappear after I touched one, and I didn¡¯t know what any of the symbols meant, so I just touched the first one on the left,¡± I said.


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


    Mickey chuckled condescendingly. ¡°You really need to start listening to your mark, dude. You keep choosing at random, you¡¯ll probably get atomic farts or some shit next.¡±


    ¡±What do you mean, listen?¡± I said. ¡°If there¡¯s another voice in your head, it¡¯s probably from that fuckin¡¯ crank you¡¯ve been snorting.¡±


    He didn¡¯t take the bait. ¡°No, it doesn¡¯t talk to me like that,¡± he said earnestly. ¡°It just¡­ sort of suggests things in the back of my mind. Thoughts pop into my head that didn¡¯t come from me. I don¡¯t know how to describe it, but it feels different. You can just tell the thoughts aren¡¯t entirely your own, ya know? You haven¡¯t felt anything like that?¡±


    I thought about when I was on the road, scooting away from Alec, and the slime stopped coming out of me when I asked it to stop. I had talked to it, but it had never talked back to me.


    ¡°Sometimes, it gives me physical cues,¡± I said. ¡°Pressure will build up in my hands when it wants me to shoot slime at something. I got a huge booger in my nose when it wanted to show me how the booger bombs worked. I also think it tried to talk to me once, right after the second progression, but I didn¡¯t know that¡¯s what was happening. It made me feel like I should feed it, give it what it wants so that I can become stronger.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, these fuckers have quite the appetite,¡± Mickey said. ¡°I killed one man out in Bryson City when he tried to fight me just for snatching his girl¡¯s purse, and that brought on the third progression. I killed twenty more men after that while working for the Futrells and it doesn¡¯t seem to give a shit. I¡¯ve just stayed at this level.¡±


    I noticed an open pack of Marlboro Reds sitting in the cupholder. I took out a cigarette, lit it up with my Zippo, and took a long, slow drag. The nicotine helped clear my head.


    ¡°Maybe it doesn¡¯t just reward senseless murder,¡± I said. ¡°Maybe they need to be impressed. Killing a man who¡¯s trying to stab you is more impressive than killing a cowering junky who didn¡¯t pay up on time.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re probably right. Wait, is that my lighter?¡± he said.


    ¡°Not anymore, bitch,¡± I said and put it in my pocket.


    ¡°Oh man, I can¡¯t fucking wait until we snuff out this cult and I can pop your head like a goddamn grape,¡± he said.


    ¡°I can¡¯t wait to see you try. I¡¯m gonna pump so much grease up your ass you¡¯re gonna turn into a human Gusher.¡±


    A tense silence hung in the air ¡ª and not because of the unintentionally homoerotic imagery I had just conjured. He sounded like he was joking when he said he was going to kill me, but I wasn¡¯t joking around with him. When this was all said and done, I was either going to kill him or I was going to die trying. I could tell that he was trying to act like my friend again, but we were way past that. We were barely friends before he ruined my life.


    ¡°Where are we going, anyway?¡± I said in order to break the silence.


    ¡°Little Rock. That¡¯s where you said your parents live, right?¡± he said.


    ¡°Wait, what? Fuck no, we¡¯re not visiting my parents!¡±


    ¡°What, don¡¯t you think they¡¯ll want to see what a rich, powerful young man you¡¯ve become? Besides, your mom¡¯s a P.I. isn¡¯t she? I bet she¡¯ll give us a family discount for her services.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no fuckin way we¡¯re going to see my paren¡ª¡±


    He interrupted me by stomping on the gas pedal and sending us flying down the highway. I tried to speak again, and he started singing loudly:


    WESTBOUND AND DOWN, LOADED UP AND TRUCKIN.


    WE¡¯RE GONNA DO WHAT THEY SAY CAN¡¯T BE DONE.


    WE GOT A LONG WAY TO GO, AND A SHORT TIME TO GET THERE.


    SOMETHING SOMETHING SOMETHING WESTBOUND AND DOWN!

 12: The Human Squirtgun and Doctor Deadleg

    It had been over fifteen years since I last spoke to Anita McCall. She wasn¡¯t the worst mother in the world, but she was water, and I was oil ¡ª we just naturally repelled each other. She¡¯s the most disciplined person I¡¯ve ever known. She was a beat cop for three years and a detective for twenty. She retired on a Friday, and that next Monday she had started her own private detective service. Working hard and putting criminals away was her entire reason for existing, and she wanted me to be just like her. I, on the other hand, didn¡¯t particularly give a shit about what criminals were up to and mostly wanted to do shrooms and drink in the woods with my fellow burnouts ¡ª not much has changed in that regard. When I flunked out of my first semester of college, Anita called me a waste of space, a freeloader, and a bum. That¡¯s how it had been my entire life: she would try to force me to be a productive member of society, I would go along with it until I couldn¡¯t stand it anymore, and then she¡¯d berate me until I was willing to try again. Flunking out of college was the last time I tried. I knew that I would never be a normal person, and I didn¡¯t want to be one, so I packed my things and left in the middle of the night without saying a word to anyone. I hadn¡¯t been back since. I may be a bum and a waste of space, but at least I wasn¡¯t a freeloader.


    I couldn¡¯t think of something I wanted to do less than see Anita now, under these circumstances. Yet somehow I was in front of her office, looking at the same sun-bleached sign that hadn¡¯t moved in fifteen years. As much as I hated to admit it, Mickey made a lot of sense. She would be able to help us get more information on the cult, if she felt like it, and she was one of the few people on the planet I could be certain wasn¡¯t associated with Reverend Alec ¡ª if she had been part of a cult of superpowered lunatics, I probably would¡¯ve noticed at some point.


    I led the way through the glass door. It felt like I had been sent back in time to when I was in high school. Everything was exactly the same as it was fifteen years ago: the same stiff leather chairs in the waiting area, the same painting of a waterfall on the wall, and the same heavy, platinum blonde receptionist behind the front desk, though she had a few new wrinkles.


    ¡°Hi, do you have an appointment with Detective McCa¡ª oh my lord. Gus, is that you?¡±


    ¡°Mmm,¡± I grunted. ¡°How¡¯s it going, Tammy?¡±


    Tammy hopped up from her chair, shuffled up to me, and grabbed my head to examine me.


    ¡°Wow,¡± she said, ¡°you look old, honey. Where have you been all this time? Your mom never wanted to talk about it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been around, here and there. Speaking of Anita, is she busy right now? My¡­ partner and I have come all the way from Tennessee because we need to talk to her.¡±


    ¡°Oh, right! I got so excited I didn¡¯t even notice your¡­ partner? over there. Hi, it¡¯s nice to meet you. I used to babysit Gus when he was a little boy, so ask me anything you want about him. Anything.¡±


    Mickey looked deeply amused.


    ¡°I just might have to take you up on that,¡± he said.


    She smiled wide and shook his hand. I couldn¡¯t stop picturing her exploding into a shower of body parts until the handshake ended.


    ¡°Is Anita seeing anyone right now? We¡¯re kind of in a hurry,¡± I said. Tammy¡¯s smile faded.


    ¡°Oh, right. No, she¡¯s free for the next hour or so, and I¡¯m sure she¡¯d clear her schedule if she knew you were here anyway. It¡¯s good to see you, Gus, really.¡±


    ¡°Thanks.¡±


    I walked past Tammy towards Anita¡¯s office with Mickey following behind. I opened the door, and a small, wrinkled woman with a tight gray bun and hard black eyes looked at me.


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°Sit.¡±


    She gestured to the two gray chairs in front of her desk. Mickey and I both sat down, and Anita leaned forward and studied my face.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± she said.


    ¡°That¡¯s how you¡¯re gonna greet me after seeing me for the first time since I was nineteen?¡± I said. ¡°Fuck¡¯s sake, it¡¯s like I never left.¡±


    ¡°No, you did leave,¡± she said flatly. ¡°You ran off to live on the streets because you were mad that I wanted you to do something with your life. Now you¡¯ve come back, for the first time since you were a child, and you¡¯re sitting in my office with a meth-addicted companion, preparing to ask me for a favor. That¡¯s why you¡¯re here ¡ª not to rekindle any sort of familial relationship, not to see your mother in her old age. You want something. So I¡¯ll ask again: what do you want?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think we¡¯re gonna get that family discount,¡± Mickey said. It took all of the restraint I had to not cave his face in. My face was hot and bright red, partially out of embarrassment and partially out of anger. Anita was a master of making me feel like shit. She could find my sore spots like pressure points and prod at them until I submitted. She had a way of getting to the truth of the matter and presenting it in an objective, devastating way. It¡¯s what made her such a good detective and such a shitty mother.


    I sighed. ¡°Well, Mom, I guess I¡¯ll get right to it. Mickey and I here are being hunted, and we need to know who is hunting us. We know one of their names and that they¡¯re the leader of a cult. That¡¯s about it. I need someone I can trust to handle this, and you were the only person I could think of.¡±


    ¡°If someone is trying to kill you and you know their name, just call the cops,¡± she said.


    ¡°It¡¯s really not that simple. These guys are fucking nuts. The cops can¡¯t help us.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like you know more about these people than you¡¯re letting on. I don¡¯t know if I want to help you yet, but I won¡¯t be able to if you don¡¯t give me all of the information.¡±


    I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. I guess I was going to have to tell her everything.


    ¡°You see this?¡± I rolled up my sleeve to display my mark. ¡°He¡¯s got one too. This dumb motherfucker right here stole a bottle of wine out of this cult¡¯s church, we drank it, and now we have these on our arms, and we can do shit you wouldn¡¯t have thought possible. Their leader, Reverend Alec, isn¡¯t exactly thrilled that we did all of this, and now he wants us dead. I¡¯ve already had to get away from him once and barely made it out alive. So can you help us or not?¡±


    She came from behind my desk and grabbed my arm. She ran her finger over one of the black blobs and yanked her arm back like she had just pet a cockroach.


    ¡°What the in Hell are you talking about, Gus? What kind of ¡®shit I wouldn¡¯t have thought possible¡¯?¡± she said.


    I pointed my index finger at the coffee cup on her desk and blasted it off with a stream of slime. She gasped and Mickey cackled.


    ¡°Jesus, Gus, I could¡¯ve just put her leg to sleep or something. You made a damn mess in here,¡± Mickey said.


    ¡°Touch her and I¡¯ll fucking kill you right now,¡± I said.


    Anita¡¯s mouth hung open as Mickey and I continued to bicker. I had never seen this look on her face before. She had a deep frown and her eyebrows were raised; I think she was trying to look concerned.


    ¡°So you¡¯re being hunted by people with supernatural powers? And you have them too? You¡¯re the Human Squirtgun, and your friend here is fucking Doctor Deadleg? What do you guys plan on doing when you find out more about these guys, exactly? I sure hope you don¡¯t plan on fighting them.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think we have any other choice,¡± I said. ¡°They¡¯re coming for us either way. It¡¯s either fight or die. It¡¯ll be fight and die if we don¡¯t know what we¡¯re getting into. Seriously, I need your help. You know I don¡¯t say that lightly.¡±


    Anita sat down at her desk and interlocked her fingers, thinking deeply.


    ¡°Ok, so you want me to gather information on a gang of superhumans, or wizards, or whatever the hell you want to call them, and you only know the name of one guy?¡±


    ¡°I know where their church is, too,¡± Mickey said. ¡°It¡¯s back in Leesville.¡±


    She waved her hand dismissively. ¡°I¡¯m sure that place is on high alert now that you broke in there ¡ª doubt we could get back in there. Plus, it sounds like a lot of them will be coming this way anyway. No sense in traveling hundreds of miles back east. We need to draw them out and take a prisoner to get any real information.¡±


    ¡°Wow, that¡¯s some hardcore shit, mom,¡± I said. ¡°How are we gonna do that?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re gonna use you as bait, that¡¯s how.¡±

 13: A Desperate Fucking Situation

    ¡°Seriously? That¡¯s your plan? Get me fucking killed so we can maybe snag a henchman to torture? I thought you were a goddamn detective. Go detect something.¡±


    I was pissed. She had damn near a half-century of investigative experience, and yet her plan sounded like some shit straight out of Scooby Doo.


    ¡°Look, we don¡¯t have time to go over this right now. I have clients waiting. Why don¡¯t you come over for dinner and I can try to convince you? Not that I¡¯ve ever been able to convince you of anything. You can even bring your friend along if you really want to,¡± Anita said. ¡°Your dad¡¯s making tacos.¡±


    Old Newton McCall never did miss a Taco Tuesday. If you got him started, he would go on about his ¡°famous¡± tacos for hours. He would describe every step of the taco-making process in meticulous detail ¨C from the tortilla selection, to the time and temperature the meat had to be cooked at, to the thickness the cheese had to be shredded ¨C and they tasted like regular fucking tacos. It always drove me up a wall, probably more than it should¡¯ve, how goddamn proud he was of his tacos. Very few people on this planet had the right to be proud about anything, in my opinion. But it¡¯s not like I had anything else scheduled in my calendar for that time, and maybe her plan wasn¡¯t as batshit as it sounded on the surface. She was a cold bitch, but she wasn¡¯t stupid.


    ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll eat some tacos and you can explain to me how offering me up as a sacrificial lamb will keep me from dying,¡± I said. ¡°See you then.¡±


    Mickey and I both got up at the same time. He smiled and bowed to my mother for some reason ¨C I think just to annoy me ¨C and we headed out. Tammy tried to chat us up some more, but I just waved without looking at her and left without breaking my stride.


    <hr>


    I sat at one end of the dining room table, and Anita sat at the other. Newton sat to my left, smiling at me like a lobotomite. I did my best not to make eye contact with him and bit into my incredibly decent taco. Mickey sat to my right, and just past him sat someone I had never seen before. It was a tall child whose greasy hair covered his face as he hung his head to eat his food. He didn¡¯t talk to me directly, but supposedly his name was Caleb McCall, and he was my brother.


    Anita explained the situation to the table. Newton¡¯s dumb smile turned into a dumb frown, and a single eye peeked out from the darkness of Caleb¡¯s hair curtain.


    ¡°So you¡¯re going to offer our son as a sacrificial lamb just to catch these criminals?¡± Newton said, appalled by the thought. ¡°We just got him back, honey. Why not offer this other guy up instead? No offense, I¡¯m sure you¡¯re a great guy.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not,¡± I said.


    ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± Mickey said.


    Newton sat in silence, processing the information and trying to transform it into something positive.


    ¡°Well, either way,¡± he said, ¡°shouldn¡¯t the guy with the ranged powers be the one to hide, ready for the sneak attack? Mr. Mickey would have to run all the way up to the bad guy in order to use his powers, right?¡±


    ¡°Their head honcho went after Gus, not Mickey, and Gus got away. They know his face. When they see it, they¡¯ll immediately come running,¡± Anita said.


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    ¡°But how many? What if they send an army? How will two guys be able to defend themselves, even with superpowers?¡± Newton said. ¡°Anita, honey, I feel like you haven¡¯t thought this through enough.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing to think through, Newt!¡± Anita said, almost yelling. ¡°This is a desperate fucking situation our son has got himself in, so a desperate plan is all we have! Of course this is a Hail Mary, but if they take some time to hone their skills, we carefully position ourselves, and time everything right, there is a small, small chance that ¨C¡±


    The plan was cut short before it could even begin. The dining room windows exploded all at once, and my dad slumped forward onto the table, smashing his face into his half-eaten taco. There was a baseball-sized crater in the back of his head that exposed his brain and sent waves of blood streaming down his neck and onto the carpet. Anita grabbed Caleb and threw him under the table. She pulled out her Colt .45 and ran to the kitchen to take cover against the doorframe.


    Mickey was nowhere to be seen.


    Everything had happened so quickly that I didn¡¯t have time to think. Chaos swirled around me and I sat in my chair with my taco still in my hand. I dropped it and caught up with reality when an iron ball shot through the window and shattered my left shoulder. I didn¡¯t scream. The pain did not register in my body. I just felt a hundred little pops and cracks all at once. Caleb yelped like a dying antelope and scurried on his hands and knees into the kitchen, and I followed.


    ¡°Help me move the fridge. Whatever¡¯s being shot at us could go right through these walls,¡± I said to Caleb. His hair clung to the sides of his head to reveal a look of pure terror in his eyes. He didn¡¯t respond, but he moved towards the fridge and helped me push it away from the wall and angle it towards the dining room. The three of us hid behind it, and an iron ball collided with it seconds later, sending deep vibrations through my entire body.


    We had to get out of there. Another ball clanged against the fridge. Each one did significant damage to the front of the refrigerator. It wouldn¡¯t last forever. A third ball came through and knocked the fridge door clean off, and it slid across the kitchen.


    ¡°Caleb, light this and hold it for me,¡± I said and handed him the Zippo. ¡°Hold it far, far away from your face.¡±


    He struggled to spark it, but eventually produced a flame and extended his arm so that his hand just went past the fridge. I shot a thin, powerful stream of slime from my finger through the flame. The stream of fire made it out of the dining room window and lit a bush on fire. It gave us just enough light to see a flash of black moving towards the front yard.


    ¡°Fuck, I didn¡¯t hit him,¡± I grumbled. Anita took a few potshots at the silhouette, guessing where it would be after we couldn¡¯t see it anymore, but it didn¡¯t seem like she hit anything other than the wall.


    If the shadow shot through the front door, this refrigerator barricade suddenly turned into a trap; we were sitting ducks crammed into that narrow space. I was the first to move from behind the fridge, and I booger-bombed the front door open and told Caleb to throw the lighter on the ground in front of me. He did, and I sent a trail of slime from the lighter to the front yard, and then pooled the yard with slime. The entire lawn was ablaze ¨C Newton would¡¯ve been devastated if he was still breathing ¨C so that we could at least have some light from this angle. It must have worked, because there was no sign of the black figure.


    There was still no sign of Mickey either.


    Anita reloaded her six shooter, Caleb wiped some snot off his nose, and the three of us made a beeline for the garage. A ball smashed into the metal garage door and produced a screeching, ear-piercing reverberation ¨C I would¡¯ve covered my ears if one of my arms wasn¡¯t being used as a weapon and the other wasn¡¯t shattered to fucking bits. A barrage of heavy balls hit the door until there was a gaping hole in the metal, big enough for a truck to drive through, that let moonlight into the room.


    There was someone else in the room with us. He stood directly in front of the gaping hole, the moonlight shining on him like a spotlight. It was Mickey, holding an aluminum baseball bat, and locking eyes with the black silhouette.

 14: We Had a Merry Old Time Curb-stomping the Old Lady

    Mickey stood in the spotlight, staring at the figure like it was the goddamn showdown at the O.K Corral. Western music played in my head just looking at them. For a moment, they both stood completely still, waiting for the other to make the first move. The rational part of my brain was scared shitless, but another part of me wanted to jump from the cover and join them in their standoff. What was I doing cowering back here when I had actual fucking super powers? My entire body started to itch underneath my skin. Sitting there doing nothing started to feel like torture.


    I jumped out from cover, shot a fist-sized slime blast at the silhouette, and charged towards it like a frenzied Viking from its left side. It turned and shot a cannonball at me. If it took out my other arm, I¡¯d be useless, but Mickey stepped in front of me and swung his bat, making perfect contact with the iron ball and sending it rolling away from us.


    ¡°Holy shit,¡± I said. I didn¡¯t mean to compliment Mickey, but that was genuinely impressive.


    ¡°Never played baseball a day in my life. Can you believe it?¡± he said.


    ¡°Y¡¯all really think swingin¡¯ that bat¡¯s gon¡¯ save you? Bless your hearts, y¡¯all don¡¯t know a thing about these marks,¡± said a sweet, soft voice.


    The figure finally stepped from the shadows into the light to reveal a tiny old woman encased in a full set of crude iron armor. Her jowls hung slightly over the rugged breastplate.


    ¡°Are you the lady from the¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± she interrupted me, ¡°you met me when you drove by my house not too long ago. I should¡¯ve kilt you then, but my damn pills hadn¡¯t kicked in yet. They¡¯re workin¡¯ now though, I¡¯ll tell you that much.¡±


    She was fast. Even in her thick armor, she moved like a hybrid between a ballerina and a linebacker. She danced towards us like a raging bull. Her iron gauntlets had jagged spikes on the knuckles, and she swung at Mickey. It was clear she had trained in the art of boxing; she threw a couple of jabs and then a fierce right hook, but Mickey bobbed and weaved around the combo. He countered with a wild swing at her face ¡ª the only part of her body that was exposed ¡ª and made hard contact. The old lady stumbled back a couple of feet, but was otherwise undisturbed.


    While she was occupied with Mickey, I felt a tingling in the recesses of my brain. I had a powerful urge to slime this bitch to smithereens, but the more front-facing part of my mind rejected the notion.


    She probably weighs seven-hundred pounds in that suit. She wouldn¡¯t even fall over, and it¡¯d just make the area harder for Mickey to navigate.


    Still, I wanted to do something.


    She killed your father in front of you. She hunted you down like an animal. Kill her.


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    Anger welled up inside me watching the two exchange blows in a perfect stalemate. They just kept going and going, not going anywhere. I moved behind her and grabbed the back of her cold iron helmet. She swung an elbow and hit me in the chest, but I took it without flinching ¡ª even though it hurt like hell. Before she could swing again, I pushed her head forward and shot the highest-pressure stream of slime I could muster from the pal of my hand. The force of the slime geyser sent her crashing to the ground. Her head bounced on the concrete driveway and rang like a bell. She rolled over, but didn¡¯t seem able to get up from a lying position while wearing all of that armor, and she made it disappear. She was wearing a yellow skirt and a gray cardigan, both of which were drenched in sweat. The cardigan mostly covered the mark on her arm, but straight black lines going in every direction were clear to see on her right hand.


    Mickey lunged to straddle her, presumably with the intention of beating her face in, but she was too fast now that she had dropped all of that weight. She was already faster than a normal person with the armor on, but now that she was unburdened, she was terrifyingly quick. She sprang up from the ground and shot a cannonball out of both hands, one at me and one at Mickey. We were both taken by surprise and she connected with both shots. Mickey was hit in the stomach and fell to the ground. I was hit in my other shoulder, and it cracked through my bones once again.


    My arms hung uselessly at my sides. My body itched furiously, so deeply that I couldn¡¯t tell where it even started. I closed my eyes and felt a sloshing in my stomach. I felt full, bloated, and furious. I opened my mouth and a jet of slime hurled out of my throat and clobbered the old woman on the side of her head. Her neck snapped back from the force; she looked equally dazed and disgusted. I did it again and got her in the windpipe. She choked out a raspy grunt of exasperation, and shot another cannonball at me. I took it right to the shoulder again. I yelled in pain, but didn¡¯t stop shooting. We exchanged shots for several minutes. I was able to get out of the way of some of them, but a few balls hit my arms and broke them in several places, leaving me with fucked-up zigzags hanging from my torso. It didn¡¯t matter. I just kept shooting out of my mouth, knocking her back and hindering her movements.


    On my last shot, I got her directly in her left eye, and it popped right out of her head.


    I didn¡¯t even mean to. I almost felt bad when she started rolling on the ground, screaming in pain, covering her eye socket with her hands while blood seeped through her fingers. I almost felt bad, but I didn¡¯t. Not at all. Instead, I laughed at the scene. I stood there, white-hot pain shooting from my arms, down my spine, and up to my brain stem, and I laughed.


    Mickey caught his breath and got back on his feet, and he started to laugh too. She was really freaking out ¡ª shrieking like a banshee, rolling around, kicking her legs in the air. It was a little silly, honestly. Mickey kicked her severed eyeball down the driveway and into the street.


    ¡°This is what happens when you fuck with the Bum Squad, you old bitch!¡± Mickey said. He kicked her in the ribs and she coughed, causing a spurt of blood to come out of her eye socket. It was sort of fucked up. He probably shouldn¡¯t have done that.


    I did it too.


    We had a merry old time curb-stomping the old lady. It¡¯s a good feeling, mercilessly beating someone who you were afraid of just a couple of minutes ago. It helped that she seemed hard to kill. We kicked her over and over and she just kept breathing.


    ¡°Alright, I think that¡¯s enough, boys.¡± Anita finally emerged from the garage. She looked mortified taking in the chaos in her front yard. Mickey and I stopped what we were doing. I avoided eye contact, embarrassed.


    ¡°Mickey, help me put her in the van,¡± Anita said. ¡°We need to leave, and she¡¯s coming with us.¡±

 15a: We Should Probably Cut Her Arm Off

    ¡°We should probably cut her arm off.¡±


    It was weird to hear those words come out of my mom¡¯s mouth, but it wasn¡¯t much weirder than seeing her help drag a tied up, savagely-beaten old woman into a van.


    We moved all of our stuff from the Escalade into Anita¡¯s old Suburban ¡ª except for the shitmobile. I had to leave it behind, there just wasn¡¯t any extra room or justification to take it, but I almost shed a tear leaving that old hunk of garbage behind.


    My arms were still mangled to shit, so I wasn¡¯t much help moving anything, but Mickey was nice enough to put them to sleep, so I didn¡¯t feel much of anything; I was just a walking torso when I hopped into the passenger seat next to Anita and we took off, the old lady groaning quietly in the back between Caleb and Mickey.


    ¡°Do you think her power will go away if we cut off her tattoo?¡± I said. It made logical sense, but I still doubted it was true.


    ¡°It¡¯s worth a shot,¡± Anita said. ¡°If she regains some of her strength, we could all be screwed.¡±


    ¡°Then I guess we just have to keep beating the shit out of her any time she starts to look too lively,¡± Mickey said. He kicked her in the head and the back of her skull knocked against the bottom of Caleb¡¯s seat. Caleb screamed. It was the first time I had heard his voice since we met earlier that evening.


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    ¡°Don¡¯t fuckin¡¯ kill her Mickey, Jesus,¡± I said. ¡°I don¡¯t think she qualifies as ¡®lively¡¯ yet, so just leave her alone for now. We need her alert enough to answer questions.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ ain¡¯t answerin¡¯ shit,¡± the old lady said in a moaning whisper.


    I got out of my seat and crouched over her. When I want to, I can look pretty fucking wild, and I know I looked wild in that moment, with my eyes wide, my mutilated arms swinging freely, and blood covering my face and my shoes. Still, the old woman didn¡¯t look scared ¡ª even barely conscious, she looked indignant.


    ¡°Yes the fuck you are,¡± I hissed at her. I was feeling real rowdy after that fight, I have to admit. I gave her a face full of slime, purely to piss her off. She shook her head frantically, disgusted, but without the use of her arms she had no chance of getting it off. She muttered some obscenities, but her voice became too weak to hear, and I went back to my seat before I gave the old hag a heart attack.


    Anita drove until there were no longer any signs of civilization aside from stalks of corn as far as the eye could see. She parked, and everyone with functioning arms picked up the old lady and carried her into the cornfield. Once we reckoned we were far enough in to not be seen, they threw her onto the ground.


    ¡°Ok,¡± Anita took a deep breath, ¡°before we start this, Gus, let me set your bones.¡±


    My arms made horrific popping sounds as she moved my bones around, but because of Mickey, I didn¡¯t feel a thing. After a minute, they were looking much better. Still broken to pieces, but better.


    ¡°Where¡¯d you learn to do that?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Does it matter? We have a magical granny to torture,¡± she said.


    ¡°Right.¡±


    Caleb shined a flashlight on the old woman¡¯s face. She looked grim with her empty eye socket and a mean scowl on her face. Caleb looked mortified, but he held the flashlight steady. Mickey was the first to approach the granny.

 15b: We Worship the Only God Weve Ever Seen

    He pulled the granny up and put her in a seated position. The skin on her face looked like it was detached from her skull, hanging down each side of her face in sheets. Her white hair was caked with dirt and blood and stood up like wispy spires branching out in several directions. Her cardigan hung off of her shoulder and revealed more of her mark. It didn¡¯t look like it went past her shoulder at all ¨C no farther than ours.


    Micky got on one knee to look straight into her remaining eye.


    ¡°Who do you work for?¡± he said calmly.


    ¡°Fuck yourself,¡± she replied.


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t think that¡¯s it,¡± he said. He grabbed her arm and made it burst into a cloud of blood and bone shards. Her screams filled the still night air. I was sure someone would hear it and try to come to her rescue ¨C I hoped not, for their sake.


    ¡°Who do you work for?¡± Mickey repeated.


    ¡°We both got the same boss, honey,¡± she said. ¡°Soon as y¡¯all drank that elixir, you became followers. Devout ones too, seein¡¯ how much y¡¯all have progressed in such a short time. We didn¡¯t expect that, bein¡¯ honest with you.¡±


    ¡°Is your leader coming for us?¡± Mickey continued the questioning ¨C it was hard to say how much longer she¡¯d be conscious.


    ¡°Boy, you are touched,¡± she said. ¡°My ¡®leader¡¯ is already here.¡±


    Mickey started to look visibly frustrated. He grabbed her head and shoved his finger into her empty eye socket. It was partially closed, so he had to wriggle his finger through a mound of caked blood to get into the fleshy hole.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to add a finger for every bullshit, cryptic answer you give us. Do you understand? We need real answers: What is the name of your cult? What do you believe? How many of you are after us?¡±


    She wailed in agony. The only other time I had heard that much anguish in a scream was when I burned those men alive in the compound. It was a different level of pain than most people are used to. The screams tried their best to convey the unimaginable, soul-piercing pain that they experienced, but they always failed. Mickey held her head firmly as she tried to collapse onto the floor. He took his finger out, which produced a wet, sucking sound. Her eye rolled into the back of her head for a moment, but she still remained conscious. Finally, she spoke.


    ¡°You stupid piece of shit, I¡¯m already tellin¡¯ you,¡± she said. ¡°We worship the only god we¡¯ve ever seen. The god that lives in our arms. It¡¯s blessed us, and its blessings are undeniable. Very soon, the blessed will run the world. That¡¯s why y¡¯all need to die. We can¡¯t have a couple of hoboes thinkin¡¯ they¡¯re entitled to a piece of our power. That¡¯s why we won¡¯t stop comin¡¯ until you¡¯re both dead.¡±


    Mickey clenched her middle finger in his hand.


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    ¡°How many more are coming? How far behind are they?¡±


    The granny smiled a grotesque smile; her crooked teeth were snapped and chipped and dark red. My skull started to itch.


    The top of her head turned to iron and she bashed Mickey in the face. His nose bent completely to the left and blood streamed into his mouth. She got up and tried to run, her hands still bound, but I kicked her in the back and she hit the ground face-first. She turned around and shot an iron ball at me. It was much smaller than the ones she had shot earlier, like a large BB, but it still hurt when it lodged into my cheek. She peppered my face and chest with metal pellets, but I wasn¡¯t going to let her get away. I pinned her arms with my knees, and tiny drops of blood trickled off of my face onto hers. I opened wide and shot a constant stream of slime onto her face. She tried to move her face out of its way, but there was nowhere for her to go. She struggled under me, desperately trying to breathe, gurgling and thrashing her head until she finally went limp.


    I cut off the stream and took a deep breath. It¡¯s pretty hard to breathe with a hundred gallons of gunk coming out of your mouth. I caught my breath and stood up. Anita and Caleb were looking at me like I was the antichrist. Mickey cracked his nose back into place and laughed.


    ¡°That was fuckin¡¯ brutal, dude,¡± he said. ¡°Nice.¡±


    ¡°Not that nice. We didn¡¯t get enough out of her. We still don¡¯t even know the organization¡¯s name for fuck¡¯s sake,¡± I said.


    ¡°Oh, we got enough. We learned that most of these people ain¡¯t shit. They don¡¯t realize how badass we are. They thought this old bitch could take us both out by herself. We keep training, and we can probably tear ¡®em all up, including this Alec guy you¡¯re always pissing your pants over.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t convinced. We couldn¡¯t keep waiting for them to find us. We needed to go after them, but we still didn¡¯t really know anything about them ¨C who the leading members were, where their other churches were, and most importantly, how strong they were. They might have underestimated us this time, but I didn¡¯t think that would happen a second time.


    ¡°Whatever. Let¡¯s just hide this body and get the fuck out of here. The longer it takes them to find her, the longer it will take them to find us, and we need as much time as we can get right now,¡± I said.


    Mickey shrugged and gestured for Caleb to come grab the old lady¡¯s legs. Caleb jumped, startled by the acknowledgment of his existence, dropped the flashlight, and ran to help lift the corpse.


    ¡°Caleb, man, I¡¯m sorry you¡¯re having to deal with this,¡± I said.  ¡°This has probably been the worst long-lost brother reunion of all time.¡± I thought about patting him on the back for a moment before remembering that my arms still didn¡¯t work. That needed to be fixed. Caleb let out a squeak to show he heard me and walked with Mickey to the woods. Anita and I followed behind.


    ¡°Should we dig her a grave?¡± I said when we were about a ten-minute walk into the woods.


    ¡°I¡¯m not diggin¡¯ shit right now, Gus,¡± Mickey said. ¡°Any of y¡¯all want to dig a giant hole with no shovel in the middle of the woods? No? You want to get the fuck out of here? Good idea?¡± He gave me a look like I was a fuckin moron. If I had arms I would¡¯ve slapped the shit out of him.


    Caleb and Mickey dropped the corpse onto the ground. It landed on a root and rolled over so that she was lying on her face. We were all mentally and physically drained and wanted to leave, but right before we walked off, I noticed something on her back.


    ¡°What in the world is that?¡±

 15c: Everything Felt Amazing, Actually

    I went over to the body and crouched to inspect it more closely. A symbol was branded on her right shoulder blade ¨C a circle with hundreds of lines intersecting through it to create a web, and tiny numbers scattered over each line. The outside of the circle had seemingly-random Greek letters evenly spaced across its perimeter.


    Everyone else stood behind me and looked at the symbol, equally confused.


    ¡°Anita? Caleb? Do one of you have a phone? Take a picture of this and let¡¯s get the hell out of here.


    Anita snapped a picture, and then we did in fact get the hell out of there.


    When we made it back to the side of the road, my mark started to glow red and pulsate. The pulses were so strong I was worried the mark was going to jump right out of my skin. Shortly after, Mickey¡¯s began to do the same.


    ¡°I guess they liked that ass-kicking we delivered to the Iron Granny,¡± I said.


    Three new blisters bubbled up just above my right pectoral muscle. I took the flashlight from Caleb and illuminated them. There were three new symbols contained in the blisters: an eyeball, a red cross, and something that looked like a bottle of Elmer¡¯s glue. I scrunched my face up trying to figure out what they meant. The red cross was easy: that was obviously some sort of healing power ¡ª no way I¡¯d go with something that boring. The other two were more confusing. I could think of a hundred eye-related powers, but none of them incorporated slime. My eyes were fixated on the Elmer¡¯s Glue bottle the most. If it was what I thought it was, then it would be an amazing choice. If it wasn¡¯t, then I was possibly wasting a level.


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    Please be sticky slime.


    I poked the glue blister with my chin, and it deflated. The other two quickly followed. Black blobs moved under my skin and surfaced on the top-right quadrant of my chest. For the first time, it dawned on me that, if this mark progresses across my entire body, I¡¯m going to look like I¡¯m covered head-to-toe in cheetah print ¡ª great.


    Surprisingly, the progression didn¡¯t hurt at all this time around. It didn¡¯t even itch. It was more of a tickle, like someone was gently running their fingers across my chest. Even more surprisingly, my arms were completely healed once the progression was done.


    I felt like a new man. My arms had never felt better. Everything felt amazing, actually. I felt like I had eaten a can of Popeye¡¯s spinach and washed it down with a gram of cocaine. Energy coursed through my body, and my muscles arms and legs felt like fucking tree trunks. It was exhilarating. I slammed my fist on the road and left a hand-sized dent in the asphalt.


    Holy shit.


    ¡°Holy shit,¡± Anita said. But she wasn¡¯t looking at me. She was looking at Mickey.


    He was running down the street faster than any human should be capable of. Sprinting back towards us, he looked more like a car coming than a man. He came to an abrupt halt in front of me, and I was surprised to not hear tires screeching behind him.


    ¡°Look at this shit, Gus,¡± he said, and he extended his right arm. Something started to push up from inside of his hand through the skin on his palm. It broke through, and a rod extended into his hand. It was an off white color, like it was made of bone, and it hummed, vibrating so rapidly that it was hard to even notice it.


    ¡°If I smack someone with this, I¡¯m pretty sure they¡¯ll fuckin explode,¡± Mickey said. He looked like he wanted to try it out, and there were only the three of us here. I stood on guard for a second, but he slid the bone back into his stigmata, and it closed up like it was never there.


    A different feeling emerged in my hands. Not the usual pressured itching. My hands felt about ten pounds heavier, and they were sticky ¡ª when I touched my middle finger and thumb together, I had to pull them apart with my other hand.


    I clenched my fist, pointed it at the ground, and black sludge secreted from my knuckles and oozed onto the dirt.

 16a: Her Holiness the Mother Dora

    Mickey and I were starting to become some bad motherfuckers, and that scared me.


    My mark hadn¡¯t even progressed halfway across my body yet, but I felt like I could take on every cop in Little Rock at once if I wanted to. My fitness was beyond human now; I was pretty confident that I was stronger than any man alive, and faster than the vast majority of them. My stamina was ridiculous too. My heart beat slowly and deliberately, and it would take a lot to tire me out. I was a goddamn machine.


    And that was without taking my fucking magical powers into consideration.


    I had always been an insignificant person, just trying to live my life out from under the boot of civilized society. I didn¡¯t want to be stomped on by corporate jobs, or bills, or any of that awful shit most people think are worth dealing with to have a steady stream of food, shelter, and internet access. But after progressing again, I felt like I was the boot ¡ª or I was a boot, at least. Nothing was stopping me from doing whatever the fuck I wanted, whenever the fuck I wanted, except for the entire Foot Locker¡¯s-worth of boots that were coming to stomp me out, and the other boot that stood next to me.


    Holy shit, this analogy has run its course.


    My point was that I was feeling good as we cruised down the country roads in Anita¡¯s minivan, but I knew it wouldn¡¯t last long. I sat in the back next to Mickey this time, and Caleb sat in the passenger seat while Anita drove. For the first time since I¡¯ve known him, Caleb spoke.


    ¡°Are we going to Mother Dora¡¯s? I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s safe to go back into Little Rock,¡± he said to Anita. His voice was much deeper than I expected it to be and didn¡¯t match his rounded baby face.


    ¡°We won¡¯t be there long, and she might know something,¡± Anita said. ¡°It¡¯s worth a shot, at least. You have any better ideas?¡±


    Caleb went back to being silent. He had dealt with Anita long enough to know when she was about to get mad. He was smarter than me though ¡ª I used to keep pressing until she domed me with a shoe, but he just stopped talking.


    ¡°Know something about what?¡± I said. ¡°And who is Mother Dora?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s a psychic,¡± Caleb said. He turned around to look at me, but I couldn¡¯t see his eyes through his greasy hair. ¡°Mom¡¯s been going to her for years now.¡±


    ¡°You really believe in that shit?¡± I said.


    ¡°Oh shut the fuck up,¡± Anita said. ¡°You can shoot fuckin¡¯ grease out of your hands and you don¡¯t think someone might be able to see the future?¡±


    I didn¡¯t have a response for that.


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    ¡°C¡¯mon Gus, she might be onto something here,¡± Mickey chimed in. ¡°Even if this Mother Dora lady¡¯s a fraud, she¡¯s probably into all of that occult shit, and might be able to tell us something about that symbol on the Iron Granny¡¯s back.¡±


    ¡°I think your friend¡¯s weird ass tattoo is making him smarter. Wish it would do the same for you,¡± Anita said. Mickey snorted.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to blow smoke up his ass just because he agreed with you, you know,¡± I said. ¡°But fine, let¡¯s go see Her Holiness the Mother Dora. Let¡¯s stop by a creek or something first though. I don¡¯t think she¡¯ll want blood all over her fuckin¡¯ crystal ball or whatever.¡±


    We pulled up to a tiny brick building with a banner hanging over the entrance that said MOTHER DORA¡¯S PSYCHIC READINGS AND HOOKAH LOUNGE and had two logos underneath ¡ª one of an open hand with an eye on the palm and another of a hookah pipe. It was close to midnight when we arrived, but the light came from the windows.


    ¡°You¡¯re not fucking with me, are you?¡± I said to Anita as the four of us stood in front of the door. Rhythmic music bumped faintly from inside the building.


    ¡°Too late to be asking me that now, isn¡¯t it?¡± Anita said.


    She opened the door, and the smell of smoke smacked me in the face. It was overpowering, but sort of pleasant at the same time. There were fruity scents attached to the white smoke that changed depending on which table expelled a fat cloud the most recently. People sat in circles all around the building, puffing smoke and drinking tea under dim string lighting.


    Mickey approached a table of young men and asked if he could have a puff of their pipe. They appeared to be drunk, and readily accepted. Mickey took the hose and inhaled deeply. With his marked lungs, he inhaled for a solid twenty seconds and exhaled for another thirty, blowing out so much smoke that the entire room turned a shade of white. The young men all looked at each other for a second and then cheered.


    Caleb laughed. I had to admit, Mickey was a fuckin¡¯ idiot, but that was pretty entertaining.


    A red curtain separated the lounge from another room. A tan old woman in a purple and white robe came from behind the curtain and gasped when she saw us.


    ¡°Annie! I thought you were going to be another fifteen minutes! Very sorry, I will clear the table for you immediately!¡± She disappeared back behind the curtain.


    ¡°Wait, she knew we were coming?¡± I said.


    ¡°Nah, I texted her on the way here,¡± Anita said.


    ¡°You really shouldn¡¯t text and drive,¡± Mickey said right before burping up a puff of smoke.


    After a few seconds, she poked her head from behind the curtain and stuck out a hand to gesture for us to come in. We entered the psychic reading room, and I had to bite my lip to keep from saying what a heaping spoonful of bullshit this all was. It was the most stereotypical fortune telling room I could imagine. In the middle of the room, there was a C-shaped table with a crystal ball on top, and a deck of tarot cards off to the left side. Behind the table there was a shelf that reached all the way up to the ceiling, and it was chock full of weird shit ¡ª dessicated squirrels, a jar with a hand in it, various tiny skulls that I could only assume used to belong to stray cats, and an assortment of leather bound books with odd symbols etched into their spines. Mother Dora grabbed one of the books ¡ª a black one with silver symbols that looked like they were generally used for human sacrifice ¡ª and sat down at the table. There were only two chairs on the other side for guests.


    ¡±You two ¡ª sit,¡± she said, and pointed to Mickey and I.


    ¡°I have consulted the spirits about you two, and they have told me much. I can summarize what the spirits have told me in only two words:¡±


    She paused for dramatic effect.


    ¡°You¡¯re fucked.¡±

 16b: Yep, the Crystal Ball Also Confirms That You Are Fucked

    ¡°Can you be more specific?¡±


    Mother Dora flipped a switch under her desk and the room went dark. The only source of light came from her crystal ball, which illuminated her leathery face. She waved her bony hands over the ball and hummed while gazing deeply into it, occasionally letting out a ¡°yep¡± or an ¡°I see, I see¡± when the orange-lit smoke changed direction. This went on for a couple of minutes while the rest of us just sat there with our thumbs in our asses, but eventually, she stopped and turned the lights back on.


    ¡°Yep, the crystal ball also confirms that you are fucked,¡± she said with a grave look on her face.


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t more specific,¡± I said.


    She huffed and started flipping through the dusty black book she took off of her cabinet of curiosities.


    ¡°Did you find the symbol from the Iron Granny¡¯s back in that old book?¡± I asked. The thought actually made me kind of nervous.


    ¡°No, I didn¡¯t,¡± she said, ¡°and that¡¯s the problem. This is Liber Magus de Symbolis! The Big Book of Symbols! This has every single religious and occult symbol, constantly updated for the last fifteen-hundred years, and that symbol is nowhere to be seen. But I saw it on the backs of many others, who are still alive and want you dead.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it possible that the authors of your book missed a symbol?¡± I said. ¡°And we already kind of figured that there were more of these guys out there, so you haven¡¯t exactly¡ª¡±


    ¡°NO.¡±


    Mother Dora slammed a fist onto her desk. Her gray-black hair fell from behind her ears, covering her face, and the lights flickered on and off. I wasn¡¯t sure if the lights couldn¡¯t handle her psychic flare up or if this building was just a piece of shit. The lights steadied, and Mother Dora took a deep breath to compose herself.


    Then she put one of her hands over Mickey¡¯s and one of her hands over mine. The look in her eyes confused me. Though her expression didn¡¯t change, the intent behind her look seemed to change every second ¡ª anger one second, sadness the next, then bewilderment after that, then back to sadness. She opened her mouth and spoke in a croaky monotone.


    ¡°The spirits have spoken to me,¡± she said, like she hadn¡¯t already said that two minutes ago. ¡°They warn me of horrible things to come for the two of you ¡ª and for the rest of us. Before either of you have a chance to turn gray, you will accomplish terrible things. You will reckon with your creator, and you will both cease to exist. The reward for your journey of self-annihilation will be the end of the world.¡±


    Mickey guffawed so hard that some spit splattered onto his chin. He took his hand away from Mother Dora to wipe it off.


    ¡°That was real fuckin¡¯ spooky,¡± he said. ¡°How much do we owe you?¡±


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    Caleb and Anita were taking her words much more seriously behind us. Caleb¡¯s skin had gone from a shade of light pink to ghostly white, and Anita had the same grim look she had on her face when I tried to convince her to let me drop out of high school to become a traveling sword juggler (I don¡¯t know how to juggle, but I was going to learn).


    ¡°You two shouldn¡¯t brush her off so easily. I can¡¯t tell you how many cases she¡¯s helped me solve. She¡¯s never once given me a false lead.¡± Anita put her hand on my shoulder. She had never been the affectionate type, so even this small touch felt heavy and awkward. It felt like something she would only do if she thought I was about to die.


    ¡°If she¡¯s such a brilliant psychic detective, why does she operate out of this shithole in the corner of a hookah lounge?¡± I said.


    Mother Dora smiled passive aggressively and put her hair back behind her ears.


    ¡°I have all I need here, and I like hookah. What, should I move to some fancy gray office in the city to win your approval? I think I¡¯ll stay here and smoke. I¡¯m going to do that now, actually, while I still can. Have a good rest of your life, Gus and Mickey. Please leave now.¡±


    She stood up and walked to her curtain, nodding to Caleb and Anita before pushing through them into the smoke room. We were left alone in Mother Dora¡¯s reading room. Just out of curiosity, I went to the other side of her desk and looked into her crystal ball, but I didn¡¯t see anything.


    We drove for a couple more hours until we were clear out of Little Rock, and then stopped at a hotel for the night. It was a Motel 6 ¡ª a little hoity-toity for my taste, but Caleb and Anita were used to the finer things in life, like towels and roofs. Plus we had money to burn, so fuck it.


    We got three rooms: Anita and Caleb shared one, and Mickey and I got our own. Sitting in that hotel room was the first time I had been alone in awhile ¡ª since I had entered the compound to kill Mickey. Oh, how things had changed; now we were best buds, a dynamic duo, off on a quest to end the world, and ourselves, apparently.


    I didn¡¯t know what to think about Mother Dora. I still wanted to call her a fraud, but Anita¡¯s not stupid, and if she said she really helped her on cases, I¡¯m inclined to believe her. But even smart people have blind spots. Isaac Newton tried to create the Philosopher''s Stone. Steve Jobs thought he could cure cancer with cranberry juice. I couldn¡¯t decide if Mother Dora was a blind spot or not.


    I tried to lay down on the bed and sleep, but it felt wrong. The room was too small and the bed was too soft. Most people felt security indoors, but I felt trapped. The air was too still without the sounds of crickets chirping in the trees or cars driving over my head, so I took the blanket off the bed and went outside searching for the nearest patch of trees to sleep between.


    They weren¡¯t far. You¡¯re never too far away from the woods in the South. Right behind the motel was a dense thicket of woods. I wrapped myself in the thin, itchy blanket and searched for a flat patch of grass big enough to host me for the night.


    The woods were well lit by the full moon, but I couldn¡¯t find a nice spot. Deeper and deeper I went until I couldn¡¯t even see a sparkle from the streetlights behind me anymore. No matter how far I moved forward, it felt like I wasn¡¯t going anywhere, just walking on a never ending loop of annoyingly thick woods.


    I came to the realization that I wasn¡¯t even tired, I just thought that I should be because I hadn¡¯t slept in almost twenty-four hours. But did I even need to sleep anymore? Did I only need an hour or two of sleep a night? My body was a finely tuned machine now. Maybe I didn¡¯t need as much routine maintenance. But humans were supposed to sleep. I wanted to sleep. The fact that I didn¡¯t feel the need to sleep scared me. It made me feel ashamed. This mark wasn¡¯t making me superhuman. It was making me inhuman. I was a fuckin¡¯ creature of the night now, I guess.


    Which meant that Mickey was too.

 16c: Ill see you again at the end, Gus.

    I probably spent half an hour slowly trudging into the woods, but I ran back out in less than five minutes. My body cut through the brush and vines and paved a nice path for the next bum who might want to sleep behind the Motel 6.


    Mickey¡¯s hotel room door was cracked open, and he was nowhere to be seen. God only knew what that man was up to. I didn¡¯t think he would hurt Caleb or Anita ¡ª at the very least because he knew I would kick his ass if he did. But I never knew what Mickey was going to do next, and that was especially true now. I should¡¯ve known better than to leave that son of a bitch unsupervised.


    I turned around and went back into the night, into the barely-existing town. The tallest structure in the entire town was a water tower that had ¡°Arkadelphia: It¡¯s a great place to call home!¡± proudly displayed across its front. I had my doubts about that. There has never been a great place to live whose name ended in ¡°delphia¡±.


    It wasn¡¯t hard to find where he had run off to. As late as it was, almost everything would certainly be closed, but lo and behold, right next to the Motel 6 there was a building buzzing with activity with a sign on the side featuring a cowgirl and ¡°Betty¡¯s BIG Country Dance Hall¡± in the Cracker Barrel font.


    Betty wasn¡¯t lying; the building was big. It looked like it used to be a warehouse, but now the one giant room housed a band of old men with white beards and cowboy hats playing an upbeat country tune and a crowd of people huddled together, dancing in unison. Somewhere in the middle of that crowd, Mickey was doing his best to follow the steps of the two women next to him. I almost didn¡¯t notice him because he had acquired a black cowboy hat from somewhere and it covered half of his face, but his gap-toothed smile gave him away.


    He saw me and waved for me to come over. I did, making sure to stand on the outside of the crowd to avoid getting sucked in by the gravity of the line dance. I¡¯d be god-damned if I was going to do the fucking Tush Push.


    ¡°Come on dude, have some fun!¡± Mickey said. He tried to pivot at the same time as the rest of the group and almost fell on his ass ¡ª the man was clearly sloshed. I was just glad he wasn¡¯t robbing anyone, to be honest.


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t think I will,¡± I said. ¡°Bright lights, noise, people ¡ª it¡¯s really not my style.¡±


    He stepped out of the mass of people and stumbled into me.


    ¡°What is your style?¡± he said. ¡°Sitting in the dark until sunrise? I¡¯m guessing you¡¯ve figured it out too. I don¡¯t think we have to sleep anymore. Isn¡¯t that fuckin¡¯ awesome? We can rock and roll all night and party every day.¡± He picked up a glass of beer from an empty table and downed it ¡ª I was not convinced that that was his beer. ¡°You heard what that psychic lady said. We¡¯re both fucked. Might as well enjoy being alive while we can.¡±


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    ¡°I don¡¯t know what to think about it, to tell you the truth,¡± I said. ¡°It doesn¡¯t feel right to not have to sleep.¡± We walked together to the bar in the right-hand corner of the room, and I ordered a double shot of whiskey. I threw it back and shivered a little as the cheap, lukewarm alcohol burned its way down my throat.


    ¡°You believe that old fraud?¡± I said, though my opinion of her changed by the minute.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, but it¡¯s a good excuse to get fucked up,¡± he said.


    ¡°When have you ever needed an excuse to get fucked up?¡±


    ¡°Never.¡±


    He found another beer and downed it, spilling some on his face. I don¡¯t know why he felt the need to drink half cups of flat beer when he had a shit load of cash in the van ¨C maybe he got a thrill from stealing other people''s shit, or maybe he did it for the same reason I couldn''t sleep indoors. You can take the bum out of the tent under the bridge, but you can''t take the tent under the bridge out of the bum.


    ¡°Ya know, those two girls I was dancin¡¯ with were mighty friendly. I think you and I should go talk to ¡®em. I think that''s exactly what you need, Gus: a girl,¡± Mickey said, nudging me in the ribs with his elbow. The two girls were still dancing, but they were looking straight at us while doing it. They were good looking, I won''t lie. One was a short brunette with her hair up in a messy bun and a huge smile with big teeth that looked like they belonged in someone else''s mouth. The other was taller with sharp features, and had ginger hair that went down to her ass. But none of that mattered to me.


    ¡°I had a girl, remember?¡± I said through gritted teeth. ¡°You know, Beth? The girl who''s dead because you''re a goddamn moron. Ring any fucking bells?¡±


    His smile vanished and his eyes turned hard.


    ¡°Come on, how long are you going to hold that against me?¡± Mickey said. ¡°I said I''m sorry. It''s not like I knew the bottle was filled with fuckin¡¯ superhero juice.¡±


    ¡°Some things are unforgivable, even if you didn''t mean to do them,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m gonna go sit in a dark room until sunrise.¡±


    I turned around to leave, but Mickey put his hand on my chest to stop me.


    ¡°You''re really gonna try to kill me once this is all said and done?¡± he asked. He looked at me with dead eyes; it was a look he had frequently when he had had too much to drink. I smacked his hand away.


    ¡°Did you think I was fucking joking with you?¡± I said.


    Things were tense at Betty''s BIG Country Dance Hall. For a second, I wondered if he was going to try to kill me right there, in front of a crowd of people. It wouldn''t have been too surprising.


    But to my surprise, a tear rolled down his cheek.


    ¡°Alright,¡± he said, ¡°if that''s how it''s gonna be, I think it''s best if you go your way, and I go mine. I''ll see you again at the end, Gus.¡±


    He left without saying anything else.

 17a: Knuckle Heads

    I hated being around Mickey ¡ª that should be pretty clear by now ¡ª but I wasn¡¯t thrilled that he had just up and disappeared. It felt like a step backwards. We made a deal that we were going to fight these people together, and I couldn¡¯t help but feel like we were stronger as a unit than we were as two lone wolves. It also meant I couldn¡¯t keep an eye on him, and who knows what sort of horrible shit he¡¯d do without any parental supervision. Last time I left him alone with these powers, he became a professional murderer for a gang of meth dealers. And he wasn¡¯t nearly as strong back then.


    I thought about going after him, but it was pointless. He was quick as hell and resourceful when he needed to be, and he didn¡¯t have any more friends to run to that I knew of ¡ª he didn¡¯t need them.


    I¡¯d see him soon enough, I reckoned.


    It was still only two in the morning or so, so I just sat in my room with the door open, waiting for Caleb and Anita to wake up. Not sleeping was going to get real fucking boring real fast, it seemed. I was going to have to find a hobby; maybe I¡¯d take up sewing or some shit.


    When Anita and Caleb finally woke up, I told them to take my money and get out of here. Fortunately Mickey had only taken his meth ¡ª which wouldn¡¯t be missed ¡ª and his half of the money. I suppose he didn¡¯t want me chasing him down. I told them to take it and start over somewhere. They didn¡¯t need to be involved in this. But Anita just looked at me like I was stupid.


    ¡°Gus, you tend to not make the best decisions, to put it nicely,¡± Anita said. ¡°This isn¡¯t just about you. You heard the Iron Granny: those guys that are coming for you are coming for the rest of the world next. You and Mickey are the only people standing in their way. And we¡¯re not even sure if Mickey¡¯s still standing in their way. We need you to beat them, and you need me to beat them.¡±


    She was packing her bag, ready to leave now that the sun was up. Caleb laid on his bed, staring at his phone.


    ¡°What about him? I don¡¯t think I need Caleb¡¯s strategic mind for this,¡± I said. Caleb looked up at me for a second before going back to what he was doing.


    ¡°He¡¯s smarter than you might think,¡± Anita said. ¡°Smarter than you, anyway. Plus, who would I leave him with? There¡¯s nobody I could leave him with, not without attempting to explain the situation. If I go back to Little Rock and say ¡®Hey Tammy, can you watch Caleb for a few months? I have to go help my oldest son with his wizard battle. Thanks!¡¯ she¡¯d probably try to have me committed. And now that they know you have a family, I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if they wanted to come after us too. Nope, you¡¯re getting our help whether you want it or not.¡±


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    ¡°Great,¡± I said.


    She handed me a Golden Grahams cereal bar, a toothbrush, and some toothpaste. She had gone to a grocery store the night before, evidently, and stocked up on some basic supplies.


    ¡°Here¡¯s my first piece of strategic advice: eat this, and then use that,¡± she pointed to my toothbrush. ¡°Please.¡±


    I did what she said, scarfing down the cereal bar in two bites and then going to the sink with my toothbrush. I couldn¡¯t remember the last time I had brushed my teeth. I¡¯d gargle some salt water on occasion, but never really took care of my teeth beyond that. Somehow, none of them had completely rotted out of my head yet, but I¡¯m sure a dentist could find a cavity or two if they had a poke around. The sensation of bristles against my teeth sent a strange vibration up to my head. I didn¡¯t like it at all, but I had to admit my teeth looked a lot better when I smiled in the motel room mirror.


    By the time I was done, they were packed and ready to leave. We handed our keys to the front desk clerk, a bulldog-looking woman with jowls and an underbite, who grunted at us without looking up from her computer, which I assumed translated to ¡°Goodbye! Have a wonderful day!¡± and we took off.


    We continued west out of habit more than anything. It was clear by Anita¡¯s silence that she wasn¡¯t any more sure than I was what we should do next. We drove for hours with only the radio playing the biggest hits of the ¡®90s, ¡®00s, and today to break the silence. After the third time we heard Smells Like Teen Spirit in the span of an hour, I cut the radio off.


    ¡°If we can¡¯t find out any more about this cult, I need to focus on becoming stronger so that I¡¯m ready when they come to me,¡± I said. ¡°I wonder if there are ways for my mark to progress without having to kill people,¡±


    Anita sighed. ¡°Yeah, that would be nice. If I could just sit down for a minute and do some real research, maybe I¡¯d actually be able to find something out about these guys.¡±


    ¡°What if you just actually learned how to fight?¡± Caleb chimed in from the back seat. I swear I¡¯d never get used to that deep voice of his.


    ¡°Like, learn to box or something,¡± he continued.


    I reflexively wanted to say it was a stupid idea; what, am I gonna fuckin¡¯ fist fight with the teleporting, hound conjuring lunatic? But the more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea. If I learned the fundamentals of fighting ¡ª how to dodge an attack, how to land a counter, all that good shit ¡ª maybe it would help me hone my powers, and I could be stronger without my mark progressing.


    ¡°Yeah, I think that¡¯s a great idea, Caleb. Find me a boxing gym, and let¡¯s go. Good thinkin¡¯.¡±


    I didn¡¯t know what was happening. The urge to be a supportive big brother possessed me like a demon. I gave him an awkward punch on the shoulder, a little harder than I meant to, but it didn¡¯t phase him. For the first time, Caleb smiled at me, and that felt good.


    Anita looked over at the interaction and smiled too; her eyes became watery, but she didn¡¯t cry.


    ¡°Yeah, let¡¯s do that,¡± Anita said.


    ¡°There¡¯s a gym run by a former pro a couple of hours from here,¡± Caleb said, looking down at his phone. ¡°Knuckle Heads Boxing, run by former heavyweight champ Freddie Kidd. Dallas, Texas.¡±


    ¡°Knuckle Heads it is!¡± Anita said. The mood in the van was suddenly a lot more cheerful.

 17b: Size Aint Everything, Big Boy

    I was looking forward to training with a professional boxer, I''m not gonna lie. What kid didn''t watch Rocky II and dream about becoming the heavyweight champion of the world? In my experience, fighting hadn''t been all that fun, but if we weren''t killing each other with disgusting, obscene powers, maybe it could be.


    Houston was a goddamn sight to behold, too. We weren''t in Arkansas anymore, that''s for sure. The place was huge; I had never been in a city half as big. It took nearly an hour to get to the other side, through a dense jungle of skyscrapers, to arrive at what appeared to be a guy¡¯s house with a boxing ring in the backyard.


    ¡°Caleb.¡± I said as we were pulling into the parking lot, which only had about ten parking spots. ¡°The fuck is this?¡±


    Caleb shrugged timidly. ¡°It was the only gym that said it was run by a heavyweight champ.¡±


    ¡°Did you check those credentials? I can¡¯t imagine a world champion running a place this small when there are probably fifty other boxing gyms in this city,¡± I said.


    ¡°Size ain¡¯t everything, big boy.¡±


    A man who was about as wide as he was tall stood in front of the van. He was incredibly short, but built like a brick house. Sweat beaded on his shiny bald head, and his loose tank top flitted in the wind. He looked at me through the windshield and smiled.


    ¡°Just ask Mr. Jones over there,¡± the cubic man continued.


    A much taller man with a slim, athletic build came stumbling towards us from the backyard boxing ring. Both of his eyes were nearly swollen shut, and he was trying to stop blood from streaming out of his nose. He didn¡¯t seem to be in the talking mood.


    ¡°Are you Freddie Kidd?¡± I asked the man in front of me.


    ¡°Damn right I am. Now, I heard you talkin¡¯ shit. You wanna hop in that ring and see how far size gets you if you don¡¯t know how to move?¡±


    Anita and Caleb both looked at me, clearly trying not to laugh.


    ¡°Shit, I reckon I can¡¯t exactly say no,¡± I said.


    I stepped into the ring. I took my shirt and shoes off so that I was wearing nothing but my jeans ¡ª not exactly boxing gym attire, but this wasn¡¯t exactly a boxing gym by the looks of it. Even the ¡°ring¡± in the backyard was more of a plywood box line with bungee cords. I cracked my knuckles and my neck. This guy sounded like he needed to be taken down a peg, and he didn¡¯t know who he was fucking with. I didn¡¯t plan on killing him or anything, but a broken bone might be good for his attitude.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.He stepped into the ring from the other side. He had blue shorts on with a white waistband, and matching blue gloves. He bounced up and down, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. It made him look surprisingly light given he looked like he swallowed a mini fridge. He lifted his right hand into the air and flicked his wrist twice.


    ¡°Ding. Ding.¡± he said. This man really thought he was Apollo Creed.


    I put my hands up and we started to circle each other. He had a fierce look in his eye like this fight against a random stranger meant a lot to him. This wasn¡¯t a sparring match to him; it was the damn Rumble in the Jungle.


    He threw a couple of jabs and a right hook to my liver. I wasn¡¯t ready in the slightest and they connected. A couple of months ago, that combo probably would¡¯ve put me in morgue somewhere, but now it just hurt really fucking bad. His hands were small, which made his punches feel like hornet stings. I moved out of the way of his next body shot, but I dropped my arms and he came in with an uppercut right on my chin. It stunned me for a second and he pounced on the opportunity like a fucking animal, bashing his fists into my chest and face over and over, knocking me into the bungee cords; I couldn¡¯t get away from him.


    I would¡¯ve never come out of that fight conscious if I wasn¡¯t a literal goddamn superhuman. But since I was, the fight was taking its toll on him before he could do any major damage. He stepped back, his chest heaving, and I threw a haymaker at his shoulder. I didn¡¯t use all of my strength, but I still heard a crack when the punch landed. To his credit, Freddie didn¡¯t fall to the ground. The tough son of a bitch didn¡¯t even grunt in pain. He just said ¡°I think you broke my damn shoulder!¡±


    ¡°Sorry about that,¡± I said. ¡°We can drop you off at the hospital if you want.¡±


    ¡°Nah, it¡¯s all good. I still got one arm. I can drive myself. When I get back in a few days though, I wanna see you in some fuckin¡¯ boxing shorts, big boy. First lesson¡¯s free.¡±

 18a: The Midnight Crooners

    Bruises and welts peppered my body from my waist up to my forehead, but I healed quickly. So did Freddie, surprisingly. I had completely shattered the man¡¯s shoulder, but after a month or so, he was walking around the boxing gym without a sling. He clearly didn¡¯t have a full range of motion in that arm, and it looked like it hurt every time he moved it, but still, it was impressive healing for an older guy who didn¡¯t have a magical cancer tattoo helping him out. He said to give him one more week and he¡¯d be ready to train me.


    While Freddie was healing, Anita, Caleb and I set up shop in a hotel, and eventually in a three-bedroom apartment. It was nothing special, but it gave them what they needed, and it felt nice to have some stability ¡ª or the illusion of it, anyway. Anita started homeschooling Caleb, much to his dismay, and I picked up a habit of going on long, aimless walks at night for hours on end.


    The world felt completely different in the middle of the night, but the city especially so. Streets that are packed with people during the day have only a few stragglers at night, and they aren¡¯t the type of people I¡¯d see during the day. At night, the city belonged to vagrants, bums ¡ª people like me. Or people like the old me. Technically, I wasn¡¯t homeless anymore, and I had a sizable savings tucked away in the minivan. Still, I identified with the scraggly sacks of shit I saw standing on the sidewalk at three in the morning much more than I did with the clean cut gentlemen I saw at three in the afternoon.


    I¡¯d take the same twenty block loop every night, so I¡¯d see many of the same people. At first, nobody approached me. I guess I looked too threatening to strike up conversation with ¡ª or to rob. I¡¯d just stroll by and they¡¯d look at me, sometimes with confusion, sometimes with disdain, sometimes with amusement. One group in particular, who hung out in front of a 24-hour convenience store, seemed to be particularly amused by my late night strolls.


    ¡°Hey, boy!¡± a morbidly obese man with a hard belly and tiny, dark eyes shouted at me one night. ¡°Where ya goin¡¯?¡±


    I tried to ignore him at first, but he just kept shouting like he thought I didn¡¯t hear him.


    ¡°Nowhere in particular!¡± I finally shouted back. ¡°Just walking!¡±


    ¡°Well if you don¡¯t got anywhere to be, why don¡¯t you come over here?¡±


    I couldn¡¯t think of a good excuse not to, so I obliged. I crossed the street and came face to face with the motley crew that hung out in front of the convenience store. They were even stranger up close than they seemed from afar. The man who called me over looked like a naked mole rat, with his bald, pink body, beady eyes and crooked, yellowed teeth. The man next to him looked like a six-foot-five praying mantis, with a long face that was way too big for his thin body and arms that went down past his knees. He wore a beanie and smoked a cigarette, and nodded at me. The last two members of the crew looked like twins. One was a man and one was a woman, but they both had matted black hair that went to their shoulders, high, pointed cheek bones, and they drank out of a single Big Gulp cup using two straws.


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    I immediately regretted my decision to cross the street for these people.


    ¡°Keaton,¡± the naked mole rat man said and shook my hand. ¡°Harold. Sharold. Be good hosts and give the nice man a sip of your soda.¡±


    The woman twin ¡ª who I guess was named Sharold ¡ª was holding the cup, and extended it out towards me. I politely declined. The tall man stared at me while smoking his cigarette. He looked directly into my eyes and wouldn¡¯t look away.


    ¡°Don¡¯t mind Beanpole over there,¡± said Keaton. ¡°He don¡¯t talk much. He¡¯s a damn fine soprano, though.¡±


    What the fuck did I walk into?


    ¡°I¡¯m the baritone of the group,¡± Keaton continued, ignoring my silence, ¡°and the twins over there are the alto and tenor. Here¡¯s our card.¡±


    He handed me a ripped square of notebook paper that had ¡°The Midnight Crooners¡± written in pen.


    Is this actually happening?


    I shit you not, they started singing to me. Keaton snapped his fingers three times and Beanpole came in on the fourth beat with a haunting, high pitched lead in to a doo wop tune about a girl named Sheila. I just stood there and listened while these motherfuckers sang me a song on the streets of Houston at three o¡¯ clock in the morning. It was so loud that I thought they were going to wake up half the city, but nobody else seemed to give a shit; the clerk inside of the convenience store didn¡¯t even look in our direction. At long last, after a minute or so, their tune ended.


    ¡°Well?¡± Keaton said.


    I didn¡¯t know how to respond.


    Harold and Sharold resumed their synchronized soda drinking and Beanpole lit up another cigarette. The only one that seemed to care about my appraisal of their performance was Keaton, who looked at me expectantly


    ¡°It was¡­ uhhh¡­ good,¡± I said with horribly feigned enthusiasm. ¡°I think I¡¯m gonna continue on my walk though. See y¡¯all around.¡±


    I waved and tried to walk past Keaton, but he stuck his pudgy arm out to stop me. Something about his face had changed ¡ª not just his expression, either. His eyes had grown larger, and his head was shinier than I remembered it being just a few minutes ago. In fact, nobody seemed to look quite the same. Beanpole seemed to be at least seven-foot tall now, absolutely towering over me, and the twins looked even more identical down to the way their wild hair stuck out in the same exact spots. Keaton looked up at me with big, black eyes.


    ¡°You better fucking listen to me if you ever want to wake up,¡± he said.

 18b: I’m Asleep?

    ¡°I¡¯m asleep?¡±


    The rat-like man smiled, exposing his jagged yellow teeth.


    ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re asleep,¡± he said. ¡°You still need to sleep occasionally, Gus. You¡¯re still human, sort of. An hour or two a week should be plenty. You¡¯d know this if you made any attempt to listen to me.¡±


    I blinked and Keaton and I were in an open grassland, nothing but flat green in every direction all the way to the horizon ¡ª not even a single tree or hill to break the monotony.


    ¡°What are you doing, walking around at night, doing nothing instead of training?¡± Keaton said.


    ¡°Are you my¡ª¡±


    ¡°You and Mickey killed one old lady and suddenly you think you¡¯re hot shit, is that it?¡± Keaton interrupted me. ¡°Do you know how fucking powerful the people coming after you are? Do you know what they will do to you, to your family, if they find you? You are woefully unprepared, and you¡¯re sitting around doing nothing until some old man can teach you how to box. What is wrong with you?¡±


    It was true. I had been enjoying the moment of peace we managed to find. It was nice to not have to fight anyone, or kill anyone, or watch over my shoulder while Mickey walked behind me. I had started to enjoy the company of Caleb and Anita. My mom seemed to mellow out a bit in her old age, and was damn near pleasant to talk to sometimes. Caleb mostly wanted to talk about my powers, which was slightly annoying, but it felt nice to have a little brother to be slightly annoyed by, and it was cool that he looked at me like I was some sort of mythical figure. It made all of this feel like it was a game, almost. And in the haze of comfort, I hadn¡¯t been doing a damn thing to prepare for what was still coming for me. Keaton was right.


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    ¡°I know I¡¯m fucking right,¡± Keaton said. ¡°Now, I actually approve of the boxing lessons. Do those. But you need to be using your free time at night to train your powers as well. I gave you sludge powers that are completely untested at the moment. That needs to change.¡±


    He put his palm on the ground and the dirt started to bubble in an all-too-familiar way. A clay hound the size of a skyscraper rose from the ground in front of me. Keaton disappeared.


    The ground shook under my feet when the hound tried to step on me with its massive brown paw. I jumped out of the way, losing my balance in the process and rolling on the flat ground. It lunged for a bite with so much force that a gust of wind followed the path of its snapping jaw, but I rolled out of the way and stuck its snout with a booger bomb. It blew a hole in its upper lip, but it didn¡¯t seem to mind.


    ¡°You¡¯re gonna have to do better than that, Gus.¡± Keaton was nowhere to be seen, but the voice sounded like it was coming from right in front of me. I got up and ran from the hound; I needed to create some space between us if I had any chance of attacking.


    I sprayed the ground with slime, but most of it seeped into the dirt and didn¡¯t do much to slow down the clay hound, who was charging at me once again. I tried to shoot sludge instead, but it didn¡¯t shoot. It just oozed out of my hands onto the ground in front of me. But it was thick and sticky and didn¡¯t get absorbed by the ground, so I let it pour from my hands and splatter onto the ground behind me as I ran away from the hound. It dodged the trail, so I widened out the sludge into a thinner spray, splattering small pools of dark gunk on the bright green grass. It stepped in it, and it slowed down, but not by much. It was like the clay hound had gum on the bottom of its shoe.


    ¡°See? You have no idea what you¡¯re doing with this power. Did you think you were just going to figure it out as another marked man was trying to cave your skull in? How much luck do you think one bum can have? You need to prepare, Gus. You need to start listening to me.¡±


    I kept running, but the hound was gaining on me fast. Knowing it would catch up with me in a couple of seconds anyway, I faced it and stood my ground. I secreted the heaviest stream of sludge I could possibly muster, hurling a river of heavy, sticky goop directly at the hound¡¯s face. It did not give the slightest dingleberry of a shit and sunk its giant teeth directly into my back and stomach. It lifted its head up and ripped my torso off of my legs.

 18c: Wait, What Was That Last One?

    ¡°Your mark took the form of a human and spoke to you in your dream?¡± Anita asked over a bowl of Raisin Bran the next morning.


    ¡°Took the form of a whole doo wop group, actually,¡± I said, ¡°or at least I think it did. It seemed mad that I wasn''t listening to it enough.¡± I tore at a piece of buttered toast and sat on the couch.


    ¡°What does it want you to listen to, exactly?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. It didn¡¯t say.¡±


    ¡°Or were you just not listening?¡±


    Caleb was chowing down on a bowl of Froot Loops next to me with his feet propped up on the coffee table.


    ¡°You should go meditate or something,¡± he said with his mouth full of colorful mash. ¡°Maybe they have some classes or something around here.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I bet they do,¡± Anita said. ¡°Maybe it¡¯ll help.¡±


    ¡°I think I know how to sit and not think,¡± I said.


    ¡°Yeah, we know you know how to not think,¡± Anita said, ¡°but there¡¯s more to mediation than that, I¡¯m sure. Come on, it¡¯ll be a fun family activity.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m trying to listen to a sentient melanoma that¡¯s taken up significant real estate in my brain, not go to the goddamn petting zoo,¡± I said.


    Anita looked sad. So did Caleb. They both finished their cereal in silence. It made me wriggle in my seat.


    ¡°Alright, Jesus,¡± I said. ¡°Let¡¯s go meditate, I guess.¡±


    I sat down on a pillow in a room with about fifty other people. Everyone else, including Caleb and Anita, were wearing workout clothes ¡ª gym shorts, yoga pants, you know what I¡¯m talking about. I thought I could sit perfectly fine wearing my jeans and t-shirt, though. A young woman with a tight blonde ponytail sat at the front of the room facing us. She wore a white linen shirt and flowy linen pants with elephants on them.


    ¡°Hello everyone,¡± she said in a calm tone that annoyed the shit out of me. ¡°In this introductory class, we will learn to sit and focus on the breath, and then we will do a full body scan. Is everybody ready?¡±


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    The class nodded. She told us to close our eyes and take five deep breaths, inhaling and exhaling only when she told us to. It made me dizzy more than anything. She rang a bell of some kind that reverberated around the room for at least half a minute.


    ¡°Now, feel the energy come into your body when you breathe in, and feel the excess leave your body when you breathe out. Do it with me.¡±


    In


    I breathed in. My head started to feel sort of tingly.


    Out


    My mind slowed down.


    In


    My entire body started to relax at once.


    Out


    My head got super fucking itchy.


    Holy shit I wanted to scratch my entire head like a louse-ridden child, but I restrained myself and tried to keep following along. My thoughts floated in and out of my mind like wispy clouds. Many thoughts floated into my head ¡ª Houston is hot as hell; I kind of need to piss; that episode of Ren and Stimpy when Stimpy peeled that guys toenail off with a crowbar; you should kill more people.


    Wait, what was that last one?


    You need to kill more people, Gus. It¡¯s the only real way to become more powerful. Learning to fight will help, but killing people will make you a god. And you need to be a god if you want to survive, if you want your family to survive.


    ¡°Fuck you.¡±


    A bunch of people turned to look at me.


    ¡°Sorry, not you guys,¡± I said. ¡°You guys are great.¡±


    They turned back around. The itching became unbearable.


    You have to do it, and soon. I can¡¯t help you if you don¡¯t. Mickey¡¯s out there feeding his mark, surely. If you don¡¯t keep up, he¡¯ll tear you apart even if the other guys don¡¯t. It has to be done.


    ¡°Shut the fuck up!¡±


    I rolled around on the floor, scratching my head furiously. The itching just wouldn¡¯t fucking stop. I scratched so hard my scalp started to bleed, and I left stamps of blood on the floor as I rolled. Who did it want me to kill? There was nobody out here that needed to die, as far as I knew. Did it want me to slaughter innocent people just to get a little stronger?


    Not a little stronger. A lot stronger. And more people will die if you don¡¯t do it, Gus. It doesn¡¯t matter if they deserve it. You just need to do it. Listen to me for once!


    The whole room was on its feet now. People started to clear out like there was a fire in the building, being careful to stay as far away from me as possible. Caleb grabbed my shoulders and shook me.


    ¡°Stop!¡± he yelled. ¡°The cops are on their way. We need to leave!¡±


    Still scratching my bloody head, I stood up and followed them to the van, and we peeled out of there. I laid out in the back, scratching the itch that wouldn¡¯t go away, and trying to drive the thoughts away, but they wouldn¡¯t leave. They were driven into my brain like an ice pick.


    KILL


    KILL


    KILL


    KILL


    KILL


    KILL


    KILL


    KILL


    KILL


    KILL


    KILL


    KILL


    KILL


    KILL


    KILL


    KILL


    KILL

 19a: He Didn’t Know How Right He Was

    I decided meditation just wasn¡¯t for me after that. Listening to my mark might not be for me either; it didn¡¯t seem like the best influence.


    Freddie called later that day to tell me that his arm was good enough that we could start training the next morning. Thank fucking god. I needed a distraction, and I needed something that made me feel like I was preparing myself that didn¡¯t involve murdering people.


    Anita and Caleb looked at me differently after the meditation session, and I hated it. They tiptoed around me like they thought I was possessed by a fucking demon or something. I hated it because they might not be too far off base. I didn¡¯t feel like the mark had control over my mind, but what would that even feel like? Crazy people don¡¯t know that they¡¯re crazy, and mind-controlled people don¡¯t know that they¡¯re being mind-controlled. The only comfort I got was from the fact that the mark was telling me to kill people. I figured that, if it already had majority rule in my head, then it wouldn¡¯t need to ask. This cancer only having a 49% stake on my brain cells wasn¡¯t exactly a warm, cozy thought, though ¡ª especially when I still had so much unused real estate on my body for the mark to progress through. I was nowhere near done with it.


    But, at least for now, I could focus on learning how to punch people.


    <hr>


    ¡°Alright, Big Boy, you¡¯re gonna learn some combos today,¡± Freddie and I stood on either side of a heavy bag that hung from the gym ceiling. His right shoulder still looked swollen, and he clearly couldn¡¯t move it like he used to, but he still threw combos at the bag with incredible speed and precision. His shoulder made a popping sound after he threw a particularly nasty right hook. I winced at the sound, but he didn¡¯t.


    I tried to copy his combo ¡ª it was a simple jab, jab, right hook. The heavy bag almost separated from the ceiling when I hit it, but my form was sloppy. Comparing my punches to the machine-like blows that came from Freddie, I felt like a drunk, roided-up child. Freddie seemed to agree.


    ¡°God damn,¡± he said, ¡°you might be the biggest waste of potential I¡¯ve ever seen.¡±


    ¡°My mom¡¯s said something similar before,¡± I said.


    ¡°How old are you now? 31? 32? If you would¡¯ve come to me ten years ago, I would¡¯ve made your ass the greatest fighter in the history of combat sports. You hit like a damn truck already, even though you look like someone just dug you up out of the ground. Put a little muscle on you and teach you how to punch straight, and you¡¯re gonna be a monster, let me tell you.¡± He assumed his boxing stance. ¡°First, you need to spread your feet out a little more. Then, you need to make sure you use your whole body when you throw a punch. There¡¯ll be a lot more force that way. With how much damage you did with that sloppy ass punch a couple weeks ago,¡± he rolled his shoulder and it popped again, ¡°you¡¯re liable to kill somebody with a proper punch. That counts as an automatic KO, I think.¡±


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    I smiled weakly. He didn¡¯t know how right he was. I wished he hadn¡¯t brought up killing. I was trying my best to forget about it. Sometimes, I would still think about those burnt bodies ¡ª bodies that I burnt ¡ª and the ones that weren¡¯t quite dead yet. The sight of Newt, my father, with a gaping hole in the back of his head forced its way into my mind¡¯s eye; the empty eye socket of the Iron Granny who did it to him was an unpleasant sight in my head as well. I was sick and tired of death in all of its forms, but there was still so much of it left to be dealt out.


    ¡°Hello? Big Boy? You there?¡±


    Freddie had been trying to show me how to throw an uppercut, but I wasn¡¯t paying attention. I did my best to follow along, but I was on autopilot for the rest of the session.


    <hr>


    I felt a little better at night. The night was starting to become the most peaceful time for me, since I could be a fucked-up, bloodthirsty abomination alone, away from people. I did agree with the mark on one thing: I needed to learn how to use my sludge powers before I needed them. So I stopped going on my late night walks ¡ª I was afraid I¡¯d see Keaton and the Crooners again anyway if I resumed them, and found an abandoned warehouse to practice sludge magic in.


    Unlike the slime, the sludge had to be used at a much closer range, at least for now. I couldn¡¯t project it nearly as easily as slime, which came out of my hands with almost no effort. Instead of shooting out of me, the sludge fell out of me in thick globs and splattered nearby ¡ª the farthest I could get it to shoot was three or four feet, and that took a lot of effort.


    It felt much more natural to use it to augment hand-to-hand combat. I let the sludge collect around my hands like gloves and could throw heavy, sticky punches that covered my imaginary opponents in black goop, ideally causing more damage and slowing them down.


    I also checked to see if the sludge was flammable. I stepped outside of the warehouse and flicked a little drop of sludge onto the parking lot. It burned even hotter and for even longer than the slime. That was good; if I covered someone in enough of this stuff, I could turn them into the Human Torch pretty easily.


    At around five o¡¯ clock in the morning, I decided to call it a day and head back home. It was only a twenty minute walk or so, especially since I didn¡¯t take any time to enjoy the scenery. I walked as fast as I could ¡ª which was pretty damn fast ¡ª past anyone and anything I came by. Except, annoyingly, I walked past something that was hard to ignore.


    A tall, ginger-haired man was harassing a tiny, young woman who appeared to be waiting for a bus. He said a few things in a heated tone that I couldn¡¯t quite make out, and she tried to run, but he grabbed her arm. She screamed and he yanked her to the ground. I didn¡¯t know what he was trying to accomplish ¡ª was he mugging her, trying to kidnap her, or just felt like hurting someone on this warm Houston morning? It didn¡¯t really matter; what kind of asshole would I be if I just walked by a scene like that?


    ¡°Hey, Carrot Top! What the fuck do you think you¡¯re doing?¡± I yelled from the other side of the street.

 19b: Did I Give a Shit?

    Carrot Top whipped his head in my direction and then immediately took off running. I guess he didn¡¯t want to pick on anyone his own size. The girl got up and dusted herself off. It didn¡¯t look like any damage was done to her aside from a red mark on her arm and a little bit of gravel in her curly brown hair. She looked at me like a deer in headlights, and her entire body was trembling, but she was safe. I could¡¯ve just let the guy run off back to whatever hole he crawled out of, but I was feeling righteous that morning.


    He had just made it to the end of the block and turned right when I started chasing him. It was almost funny how slow he was. I felt like I was chasing down an unruly child, but he was going to get more than a spanking when I caught up to him. I closed in on him in under a minute. The terror in his face intensified each time he looked back and saw that I was ten yards closer to him. The final time he looked back, I was right up against him, and two balls of sludge engulfed his feet and brought him crashing to the ground.


    I loomed over him like fucking Jason Vorhees. He tried to crawl away, but his legs were anchored to the sidewalk. He was like a dinosaur that fell into a tar pit, hopeless to escape.


    ¡°You like hurting people?¡± I said. ¡°Does it make you feel like a big, strong man?¡±


    He stammered for a moment, wide-eyed, before he could finally spit out a sentence.


    ¡°What the fuck are you?¡± he said.


    ¡°Just a guy out for a morning stroll,¡± I replied. ¡°So, what did you plan on doing to that woman before I ruined your fun?¡±


    ¡°Man, I¡¯m homeless!¡± he said. ¡°People don¡¯t give shit to us out here. I either have to steal or starve! I just wanted to get some food!¡± Tears started to stream down his face.


    I stomped on his left leg and it snapped like a twig under my foot. He cried out in agony for a split second before I sealed his mouth shut with a squirt of black gunk.


    ¡°Bullshit,¡± I said. ¡°Do I look like a fucking idiot to you? I¡¯ve heard every story there is to hear on these streets. Shit, I¡¯ve told a couple of them. That girl weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet. You could¡¯ve easily just snatched her purse and ran if that¡¯s all you wanted to¡ª¡±


    He wasn¡¯t listening to me. Instead, he was squirming desperately on the sidewalk, clawing at the gunk on his mouth like an animal. I had used a little too much and it was covering his mouth and nose so that he couldn¡¯t breathe.


    ¡°Shit.¡±


    The shit was really on there; he couldn¡¯t get it off no matter how hard he tried. Death by suffocating felt a little over the top. He was a piece of shit, but he wasn¡¯t fucking Jeffrey Dahmer or anything like that. So I did the nice thing and kicked him in the back of the head, snapping his neck and killing him instantly.


    My mark tickled the entire right half of my body like it was congratulating me on a job well done.


    ¡°Fuck yourself,¡± I said to my marred, blackened hand.


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    <hr>


    Carrot Top didn¡¯t deserve to die. Even if the whole spiel about needing food was a lie ¡ª which may or may not have been the case ¡ª he deserved a thorough ass-whooping at most. That¡¯s what I intended on giving him, but I was reckless. Precision strikes with mounds of goop weren¡¯t exactly easy. Now there was a corpse in front of me, crooked and open-eyed, because I didn¡¯t think before I acted.


    Or was I being manipulated from the inside?


    My next thought had me asking the same question. I realized that I wanted to feel bad about ending the man¡¯s life, but I didn¡¯t ¡ª not really. I didn¡¯t feel anything at all about it. Looking at his lifeless body felt like looking at an opossum that had been hit by a car. There was the slightest tinge of sadness in my chest if I really tried to feel something, but I wouldn¡¯t have a problem walking by it and continuing on with my day. I may not even think about it thirty seconds later.


    Did I not care because he was a piece of shit, or did I not care because of the cancer on my arm?


    After unsticking the corpse¡¯s legs from the ground and carefully storing him in a nearby dumpster, I continued my walk back to the apartment and concluded that it was probably a little bit of both. Up until fairly recently, the thought of killing anyone for any reason was completely ridiculous. I never entertained the thought, not genuinely. But in the last couple of weeks I killed dozens of people ¡ª like, serial killer levels. Did I give a shit?


    It was a peaceful walk under an orange sky. The air already felt palpably warm on my skin. I passed a few early risers walking down the street. A couple of them made eye contact with me and it made me feel like they knew what I had just done, even though that was ridiculous. I upped the speed of my gait until I was at the apartment.


    Anita was already up, sitting on the couch and drinking a cup of black coffee, but Caleb was still in bed. She barely looked in my direction when I came through the door. Moving a little bit closer, I saw that she looked exhausted.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got a couple of potential leads,¡± she said, still looking at the morning news on the TV. ¡°Nothing solid yet, but I¡¯m going to look into them today.¡±


    ¡°I think you might need some sleep first,¡± I said as I took a seat on the couch next to her and propped my feet up on the coffee table. I knew she really was exhausted because she didn¡¯t bitch at me for doing that.


    ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll sleep when I know I¡¯m safe, and that my kids are safe. Not today.¡±


    She didn¡¯t say anything for a moment, and we both just listened to a blonde lady on the TV drone on about a stabbing in a town called Sugar Land.


    ¡°How¡¯s your head?¡± she finally said.


    ¡°Better, I think,¡± I replied. ¡°Nothing for you two to worry about.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not on the top of my list of concerns at the moment, but you did scare the shit out of us. Especially Caleb. The kid thinks you¡¯re Superman, and nobody likes to see Superman vulnerable.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m about the farthest thing from Superman there is,¡± I half-chuckled, half-scoffed.


    ¡°No you¡¯re not.¡±


    It didn¡¯t sound like a compliment. Without saying anything else, she got up, put her empty coffee cup in the sink, and went into her room, closing the door behind her.


    I sat in the living room with only my thoughts and the blonde news lady for company. My mind wandered back to Carrot Top and the unanswered question: did I give a shit about killing people? Would I even care if they were innocent? It was impossible to say, but I couldn¡¯t help but torture myself with the questions. I wished I gave a shit ¡ª did that count?


    I also couldn¡¯t stop thinking about how haggard Anita looked. Newt was dead, and she and Caleb were being hunted, all because of me. There weren¡¯t enough boxing lessons in the world to make me strong enough to save them. Was I really going to let them die to avoid killing other people when I barely even felt bad about it? Was my abstract sense of moral integrity really more important than their lives? Than my own life? I could still act like I gave a shit about the lives of innocent people while killing pieces of shit like Carrot Top, right? What¡¯s wrong with a little vigilante justice that would make me powerful beyond human comprehension and save my family¡¯s lives?


    Who¡¯s thinking these thoughts?

 20a: My Days Were Filled With Boxing

    I watched the news the next few mornings, checked the papers, even looked on the internet, but there was no mention of a ginger man found dead in a dumpster. I wasn¡¯t surprised ¡ª when you¡¯re homeless, most people think that dead in a dumpster is exactly where you belong.


    There was no coverage of the next man I killed either. Or the one after that.


    I laid out a few ground rules for myself before I started my night killings: no slime or sludge ¡ª it would make it too easy for Alec to track me if any of my victims ever made it on the news; the victims have to have committed a violent crime ¡ª it helped me pretend like this was cool; and I¡¯d have to wear a mask ¡ª again, I didn¡¯t want to get caught.


    I still went to my lessons at Knuckleheads too. My days were filled with boxing, and my nights were filled with stalking and murder. I didn¡¯t like many people, but Freddie was a solid guy. For the first week or so, he drilled me on the technicals, but once I knew how to stand and throw a punch, we basically just started beating the shit out of each other for three hours a day. Or, more accurately, I would let him beat the shit out of me.


    ¡°Come on, Big Boy, do somethin¡¯. I ain¡¯t scared of you. Hit me!¡±


    He was getting frustrated by the fact that I was clearly taking it easy on him. I didn¡¯t want to kill the man ¡ª I had enough of that at night ¡ª so I mostly stuck to trying to dodge his punches when we sparred. I never got used to how fast he could move his short, thick limbs. I¡¯d move away from one fist and the other would already be flying at my head. On the third day where I refused to hit him with any more than a light tap, he had had enough of my bullshit.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to hospitalize you again, old man,¡± I said with a cunty grin. I couldn¡¯t pass on such a perfect opportunity to rile him up. He hit me with a nasty three-piece to the face, making my head swing backwards from the force. Those hits were harder than usual; he really meant those.


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    ¡°The fuck is wrong with you?¡± he said, putting his hands down. ¡°You¡¯re a fuckin¡¯ machine with no talent. If I had your chin, I would¡¯ve been king of the damn world. I¡¯ve never seen someone take a beating like you in my life. You ain¡¯t human.¡±


    I knew it was a figure of speech, but my heart sank anyway. The blood drained from my already-pale face, not because of what he said, but because, for a second, I thought about killing him and running away. What the fuck was wrong with me?


    ¡°What the fuck is wrong with you?¡± Freddie said. ¡°You look like I just told you you¡¯re gettin¡¯ shipped off to Vietnam or some shit.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m not human.¡±


    He scrunched up his face like I had just made a corny joke.


    ¡°I think all of those punches you¡¯re eatin¡¯ are gettin¡¯ to you more than I thought. All ¡®I¡¯m not human,¡¯¡± he said in a gruff, mocking tone. ¡°Shut the fuck up.¡± He laughed. I didn¡¯t.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go inside the gym and I¡¯ll prove it to you,¡± I said. We went inside. It was the middle of the day, so nobody else was there for lessons or anything.


    ¡°Hold up your hand,¡± I said. He obliged, and I squirted slime right into his palm. He recoiled and yelled in surprise.


    ¡°Ugh! What is that?! Did you just nut on my hand?!¡± he exclaimed and tried to flick the slime off of his hand. He looked like he wanted to beat the shit out of me.


    ¡°No! What is wrong with you? You just saw it come out of my finger. I can do a lot more than that, but I figured you wanted to keep your property undamaged. I told you, I¡¯m not human. Not anymore, at least.¡± I don¡¯t know why I was confessing everything to him. He didn¡¯t need to know, but the beans just spilled out of me. I recapped the entire story for him, from the moment Mickey pulled out the strange bottle all the way up until I came to Houston. I conveniently left out the part where I had started to kill people in the night ¡ª those beans were staying in the can.


    He maintained the same stank-face throughout my entire story. It was like his brain didn¡¯t want to absorb what I was telling him. It did sound pretty fucking ridiculous, to be fair, but the slime was undeniable, and neither was my strength. Finally, his mind seemed to catch up with reality, and he was able to speak.


    ¡°Damn,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯re gonna have to make some changes to your training routine.¡±

 20b: My Nights Were Filled With Murder

    I left Knuckleheads liking Freddie even more. After the initial shock of getting finger-spunked on, he accepted my insane story wholeheartedly. He even started writing up ideas for training that would be better suited to me. I needed to be ¡°ready for some real shit¡± the next time I came for training, according to him. I wanted to stay longer, just shoot the shit with the guy a little, but it was getting dark, and my mark was getting hungry.


    My next victim was a man named Ben Jarvis, esquire. He was the waxy-faced  lawyer of choice for cartel members all across the state of Texas, representing traffickers of drugs and humans alike and helping them wriggle out of legal action. I saw his face on the side of a bus a few days before and got a terminal case of the heebie-jeebies; he had the dead, perfectly-straight smile of someone who knew right from wrong and chose wrong anyway. It didn¡¯t take much research to find out that my heebie-jeebies were well founded. He was damn near a celebrity in certain circles, lauded online by some of the biggest pieces of shit in the country for his ability to get them out of sticky situations. But he couldn¡¯t wriggle his way out of a meeting with me.


    I waited in the parking lot of Jarvis and Associates . It was a horrendously modern building, three stories of sleek silver, with dark tinted windows that let me see the faintest silhouette of people shuffling back and forth inside. The sky only had a hint of blue left in it, and people started to trickle out of the building. Dozens of drones in gray suits got into their gray BMWs and went to their homes ¡ª which I could only assume were also gray. No sign of Jarvis though, not yet. Some of them gave me dirty looks as they walked by me, and I reckoned I could¡¯ve just killed some of them instead ¡ª my mark wouldn¡¯t give a shit either way ¡ª but it didn¡¯t feel quite right. They weren¡¯t quite shitty enough for me to delude myself into thinking I was right to butcher them. They needed to be really shitty. So I waited.


    An hour went by without anyone else leaving the building. There was only one car left in the parking lot ¡ª not a gray BMW, a gray Rolls Royce ¡ª so I figured it had to belong to Jarvis.


    This was a rare moment where I was able to put both my bum experience and Boy Scout experience to good use: I took the lace out of my shoes, tied them together, tied the joined laces into a slipknot, and fed the knot through the gap in the door until the loop was wrapped around the lock. Then, with one yank, I was able to unlock the door and get inside.


    I laid down in the empty trunk and waited to spring on him like a trapdoor spider. At long last, I looked through the windshield and saw the chubby-cheeked fuck swing the doors of the building open and come out with his arm wrapped around some woman who was half his age and who had twice as much plastic surgery. They looked like two lizards wrestling in the parking lot. He opened the passenger side door and gave the lizard woman an ¡°after you¡± gesture. What a gentleman. He sat in the driver¡¯s seat and took off.


    ¡°Can¡¯t we go out to dinner or something one of these days?¡± the woman said. ¡°Are we just going to screw in your office forever?¡±


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    ¡°Donna, I¡¯ve told you a thousand times: if my wife finds out I¡¯m not working late, she¡¯ll cut my nuts off. I¡¯m serious. So anything you want to do, we have to do it in the office. Got it?¡±


    She responded with an annoyed hmph! and that was the end of their conversation. He dropped her off in front of an apartment building and continued home.


    ¡°Hey Mr. Jarvis!¡± I popped out from the trunk and said in the most chipper voice I could muster. He screamed like a cat whose tail had been stepped on and almost swerved into oncoming traffic.


    ¡°What the fuck are you doing in my car?¡± he yelped.


    ¡°Not much, just needed a warm place to sleep, ya know?¡± I said. ¡°Also, I¡¯d like it if you provided me with a full list of your clients, past and present.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You heard me. Give me a list of every goddamn client you¡¯ve ever had or I¡¯ll put a bullet in the back of your head right now.¡± I pressed my gun against his headrest, pushing the barrel against the cushion hard enough for him to feel it.


    ¡°I can¡¯t do that!¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s against the law!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you could talk your way out of any legal trouble you might get into. You won¡¯t have a chance to do that if you don¡¯t listen to me though.¡± I jammed the gun against the cushion again and he let out a startled whimper.


    ¡°Some of my clients¡­ require complete anonymity. They wouldn¡¯t be happy with me if I just handed you their names.¡±


    I smacked him on the side of the head with the butt of my gun. He made another angry cat sound and tears started to pool on his absurdly high cheekbones.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be pretty fucking unhappy with you if you don¡¯t shut the fuck up and do what I¡¯m telling you to do!¡± I growled. He was pissing me off trying to act like this was a negotiation, but I took a deep breath and decided to play along a little bit.  ¡°Look, I¡¯m not a cop. They won¡¯t have any idea you gave them up. I just need their names, alright? Just print me out a list and we can both pretend like this never happened. Or, you can keep trying to talk and I can blow your fucking brains out right now. Your choice.¡±


    I tried my best to be pragmatic, but the pissed-offedness came back out anyway. I couldn¡¯t help it. Still, my one man Good Cop/Bad Cop routine seemed to work.


    ¡°Ok,¡± he sighed deeply. ¡°I¡¯ll print you out a list.¡±


    He pulled up to a metal gate, typed in a code, and it opened, giving us access to his repulsively lavish mansion. It was fucking ridiculous. The yard looked like it should be in front of the White House and took a full minute to drive down before we actually got to his house, which looked more like a palace. It was five stories high and looked like it would take fifteen minutes to walk from one side to the other. Gaudy Greek pillars and ridiculous golden flourishes on the driveway and the side of the house made me want to puke. He led me inside, up two flights of stairs, and into his office. Everything in the office was dark brown: leather chairs, mahogany floors and a mahogany desk, with only a giant painting of a horse running through a field hung on the wall to break up the monotony. He pressed a button under the desk, and it opened up to reveal a computer monitor, mouse and keyboard.


    ¡°Alright, it¡¯ll just be a second,¡± he said. I grunted and waved my gun around a little to tell him to be quick about it. He typed and clicked feverishly, and after a minute or two there was a faint whirring sound in another room. I followed him to the printing room that was joined to the office, and he handed me a thick stack of paper containing even more than I wanted. Not just names, but phone numbers and addresses too, though I had to assume most of them were fake.


    ¡°Here,¡± he said. ¡°Not please leave, okay?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, no problem. Thanks, bud.¡±


    I said, and shot him between the eyes.

 21a: Are You Trying to Fuckin’ Kill Me, Freddie?!

    There was news coverage of Jarvis¡¯s murder, but with the sort of people he represented, nobody felt like they needed to look into it too much. Occam¡¯s Razor told the police that a cartel member wasn¡¯t satisfied with Jarvis¡¯s services ¡ª Occam¡¯s Razor has never applied to me.


    That¡¯s why, when I signed up for boxing lessons, of course I found the craziest motherfucker in Texas, the land of crazy motherfuckers.


    Freddie was standing in front of the Knuckleheads gym, waiting for me, when I got there the next morning. His arms were crossed and he had a mischievous look on his weathered face.


    ¡°You ready for the first day of your superhero training, Big Boy?¡± he said.


    ¡°Shit, probably not,¡± I said. ¡°Whatever you cook up is liable to get me killed.¡±


    ¡°If I can kill you, then those cultists, or whatever the fuck you said, are gonna chew you up and shit you out.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t wrong, but it didn¡¯t feel good to hear. Thinking about them too hard made me paranoid. The Iron Granny came out of nowhere; the rest of them could show up at any second.


    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s do this.¡± I said.


    He led me the other side of the building, where there was a big patch of land with nothing on it but sand and little tufts of grass, and told me to stand about a hundred feet away from the building. I wasn¡¯t sure what he was up to, but I did what he said. He held up a finger, telling me to wait, and went back around the building. A few seconds later, this fucking lunatic comes driving straight at me in his Ford F-150. I dove out of the way at the absolute last second. My left leg was so close to the tire that dirt flew up into my pants halfway to my ass. He whipped the truck around and faced me like a bull about to charge a matador.


    ¡°Are you trying to fuckin¡¯ kill me, Freddie?!¡± I yelled. He rolled down his window and stuck his head out.


    ¡°Yeah!¡± he said. ¡°I kind of want to see if I can!¡±


    The truck¡¯s tires kicked up a stream of dirt as Freddie came hurtling towards me again. He honked at me repeatedly, whooping and hollering from the driver¡¯s seat. I forced a stream of sludge out of my hands and onto the dirt, but it didn¡¯t travel nearly far enough to stop him before he got to me. I dove out of the way again, but this time he swerved in the same direction and collided with my shoulder, sending me sliding on the ground. I didn¡¯t break anything, but it hurt like hell. There¡¯s a reason people say ¡°I feel like I got hit by a truck¡± when they feel like absolute shit.


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    I got up as quickly as I could, and Freddie was already rearing for the next charge.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t funny, asshole!¡± I shouted as I brushed dirt off my shirt.


    ¡°Ain¡¯t s¡¯posed to be!¡± he shouted back. ¡°I thought you wanted to learn how to fight! The dude¡¯s you¡¯re fighting are closer to a truck than they are to me!¡±


    It was the most batshit insane logic I had ever heard, but I couldn¡¯t argue with it ¡ª partially because it made some sort of sense, and partially because the motherfucker was coming at me again.


    Fuck this. I never knew how many times I¡¯d let someone charge at me with a truck before I¡¯d destroy their vehicle; turns out it¡¯s two. The third time he floored it in my direction, I stuck a finger into each nostril and stuck a booger bomb onto each one of his headlights. They exploded and the engine went silent. He skidded to a halt a few yards away from me. He got out and put his hands on his head in exasperation.


    ¡°What the hell was that?!¡± he said. ¡°You just blew up my car!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯ll teach you to try to run me over,¡± I grumbled.


    Freddie roared with laughter. His whole body heaved up and down like a dryer with a brick in it.


    ¡°Ah, it¡¯s all good. I¡¯ll get another one. That was cool as fuck though. Did those come out of your nose?¡±


    I truly never knew what this man was thinking. I arrive happy to see him, he tries to kill me. I blow up his car, the man laughs. He was truly an anomaly wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a decade of traumatic brain injuries.


    ¡°Good work today, Big Boy. You dodge that car better than my punches. Guess you know how to move quickly when you really need to. New lesson, same time tomorrow. See you then.¡±


    He gave me a reassuring pat on the shoulder. I didn¡¯t know how to respond to that ¡ª or anything else that happened that morning ¡ª so I just turned around and left.


    Anita was in a frenzy when I came back to the apartment. She looked beyond exhausted, and she paced back and forth across the living room, repeating ¡°Holy shit, holy shit,¡± to herself. When she noticed that I¡¯d come through the door, she looked up at me and cackled like a witch.


    ¡°Gus, holy shit,¡± she said, and started cackling again. I was scared. She was acting like she should be wearing a straight jacket. ¡°Holy shit,¡± she said again, and she threw her body onto the couch and almost immediately started snoring. Caleb flushed the toilet down the hall and came into the living room and saw her asleep.


    ¡°About time,¡± he said. ¡°She¡¯d been all ¡®holy shit holy shit¡¯ for like an hour now.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with her?¡± I asked, bewildered by how casual he was acting about our mother¡¯s psychotic episode.


    ¡°Oh, nothing. Not anymore at least,¡± he said. ¡°She¡¯s barely slept since we got here, looking for traces of that symbol, or of anything related to the marks. You¡¯ve been gone a lot, but trust me: she¡¯s been going a little nuts.¡±


    Caleb seemed more confident than he was when we got here just a week or two ago. His hair was properly washed and brushed, and he looked me in the eyes when he spoke. I don¡¯t know what got into him.


    ¡°Nothing¡¯s wrong with her now though?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Nah. She can sleep now that she finally got a lead.¡±

 21b: The Tunnels Under The Tunnels

    ¡°Holy shit, really? She found something out about the cult?¡± I said.


    ¡°Yeah, or she seems to think she found out where we can learn more about them, at least,¡± Caleb said. He went to the fridge and prepared himself a huge bowl of Froot Loops and sat down on the gray loveseat that was pushed up against the left hand wall. He was always eating something. I don¡¯t know how he didn¡¯t weigh four hundred pounds.


    ¡°The Tunnels,¡± he continued with a mouthful of blue mush.


    ¡°The Tunnels? The tunnels under the city with the stores and all that shit?¡± I said. I had never been, but Freddie told me about tunnels under Houston. There wasn¡¯t a whole lot down there, according to him. It was lined with gift shops and restaurants ¡ª not cult memorabilia.


    ¡°No. The other Tunnels,¡± Caleb replied.


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°The Tunnels under The Tunnels is what she called them. She says there¡¯s a secret entrance somewhere in Houston, and that almost nobody knows about them.¡±


    ¡°And she thinks the cult meets up there?¡±


    ¡°No. If they were here, they would¡¯ve found us by now. But she¡¯s tailed three people who have gone into The Tunnels under The Tunnels, and they¡¯ve all been people who are heavily into occult shit.¡±


    ¡°Hey, watch your fuckin¡¯ language,¡± Anita said lazily from the couch, still mostly asleep.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Caleb said, though he didn¡¯t look it. ¡°They¡¯re all heavily into occult crap.¡±


    ¡°So what do we do?¡± I said. ¡°Doesn¡¯t seem like we can just knock on the door.¡±


    ¡°We thought about going in disguised as new recruits,¡± Caleb said, ¡°but it¡¯d take too long to gain their trust enough to be able to ask questions.¡±


    ¡°We?¡±


    Caleb slurped the last bit of milk out of his cereal bowl. ¡°Yeah? Mom and I?¡±


    Until this point, I had never realized just how much Caleb takes after Anita ¡ª way more than I do. Their hair is nearly identical, though Anita always keeps hers in a bun; the way both of them seem to look into you instead of at you was uncanny; he was smart, strategically-minded, and had the drive to help Anita tackle this insane situation we were in. He was everything Anita hoped I would be ¡ª with a few teenage tendencies that she would probably try to iron out in the next few years. And thank god he was. It meant Anita could stop hoping I¡¯d turn my life around and become a lawyer or some shit. Maybe that¡¯s why she¡¯s been so much easier to get along with this time around.


    ¡°But it would probably make more sense for you to go in alone, wouldn¡¯t it?¡± Caleb continued. ¡°If we were caught, we¡¯re dead. If you¡¯re caught, they¡¯re dead.¡±


    He looked at me and the corners of his mouth twitched a little bit. It was a look of admiration and respect ¡ª a look I was not familiar with in the slightest. But I knew there was a twinge of fear in there somewhere too, though, even if he didn¡¯t show it. That was much more familiar.


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    ¡°Depends on how many of them are down there and what they¡¯re capable of,¡± I said. I didn¡¯t want to brag, but he was probably right, as long as everyone down there was still human. ¡°But yeah, you¡¯re right. It should be me.¡±


    ¡°Gonna have to convince mom, since she thinks you¡¯ll fu¡ªI mean screw it up,¡± he said. ¡°I don¡¯t think you will, though. I¡¯ll talk to her.¡±


    Why was he being so nice to me? Since we¡¯ve met, I¡¯ve gotten his ¡ª our ¡ª father killed, had his home destroyed, and now some powerful people probably want him dead. Yet here he was, saying he trusted me and would put in a good word for me with Anita. Why?


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I said, not sure what else to say. It¡¯s not like I exactly wanted to go down into some secret tunnel system full of lunatics, but I appreciated the gesture. Really, I just appreciated the fact that there was someone that liked me and didn¡¯t try to run me over with a fucking truck.


    Caleb got up to put his bowl in the kitchen sink.


    ¡°Ya know,¡± he said while rinsing the milk out of the bowl, ¡°if you¡¯re gonna go around killing criminals, you should probably have a mask or something too. I¡¯m guessing you don¡¯t want to get caught.¡±


    I tensed up hearing him talk about my other life. How did he know? Was he already some sort of master detective, a prodigy trained by Anita since he was born?


    ¡°How do you know about that?¡± I asked.


    ¡°You left the list of names on the end table,¡± he said and sat back down on the loveseat, slinking down until his chin was tucked into his chest. ¡°But unless you¡¯re better at hiding your mask than you are at hiding your hit list, it seems like you¡¯re going out there with your face showing. Probably not a good idea.¡±


    ¡°Nobody that¡¯s seen my face is gonna be talking any time soon,¡± I said. That sounded way cooler than I meant it to. Caleb smiled, a full, genuine smile that time.


    ¡°Still,¡± he said, ¡°might as well not take the chance, right?¡±


    ¡±I kind of feel like you just want to dress me up as a superhero,¡± I said.


    His smile quickly changed to a look of embarrassment. His cheeks turned red and he stopped looking me in the eyes. I really have a way with people, don¡¯t I?


    ¡°Fuck it, let¡¯s go costume shopping,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m not wearing any goddamn underwear outside of my pants though, got it?¡±


    ¡°Language!¡± Anita yelled again, still half-asleep on the couch. She must¡¯ve thought Caleb said it, because she gave up on trying to get me to stop cussing before I started middle school.


    ¡°We don¡¯t need to go shopping,¡± Caleb said, ¡°I already got it for you.¡±


    He slid off the couch, went to his room and came back with a bundle of clothes; there was a black hoodie, black jeans, black sneakers, and a black mask. It was made of a thick plastic, or maybe fiberglass, and had two big holes to see out of and six smaller holes near the mouth to breathe from.


    ¡°I thought about a fencing mask instead, but figured a hockey mask would be easier to take on and off, in case you ever need to blend into a crowd,¡± he said. ¡°Everything else is just black clothes from Wal-Mart. No outside underwear.¡±


    I immediately stripped down to my boxers and put the outfit on. Caleb looked a little uncomfortable. I was far from modest, but not because I had a body worth showing off. My bones stick out more than they should, especially my ribs and shoulder blades, and I have a nasty scar starting near my left kidney and ending right above my ass cheek from a close call with a crust punk who thought I wanted to fuck his girl. Fortunately for Caleb, I got the clothes on quickly, including the mask.


    ¡°Damn,¡± he said quietly, ¡°you look like you¡¯re ready to rob a bank.¡±


    I went to the bathroom to look in the mirror, and Caleb followed behind. I felt fucking ridiculous, walking around with a hockey mask on. Concealing my face didn¡¯t seem like a bad idea though. All of my victims had been fairly small-time so far, but that might change as I work my way down the list. Some of these people will definitely have protection with them, and if one of them got away, they could tell the rest what I looked like.


    ¡°Thanks, Caleb,¡± I said to him. I really tried to sound friendly, but I felt like I sounded like a hooker saying ¡®I love you¡¯.


    ¡°No problem,¡± he replied. ¡°Hopefully mom gets up soon so we can work out a game plan.¡±


    We went back to the living room, and Anita was off the couch, sitting at the dining table, looking as serious as ever. She had taken a thirty-minute nap and was ready for action once again. She had a binder on the table in front of her, and she flipped it open.


    ¡°You guys get over here,¡± she said. ¡°Here¡¯s what we¡¯re gonna do.¡±

 22a: I Wasnt Doing the Big Man Upstairs Any Favors

    I felt like a fucking moron, in The Tunnels, standing in front of a store full of useless knick-knacks, handing out pamphlets about our lord and savior Jesus Christ. I wasn¡¯t doing the big man upstairs any favors. I think I might have actually converted a few people to Hinduism after they saw me as a representative of the Abrahamic religions. One old woman actually full-speed ran away from me, picking up her cane, as soon as I made eye contact with her. I did this for nearly four hours and nobody reacted much better.


    But one person was very intrigued by me. They didn¡¯t look particularly abnormal ¡ª I probably wouldn¡¯t have been able to pick them out of a crowd ¡ª but I knew immediately he was who I was looking for just by the way he met my eyes. Plus, Anita had given me a description of him: dirty blonde hair, green eyes, pale skin, and a mole right on the tip of his nose. He almost stopped in his tracks when he saw me, like I was a hot babe in an 80s movie.


    ¡°How¡¯s it going?¡± I said and tried to force a smile. ¡°Have you been saved by our lord Jesus Christ?¡±


    He smiled a wide smile to reveal a set of perfectly-crafted veneers that were blindingly white.


    ¡°Saved in what way?¡± he said wryly. He glanced down at my mark, just for a split second.


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    ¡°Uhhh¡­ saved from sin and eternal damnation?¡± I said. I didn¡¯t know much about Christianity, but that sounded right to me. The man laughed.


    ¡°You don¡¯t sound too sure,¡± he said. ¡°Are you unsure that someone ¡ª or something ¡ª is capable of saving you, or do you not want to be saved?¡±


    I tried to think of something witty to say in response, but he continued talking before I had the chance to come up with something.


    ¡°As a matter of fact, I have been saved,¡± he said, ¡°but I¡¯m worried that you haven¡¯t been, not really. A real follower of Christ doesn¡¯t stand on the corner trying to scare people with threats of eternal damnation if they don¡¯t submit to him. Jesus is about love for your fellow man. I run a little Bible study group that meets twice a week not far from here. I¡¯d love it if you came to the next meeting.¡± He handed me a business card that said ¡°Righteous Readings With Gerald Banks: Wednesdays and Sundays | 9:30pm | Fatty¡¯s Tacos in The Tunnels.¡±


    ¡°Thank you sir,¡± I folded the card and tucked it into my pocket. ¡°I¡¯d be glad to join you. I¡¯m always looking for new friends of the Lord.¡±


    He laughed. ¡°So am I. What¡¯s your name, by the way?¡±


    ¡°Derrick, Derrick Flemmings,¡± I lied.


    ¡°Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Flemmings. See you tonight.¡± Gerald shook my hand and resumed his walking. It had felt like an eternity, standing her attempting to hand out pamphlets, but it had worked like a charm, just as Anita said it would.

 22b: We Know What You Are

    I arrived at Fatty¡¯s Tacos at 9:30pm on the dot. There was a closed sign hanging on the door, but I opened it anyway and saw a group of ten or so men sitting around three tables that were pushed together. They all wore white dress shirts and had neatly combed hair, except for Gerald. He wore the black clergy robes with gold accents running down the middle.


    ¡°You made it!¡± he said when he saw me come through the doors. The faint smell of ground beef and cumin wafted through the air, and seemed to get stronger as I approached the table to sit down.


    ¡±Yep,¡± I grumbled, pulling a chair out. Its legs screeched against the white tile floor. ¡°Just wanna learn more about Jesus.¡±


    ¡±Of course, of course,¡± Gerald smiled, and the rest of the group followed his lead. Aside from Gerald, everyone else sitting at the table had smooth, bald heads, giving them a uniform, serpentine look. Their crooked smiles didn¡¯t make them look any more appealing. I pretended not to notice.


    ¡±Before we begin our lesson, though,¡± Gerald started, ¡°I was curious about the tattoo on your hand. Did you get that recently?¡±


    He went to grab my hand for examination, but I yanked it away. Shit. I don¡¯t think Anita¡¯s plan had gone as flawlessly as we thought ¡ª or maybe it had. I never know with that woman. Her plan could have very well been to get me killed. My heart thumped in my ears, but I maintained a look of calm ignorance.


    ¡±Yeah, not too long ago,¡± I said. ¡°Got too drunk one night and told the guy at the tattoo parlor to make my arm look like a lava lamp. Stupid, I know. It¡¯s one of the reasons I¡¯ve found God ¡ª I haven¡¯t had a drink in over two weeks.¡± Damn, I almost impressed myself with that lie. I hadn¡¯t even planned it ¡ª just made it up on the spot.


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    ¡°Cut the bullshit, Derrick,¡± Gerald said in a raspy whisper. The other men around us cackled in unison with their hands over their mouths. Seeing a group of men do something in unison like that was enough to send a shiver down my spine. It¡¯s why I never watched synchronized diving.


    ¡°Do you really think we thought you were handing out pamphlets in good faith?¡± Gerald continued. ¡°If we did, we would¡¯ve slit your throat already. But we know what you are. We¡¯ve read all about you. Or, we hope we have at the very least. We will see soon enough. Come with us, to the walk-in freezer.¡±


    Gerald stood up unreasonably quickly, which startled me, and his gang of silent, bald creeps stood up in the same way a second later. They formed a single file line behind their leader, which sort of reminded me of a kindergarten class, and walked through a swinging side door into the restaurant¡¯s kitchen. Against my better judgment, I followed.


    We passed towers of tortillas and refrigerators full of varieties of salsas until we made it to the back of the kitchen, where a heavy door with a latch across the middle sat before us. Gerald unlatched it with a ceremonious flick of the wrist, and a blast of cold hit me, even from a few feet away.


    The freezer was almost entirely full of icy boxes of ground beef, shredded chicken, and carne asada, but there was a narrow path down the middle that we could walk through one at a time. I followed the bald creeps from the back of the line, freezing my ass off, wondering if I was willingly walking to my death.


    Thinking about what they said to me, I took solace in one thing: they read about me, but hadn¡¯t been told about me, so they must only know about my mark through whatever fucked-up books they keep in their tunnels. They wouldn¡¯t try to kill me immediately, I didn¡¯t think. They weren¡¯t friends of Alec or his buddies, but they could have information about the mark and who created them.


    So when Gerald moved a stack of meat boxes to reveal a trapdoor, I followed them down.

 23a: You Appear, Like an Answer to Our Prayers

    These tunnels were nothing like the ones we were just in. They were much more narrow, claustrophobic, and looked like they hadn¡¯t been properly maintained in at least a century. Dirty, rough brick threatened to scrape each of my shoulders as I walked, and Gerald had to grab a torch to light our way through. I regretted my decision to go through that trapdoor immediately.


    We walked for at least fifteen minutes through identical-looking tunnel ¡ª dark, damp, and red. The people in front of me didn¡¯t say a word. If I couldn¡¯t see their figures in the shifting flame, I wouldn¡¯t have even known they were there. I started to feel like I was going insane, that I would walk through these tunnels for the rest of eternity, when we finally arrived at a set of double wooden doors that took up the space in front of us. Gerald knocked on them with the butt of his torch, and they slowly creaked open, pulled by two more crooked-toothed baldies.


    The chamber had better lighting, at least. That was about the only superlative I could give it though. Actually, I might¡¯ve liked the dark, cramped tunnels better. Torches lined the walls of the chamber, and a huge fire contained in a black bowl illuminated the middle of the room. Forty or so baldies sat in a circle around it, and the ones that had accompanied us shuffled to join them. Gerald and I were the only ones still standing up.


    ¡°Welcome to our little clubhouse!¡± Gerald said in a commanding voice, addressing the whole chamber. ¡°We¡¯ve been hoping, praying that someone like you would come along some day. We have studied the occult, the dark arts, and the forbidden magicks for years, but, until today, not had any tangible proof of their existence. And then, you appear, like an answer to our prayers, searching for us only a short walk from our headquarters.  You have dark magick inside of you, don¡¯t you, Derrick?¡±


    This was going so much better than I thought. I wouldn¡¯t have been surprised if they started fuckin¡¯ bowing to me at this point. I decided to play along a little. I held up my arm and pulled down my sleeve to show more of my mark.


    ¡°Yes, yes I do!¡± I said proudly, then shot a glob of slime into the fire, causing it to flare up and touch the ceiling. The baldies smiled like children having a coin pulled from behind their ears. Gerald smiled too and turned to his minions.


    ¡°You see that? The Others have finally answered our calls, and sent one of their own! Here he is! Derrick Flemmings: our Messiah!¡±


    The baldies all started slapping the stone floor and chanting something in Latin. God, I fucking hated them. I needed them to like me though, so I shot some more slime into the fire, making it roar wildly and almost scorch all of their shiny white scalps. They laughed and clapped with delight.


    ¡°What do you know about my mark?¡± I turned to Gerald and asked. ¡°Why should I allow you all to follow me?¡±


    ¡°In all of our reading, we have not seen a mark exactly like yours, but it is clear that it¡¯s extremely powerful, and certainly not divine,¡± Gerald started. ¡°We have come across accounts of something similar, once or twice, but anyone who was imbued with its power was devoured by it within days, or even hours. We¡¯ve never heard of someone harnessing dark magick the way you have while preserving your life, let alone your mental faculties. You are truly remarkable, Lord Derrick.¡±


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    Lord Derrick? Give me a fuckin¡¯ break.


    ¡°Yeah, I know,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m pretty goddamn great. Now can you point me to where you read about all of this? Is there a library in here or something?¡±


    Gerald seemed taken aback by my sudden change in my tone, but he didn¡¯t say anything about it. ¡°Yes, it¡¯s down that hall over there, just past the bathrooms.¡±


    ¡°Cool.¡±


    I walked to the other side of the chamber towards the hallway, walked past the bathrooms, and found a set of doors with a sign that said ¡°Library¡± in ridiculous old-timey font above them. They opened with a deep groan.


    The library was almost twice the size of the chamber I was just in, and rows of old books took up a majority of the space. An old man with the worst hunchback I had ever seen in my life scurried towards me, alarmed.


    ¡°Who are you?!¡± he grumbled angrily. I could barely hear a word he said, but he sounded pissed.


    ¡°I¡¯m the new Messiah. Just got in.¡± I pulled up my sleeve again to show off my mark and shot some slime at a nearby torch. ¡°I need any book you have about my dark magick or whatever the hell you want to call it.¡±


    The old man¡¯s mouth hung open for a moment while he was processing everything that just happened. His face went from a look of bewilderment, to anger, to suspicion, and back to bewilderment in the span of about five seconds. He held up a finger, acted like he was about to say something, but then turned around and disappeared into the book stacks.


    I sat there, tapping my foot on the floor, and Gerald came through the library door behind me.


    ¡°You seem very curious about your abilities,¡± he said. ¡°Is that why you sought us out? Do you not know what you have here?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, pretty much,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ve gotten a lot of practical experience with it, but no real knowledge about what¡¯s on my arm.¡±


    ¡°How fascinating,¡± he said. ¡°You were chosen by fate and not through your own efforts, it seems. I think fate may have led you here, to me, as well.¡±


    ¡°No, we found you.¡± I said. ¡°I guess you¡¯re not as secretive as you thought.¡±


    The slightest hint of irritation flashed in his eyes. ¡°We? Who else is helping you?¡±


    ¡°My, uhhhh, disciples,¡± I said. ¡°I have two of them. Maybe you¡¯ll meet them soon.¡±


    He grinned. Gerald always looked like he was up to no good, but he looked like he was up to even less good when he grinned. ¡°Well, now you have forty-seven more, including me. Ah! Darius is coming!¡±


    The old man shuffled towards us, looking like he was going to tip over from the weight of the books in his arms. He threw them down onto a square table a few feet in front of us and wheezed.


    ¡°Here they are, my lord,¡± he said. ¡°I have never seen anything quite like it, so I grabbed any book that might have something resembling your gift.¡±


    ¡°Thanks.¡± I grabbed the books and shouldered the library door open. ¡°I¡¯ll have these back to y¡¯all soon.¡±


    Darius skittered after me. ¡°These texts are not allowed outside of these halls!¡± he said.


    ¡°Who¡¯s the goddamn Messiah around here?¡± I said. I snorted a small booger against the wall and it exploded to emphasize my point. Gerald and Darius both jumped and yelped.


    ¡°Apologies for the old man¡¯s behavior, my lord,¡± Gerald said. ¡°He¡¯s stuck in his ways. Take them if you¡¯d like. We will be here waiting for you.¡±


    ¡°Cool,¡± I said.


    I went through the main chamber and out of the big wooden doors without saying anything to the baldies, climbed back into the Fatty¡¯s Taco¡¯s freezer, and got the hell out of those tunnels.


    <hr>


    I scattered the old books onto the dining table in the apartment. Anita and Caleb hovered over them, looking almost afraid to touch them. Eventually, Anita gingerly picked one up at random ¡ª a black leather tome with a silver star on the front cover. She opened it up and quickly closed it. She grabbed the others and did the same.


    ¡°Gus, you idiot,¡± she said, and pinched her nose bridge between her fingers.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°These are all in Latin.¡±

 23b: Holy Shit, Pretty Cool, Right?

    Mother Dora was at our door the next morning after Anita called her for help. I tried to tell her that we really did not need to add a psychic to our motley crew, but, to my surprise, the old fraud could actually read Latin. She opened one of the books and flipped through the pages intently, her brow furrowing more and more as she made her way through the book. Occasionally, she¡¯d let out an ¡°oh!¡± or an ¡°I see, I see,¡± until she slammed the book shut and laid it back on the table.


    ¡°So, what did you learn?¡± Anita asked her.


    ¡°Not much,¡± she replied. ¡°Not much that could help you, anyway. Like I said before, you are fucked. That has not changed.¡± She looked at me. She wore a flowy purple dress and earrings that were shaped like bloodshot eyeballs. ¡°I don¡¯t think your disciples know what they¡¯re talking about. I don¡¯t know how in the world they managed to get their hands on books like these, and in such good condition...¡± Her voice trailed off at the end.


    She picked up another old leather tome ¡ª a wrinkled black book with faded red lettering on the front that I couldn¡¯t read ¡ª and flipped through it. She seemed more interested in reading the books than actually helping me. I tried to ask her again if she had found anything, but each time I would try to speak, she¡¯d put a finger in my face and say ¡°No talking!¡± Luckily for her, Anita taught me to never hit women ¡ª unless they were shooting iron balls at my head.


    We all sat patiently as she looked through the old books, tapping our feet, twiddling our thumbs, and jumping with anticipation every time she made a sound. But after the fourth finger in my face, I couldn¡¯t take it anymore. I snatched the book from her hand and she let out a startled shout like I had just shaken her awake from a vivid dream. Her wrinkled face contorted into a grimace in my direction. She clearly thought about trying to snatch the book back from me, but knew there was no point.


    ¡°You seriously don¡¯t have anything to tell us yet?¡± I said. She looked at the book, not at me, when she talked.


    ¡°I do not have any answers for you, no,¡± she said. ¡°There is nothing like your mark in them, only things that bear slight similarities. Slight similarities.¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡± Caleb asked with bright-eyed fascination. It sort of annoyed me sometimes how much he enjoyed all of this. He acted like we were all in a movie or some shit. I didn¡¯t want to be the one to break his blissful childhood ignorance, though. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°Well, there was something in the previous book about a summoning ritual that can fuse a human¡¯s soul with the soul of a demon, giving them great and evil power,¡± she waved her hands around and bulged her eyes out like she was telling a ghost story. ¡°But the demon soul would inevitably conquer the human soul within a day or two. There¡¯s a section in this one that details the process of using an enchanted earwig to heighten a person¡¯s senses and reflexes, and something about cutting scars in a certain pattern on a person¡¯s flesh to imbue them with magic, but nothing about  growing tattoos or spraying gunk from your pores.¡±


    ¡°Hmmm,¡± Anita said, ¡°so the mark is a recent invention, too new to be in any of these old books?¡±


    ¡°Or too old,¡± Mother Dora replied. The room went silent. While I was stewing in the tension, Mother Dora snatched the book from my hand and resumed her reading. I left her to it, hoping that she would manage to do something useful for once if I gave her enough time.


    Caleb, Anita and I sat in plastic chairs on the back patio to get away from Mother Dora¡¯s oohs and aahs. We all had our substances of choice: Anita pulled on a Marlboro Red and exhaled from her nose, I took swigs from a 40oz Miller High Life, and Caleb was in the process of scarfing down a tower of at least fifty Tyson chicken nuggets. It was cooler than usual, so it wasn¡¯t complete hell sitting outside while the sun was out. I was actually enjoying it, but there was a hint of sadness on Caleb and Anita¡¯s faces. Anita was pulling on her cigarette like she was scheduled for execution in the next minute-and-a-half, and Caleb looked into the distance wistfully as he stuffed breaded chicken into his mouth. What the hell was wrong with them?


    ¡°Quiet moments like this, I can¡¯t help but think of Newt,¡± Anita said, as if she read my mind. ¡°He loved sitting on the porch with us, sipping his coffee and talking about his model trains.¡±


    ¡°He never shut up about his trains. Used to drive me crazy,¡± Caleb said with a nugget tucked into the side of his mouth, not turning to look at anyone.


    I didn¡¯t feel anything for Newt ¡ª my own dad ¡ª which made me feel like an asshole.


    I was tempted to make something up, to try to sound like a normal person capable of empathy, but screaming from Mother Dora saved me from having to do that. Thank fucking God.


    We sprung up and ran into the apartment. Blood dripped from Mother Dora¡¯s left palm and pooled on the dining table, but she wasn¡¯t screaming from the pain. There was happiness in her voice. She turned her bloody palm over so that it was facing the table, and the cascading blood stopped mid air, like it was suspended in zero gravity. She waved her hand around the blood on the table and it collected itself into a perfect sphere that she turned over and held like a baseball. She looked at us and smiled proudly.


    ¡°Holy shit,¡± she said. ¡°Pretty cool, right?¡±


    Only Caleb seemed to agree with her. Anita looked horrified at the sight of the blood ball, and I was wondering if I was going to have to fight a half-demon, half-idiot.

 23c: Absolutely Not! | No Fucking Way!

    Mother Dora realized that I was staring her down like she was a grizzly bear taking refuge in our kitchen, and the smile vanished from her face. She put the blood ball back inside of her hand, a sight that made us all wince. Seeing blood flow back into someone¡¯s body felt unnatural, and it flowed slowly, forcing itself through the thin slits in her hands in a way that sent visceral shivers down my spine. She scoffed at my continued glare.


    ¡°Calm down, slime boy,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m still Mother Dora. No demon here. Jeesh, you¡¯re touchy.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me for being a little on edge when someone starts doing satanic rituals in my fucking kitchen,¡± I said. ¡°What made you think that was a good idea, anyway?¡±


    ¡°The book said ¡®No Demon Soul Binding Required¡¯ and I had an academic curiosity,¡± Mother Dora shrugged.


    ¡°So there was no trade-off for this ritual? No sacrifice? No nothing? Are you sure you read that ancient Latin properly?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± she said, clearly offended that I¡¯d even suggest such a thing. ¡°It required a very small sacrifice. A minuscule one. Luckily for me you guys have waterbugs.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t noticed, but there was a cockroach laying belly-up on the table. It looked like it had been dried out, like all of its insides had been sucked out so that it was just a hollow shell of chitin.


    ¡°One roach soul for the ability to control blood?¡± I asked.


    ¡°One roach soul to control a handful of my own blood,¡± she replied. ¡°Still, a pretty good deal if you ask me.¡± She extruded the blood back out of the slits in her hands and started playing with it again like it was some sort of loose Play-Doh.


    I had seen a lot of blood flowing out of people lately, but something about watching someone playing with their own blood, smiling widely as they stretched it into different shapes, made me want to puke. I was overcome with disgust at the depraved act. Was this how people felt when they saw slime oozing from my hands?


    Caleb had maintained his doe-eyed stare the entire time we had been in the apartment watching this crazy old woman play with her own blood.


    ¡°Can you teach me how to do it? I think we have another roach around here somewhere,¡± he said.


    ¡°Absolutely not!¡± ¡°No fucking way!¡± Anita and I both exclaimed at the same time. We were so loud that Caleb jumped in surprise. Anita looked at me and nodded. I¡¯m not sure why she was surprised that I didn¡¯t want Caleb to fuck around with demon magic, but it was good to know she approved of something I did, I guess.


    ¡°This is too dangerous for you, little boy,¡± Mother Dora said, much to our relief. ¡°Maybe if you learn Latin and understand the flow of magical energy throughout the universe, you may learn some day.¡± We didn¡¯t like that second part quite as much.


    ¡°Really?¡± Caleb said. ¡°Can you teach me?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely fucking not!¡± I repeated. ¡°Caleb, you don¡¯t want to get caught up in this shit. Trust me. This isn¡¯t a movie. This isn¡¯t a video game. These are curses, and they come straight for you fucking soul. It¡¯ll eat you alive and you won¡¯t just be doomed until you die ¡ª you¡¯ll be doomed forever.¡±


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.It was a bit dramatic, I¡¯ll admit, but I really wanted to scare the little fucker away from this stuff.


    ¡°I think that cockroach was the one that got doomed forever, not Mother Dora,¡± he said. Caleb was a dangerous combination of intelligent and immature ¡ª intelligent enough to immediately see how the magic worked, even with very little information to go on, but too immature to realize how slippery this slope was.


    ¡°Mother Dora, I think you need to leave,¡± Anita said. It seemed we had come to the same conclusion.


    Mother Dora squinted at us, seething at our suggestion. She put the blood back in her hand and the slits closed up so that they looked like day-old scars.


    ¡°You still don¡¯t have your answers though, do you?¡± she said. ¡°And there¡¯s an entire library down there, right? A library that these cultists clearly do not know how to utilize. Let me go down there, and I will find the answers you seek, if there are any. If you rely on the fools that are already down there, you¡¯ll never find anything.¡±


    Damn it, she was right. They had had these books for god knows how long ¡ª years at least ¡ª and were never able to accomplish anything, while Mother Dora completed a ritual after having just a few books for an hour. Clearly, whoever was supposed to be translating these books down there was not doing a very good job.


    ¡°Alright,¡± I conceded, ¡°we¡¯ll bring you to the library, but if we catch wind of you teaching Caleb anything, I¡¯ll blow your fucking head off. I don¡¯t want to see you sliding him anything to read, giving him any covert instructions; I don¡¯t want to see you helping him with his goddamn algebra homework. Got it?¡±


    ¡°Jeez Louise, slime boy, take it easy,¡± she said. She held up her hands like I was pointing a gun at her. ¡°Caleb can remain ignorant. Just take me to the library.¡±


    I hesitated for a moment, but agreed to take her. I didn¡¯t feel like I had much of a choice, really. Despite all of the signs pointing to her being a fraud, she really did seem to have some grasp of the occult beyond anyone else I¡¯ve met ¡ª anyone else that¡¯s willing to help me, anyway. And if she decides to become a demon witch or some shit, I¡¯ll just have to kill her. She wouldn¡¯t be the craziest motherfucker I¡¯ve tussled with this year.


    I told her I would take her to the Tunnels that night, when everyone else will be there, and I headed out the door. That was a lot to take in all at once. Even after all of the fucked up shit I¡¯ve seen recently, that small act of demon magic still repulsed me. It was a repulsion that I could feel deep in my id, like all of my ancestors were shouting out ¡°What the fuck are you doing? Get the fuck out of there, moron!¡± from the great beyond. Did everyone else feel that? If Caleb did, he was good at hiding it. If he didn¡¯t, that didn¡¯t seem like a good sign.


    I desperately needed a break from all of that demon shit. Thank fuck for my boxing lessons ¡ª my only reprieve. I never thought I¡¯d be so happy to hang out with a guy who tried to run me over with a truck.

 24a: We’re Gonna Make Some Changes Around Here

    I wasn¡¯t sure we could even call them boxing lessons at this point. The next lesson consisted of flipping a concrete-filled tractor tire ten times around the entire perimeter of Knuckleheads and dodging slightly-blunted bolts from a crossbow. Freddie had basically lost his mind the second I told him about my powers, it seems, but it was a nice distraction from the other insane shit that was going on in my life.


    Until I told him about the insane shit that was going on in my life.


    After the way he responded to me having magical powers, I honestly thought I could tell Freddie anything. But when I casually mentioned that I had found a demonic cult that thought of me as their messiah, he lost his shit.


    ¡°Oh Hell no,¡± he said quietly, through gritted teeth. ¡°You let them believe that?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I need their help,¡± I said, taken aback by the pure anger in his tone. ¡°It¡¯s not like I¡¯m actually their messiah. Jesus, Freddie. Calm down.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t say His name, Gus. Don¡¯t ever say His name again. Jesus will forgive you for almost anything, but there are some things that are unforgivable. Becoming the leader of a bunch of devil worshippers is one of those things. What you¡¯ve done is irredeemable. Get the fuck out of my gym.¡±


    I like to think I have some thick skin, but the vitriol and disgust coming from someone I thought of as a friend just minutes before hurt me deeply. Even more than usual, I felt like an animal, or a monster. He was right. I was irredeemable.


    Nothing I said could have been right in that moment. I wanted to say sorry, but it was clear it wouldn¡¯t matter, even if I meant it. So I just turned around and started to walk out of the gym.


    But what if he tells on me?


    Would Freddie report me to the police? Would he seek out Alec and point him at me? Point him at my family?


    I couldn¡¯t let him do that.


    I turned around to tell him that if he ever gave me up, I¡¯d remove his fucking head from his neck, but he was gone. He¡¯d gone out the side door.


    Fuck.


    He was already swerving onto the road in his brand new Ford F-150 when I got outside. I was fast, but I couldn¡¯t outrun a truck. I could¡¯ve done something ¡ª slicked the road with slime so he would crash, throw a booger bomb through his window ¡ª something. But I didn¡¯t want to, and the hesitation lasted long enough for him to speed out of sight.


    My guts twisted and churned as I made my way through the Fatty¡¯s Taco freezer and into the chamber with Mother Dora. She didn¡¯t seem to notice my discomfort, and was hardly trying to contain her giddiness. So far, she hadn¡¯t done any more blood magic in our apartment, but I had a feeling that would change about thirty seconds after she entered the library. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    It was a Wednesday afternoon, not one of the cult¡¯s scheduled meeting times, so the only people there were Gerald and Darius, who were both in the library and were startled by our entrance.


    ¡°Hello, master,¡± Gerald said. Darius looked away from us and grumbled something under his breath. ¡°Uhhh¡­ who is this?¡± Gerald continued.


    ¡°Someone who actually sort of knows what the fuck they¡¯re doing,¡± I said. ¡°How long have you guys had these books? And you couldn¡¯t find a hint of tangible magic in them? Mother Dora here was making her blood float around my house after fifteen minutes.¡±


    Gerald was shocked, and Darius was suddenly interested in the conversation.


    ¡°Really?¡± Darius said. ¡°From which book?¡±


    Mother Dora looked happier than a pig in shit. With a smarmy smile, she took one of the books from under her arm and put it on Darius¡¯s desk. She flipped to the page with the ritual and placed her finger on it just in case we were too stupid to realize that this was the page she used.


    ¡°Holy shit. I thought this was a recipe for blood sausage!¡± Darius said.


    ¡°Jesus Christ, dude. What kind of fuckin¡¯ satanic historian are you?¡± I said. They acted like I had just called their mothers cunts or something.


    ¡°We don¡¯t say that word here,¡± Gerald said. His pale face suddenly looked a lot more rodent-like.


    ¡°I say whatever the fuck I want here,¡± I said. ¡°Or do you plan on doing something about it?¡±


    Thanks to the black robes and the overall musty smell of the tunnels, I couldn¡¯t tell you for sure that Gerald shit his pants, but I wouldn¡¯t have been surprised. He jumped up like something was trying to spring from his asshole at the very least.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry sir. I don¡¯t know what got into me. I¡¯ve been leading this group for a long time. I guess I got used to it.¡±


    ¡°Well, better get unused to it,¡± I said. ¡°You¡¯re fourth place around here now. I¡¯m first, Mother Dora¡¯s my lieutenant, Darius is Speaker for the House, and you¡¯re whatever they call fourth place.¡±


    ¡°What? Darius is ahead of me? Why?¡± Gerald asked with a hint of indignation in his voice. ¡°I¡¯ve been the leader here for nearly a decade. He just keeps the books. He couldn¡¯t even tell the difference between a blood manipulation spell and a blood sausage!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well neither could you,¡± I said, ¡°and he¡¯s not a little kiss-ass. You¡¯re only fourth until I realize I like one of the baldies better than you.¡±


    I took great joy in seeing Gerald become progressively more pissed off at me, his pale face turning pink, then red, and a vein throbbing over his left eyebrow. Was I taking out my frustration about Freddie out on Gerald? Yeah, probably. I just wanted to punch something, and Gerald was a great punching bag.


    Darius and Mother Dora were much happier about my rankings. Darius, being at least twenty years older than Gerald, had clearly felt like he¡¯d been getting the short end of the stick around here for years, that his knowledge had been going underappreciated. I didn¡¯t appreciate it either, but he didn¡¯t irritate me as much as the other freaks that dwelled down here.


    ¡°Alright, Mother Dora,¡± I continued, ¡°have at it.¡± I waved my hand vaguely at the bookshelves. ¡°Darius can help you out. He at least knows the titles of the books, I hope.¡±


    Darius was thrilled to be helping someone who could actually do magic for a change. ¡°Of course! I know what I call them, at least!¡± He chuckled, and he led Mother Dora to what he called the ¡°Torture and Mutilation Section¡±. So it was just me and Gerald, standing awkwardly in front of Darius¡¯s empty desk. He looked at me with apprehension, like someone who was about to get into a wrestling ring with a grizzly bear.


    ¡°Gus, lord,¡± he said. His voice was shaking. ¡°I really think you should reconsider the rankings. Darius, while experienced, is quite elderly, and is prone to lapses in memory, so giving him any sort of power could result in ¡ª¡±


    ¡°When do the baldies meet here again?¡± I asked, barely registering that he was talking. Something about the way he spoke just made me want to ignore him. ¡°I need to talk to them.¡± I sniffed the air and wiped a line of dust off of the side of a bookshelf with my finger.


    ¡°We¡¯re gonna make some changes around here.¡±

 24b: Oh, We’re Not Bald

    Gerald reluctantly pulled out his phone and typed out a quick message. Within fifteen minutes, there were at least fifty baldies gathered in the main chamber, staring at me with dewey, unthinking eyes. Where did these drones go when they weren¡¯t here? Did they have day jobs? I couldn¡¯t imagine any of them manning the Cookout drive thru or installing someone¡¯s internet. Then I thought of them all sitting at a long table for a corporate meeting ¡ª that seemed to fit a little better. I would¡¯ve been shocked if they were anything but businessmen.


    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s get down to business,¡± I said. ¡°I, as your unholy messiah of darkness or whatever the fuck you want to call me, declare that there will be some changes made around here. I¡¯ve already informed Gerald that he has been demoted to fourth in command, and he will be assisting Mother Dora and Darius, who are now second and third in command.¡±


    There were some murmurs amongst the baldies ¡ª murmurs that vaguely sounded like disapproval. I guess they liked Gerald for some reason, and didn¡¯t like him being made subservient to an old man and a woman they had never met before. Mother Dora stood to my right, smiled and waved, showing the crowd the red rune still cut into her hand.


    ¡°Shut the fuck up!¡± I yelled. The sound echoed through the tunnels, and they all stopped murmuring at once. ¡°I¡¯m going to be as straightforward as possible with you guys: I¡¯m not the only person like me out there. The others want me dead. They can¡¯t stand the idea of a lowlife like me harnessing their power. They have already tried to kill me twice, and both times, I whooped their asses. But they¡¯re still out there, and they will be coming for me again. And if they know that you know about them, they¡¯ll come for you too. I don¡¯t know when, and I don¡¯t know how many, so we must be ready. We need more people, and you all need to learn to fight. You need to learn how to kill. If we come out of this alive, there will be nobody left to stop us. We could take over the fucking world if we wanted. So, are you guys ready for some real fuckin¡¯ dark magic?¡±


    I hardly knew what the hell I was saying, to be honest. It all sounded so inauthentic coming out of my mouth. I wasn¡¯t some badass that took on a gang of superhumans by myself. I barely got out of those fights alive, and that was with a lot of help. I didn¡¯t know how we were going to turn these guys into fighters either. I just told them what I thought they wanted to hear, and it worked. At first, they were dead silent. Then they started chanting quietly ¡ª some weird shit I couldn¡¯t understand, as they tend to do. The chanting built up until they were yelling, some screeching like chimps, others grunting like apes. Equally intense feelings of revulsion and secondhand embarrassment made me want to look away, but I forced myself to keep facing them, and I forced myself to throw a fist into the air. I was glad they liked me, I guess.


    Darius sat to my left in a ragged black leather chair he dragged out from the library. He looked amused, like he was watching a TV show and somebody had just been shot. Gerald stood off to the side, keeping distance from me, looking into my eyes with no expression on his face. I couldn¡¯t tell if he was studying me or trying to explode my head with telekinesis. Probably both.


    ¡°Ok boys, calm down. Jesus.¡± I held a fist in the air and they all immediately stopped hollering and paid attention. It was a nice feeling, having people doing what I want them to do, no questions asked.


    ¡°Like I said, we need more people. We need killers. You ¡ª where do you work?¡± I pointed to one of the baldies in the front of the crowd. He looked shocked to be acknowledged individually.


    ¡°Uhhhh¡­ I work at a marketing agency.¡±


    Fucking knew it.


    ¡°Any killers there?¡± I said.


    ¡°Not really,¡± he replied. ¡°Well, actually, there¡¯s this one guy. He hates the office, and sometimes he talks to me about how he wants to come in and shoot our boss sometimes. I don¡¯t think he¡¯s killed anyone, but he would probably like to.¡±The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Perfect. Invite him to the next meeting,¡± I said. ¡°All of you, find one person in your life who you think is a killer, and bring them here. You have two weeks to do it. You don¡¯t want to know what will happen if you don¡¯t. And don¡¯t tell them they have to shave their heads. We¡¯re done with that shit. I don¡¯t like it, to tell you the truth.¡±


    The singled-out baldie smiled.


    ¡°Oh, we¡¯re not bald,¡± he said. He pinched the top of his head and slid off his bald cap to reveal a head of curly brown hair. The rest did the same, except for a couple of men who were actually bald.


    I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples.


    ¡°Holy shit. Somehow, that¡¯s even worse,¡± I sighed. ¡°Just get the new fuckin¡¯ recruits, alright?¡± I muttered fuckin¡¯ weirdos under my breath. They all said ¡°Yes master,¡± in unison like a kindergarten class.


    ¡°Cool, good,¡± I said. ¡°Also, just come in your normal clothes. This robe shit is stupid. That goes for you too, Gerald.¡±


    Gerald nodded slowly. The not-actually-baldies did the same.


    ¡°Alright. Class dismissed.¡±


    I went back home, accompanied by Mother Dora. The Tunnels were only a few miles from the apartment, but she insisted on driving, so I sat in the passenger seat of the van.


    ¡°Do you think you can turn these guys into killers?¡± I asked her. ¡°They¡¯ll need to at least know some basic magic to last more than three seconds against Alec.¡±


    ¡°Hmmmm, perhaps I could,¡± she said, ¡°but I don¡¯t know if I should. This magic is fascinating, more fascinating than anything I have ever experienced, but I cannot say how much I would need to sacrifice to reach the level you want me to. For now, my answer is ¡®We shall see.¡¯¡±


    That wasn¡¯t good enough, but I didn¡¯t think pressing the issue now would help anything. She had a stack of old books in the back seat ¡ª at least twenty of them. It was clear that her curiosity was already starting to consume her. Hopefully, it would consume her enough that I wouldn¡¯t even have to try to convince her of anything.


    ¡°I have been learning something new, though,¡± she said, ¡°Do you want to see?¡±


    ¡°Uhhh, probably not while you¡¯re behind the wheel of a vehi¡ª¡±


    She chanted something under her breath, grabbed her left pinky with her right hand, and snapped it. Her left pointer finger glowed red and white like a lit cigar. She touched the side of my seat and seared a hole into it, filling the van with the smell of burnt polyester.


    ¡°Oh cool, it worked,¡± she said, seemingly completely fine with the fact that her pinky was purple and bent at an unnatural angle.


    ¡°Oh¡­ uhhhh¡­. Wow,¡± I said. ¡°I guess that¡¯s a good start already.¡±


    We were silent the rest of the way home, the silence only being broken by the occasional sizzle of her grazing something with her burning fingertip.


    ¡°What do you mean, Freddie knows everything and you let him escape?¡±


    Anita was seething when Mother Dora and I got back to the apartment. Her left eye twitched a little in a way that made me wonder how much longer it would be before she has an aneurysm over all of this. All I was trying to do was tell her about my plan to save all of our asses, but I casually mentioned that Freddie hauled ass away from me, and of course she had to dwell on the one negative thing.


    ¡°Come on.¡± I said. ¡°What¡¯s he gonna do? Call the cops and tell them there¡¯s a slime-slinging wizard leading a satanic cult underground? They¡¯d lock him in an asylum.¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t be taking chances like this, Gus!¡± Anita said. She was pacing back and forth across the living room, gnawing on her fingernails. When I was a kid, she had gnawed her nails down the nubs, but had managed to go years, decades without doing it again.


    ¡°There are too many unknown variables already,¡± she continued. ¡°We don¡¯t need another one. He¡¯s got to go.¡±


    ¡°What, like you want me to hunt him down and kill him?¡±


    ¡°You say that as if you don¡¯t do that on a daily basis.¡±


    I hesitated. I don¡¯t remember telling her about that.


    ¡°I do it to criminals, scum of the earth. I don¡¯t just kill people for fun.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t say it had to be fucking fun. Just do it,¡± she said.


    ¡°Maybe I could do it,¡± Mother Dora said, jabbing the air with her hot finger. How long was that shit going to burn?


    ¡°No. Nobody¡¯s killing Freddie. He doesn¡¯t need to die,¡± I said.


    Anita¡¯s eye twitched more dramatically this time.


    ¡°Gus,¡± she said with quiet rage, ¡°What if the police believe him? What if he finds Alec, tells him where we are, and they swoop in here in the night? What if he drives his fucking car through our home in the name of God? We¡¯re playing with our lives here. Take. Him. Out.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± I lied.

 24c: Freddie, I Don’t Want to Hurt You!

    It didn¡¯t take long for Anita to pinpoint the two most likely places that Freddie ran off to. He had an aunt that lived in the area, in some suburb just outside of Houston, and he had a little lake house in Oklahoma a few hours away. I checked out his aunt¡¯s house first, just because it was closer.


    I almost got lost in the sprawling, maze-like neighborhood filled with almost identical houses. But after going in circles and turning around for twenty minutes or so, I finally stumbled upon the correct beige house with a bay window and a two car garage. A sign that said ¡°The Kidd¡¯s¡± stuck to the side of the mailbox confirmed it. I knocked, and an old, tiny, concerned looking black woman with glasses almost falling off of her nose looked up at me.


    ¡°What?¡± she said.


    ¡°Uhhh, are you Florence Kidd?¡± I asked weakly, taken off guard by her oddly commanding presence.


    ¡°What?¡± she repeated.


    ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m just looking for your nephew. Do you know where he is? I need to talk to him about something.¡±


    ¡°Boy, you are going to have to speak up. I can¡¯t hear shit you¡¯re saying to me,¡± she said.


    ¡°Is Freddie Kidd around here?!¡± I said, almost yelling.


    She adjusted her glasses to get a better look at me.


    ¡°The fuck you want with Freddie?¡± she asked. ¡°Did he piss off some crack heads again?¡±


    ¡°No, we¡¯re friends. He was teaching me how to box. Is he here?¡±


    ¡°Mmmhm,¡± she said, her mouth flat and her eyes narrow. ¡°He hasn¡¯t come to see me in about ten years. Ungrateful little brat got his money and acted like I don¡¯t exist. After I put his ass up in my house while he was getting beat down twice a week in those little regional tournaments. If you see him, tell him I want a new car. A fuckin¡¯ Cadillac.¡± And she shut the door on my face.


    Alright, I guess he was at the lake house.


    As I turned to get back in the van, I felt someone moving behind me. They were moving fast, much faster than Florence could manage. I whipped around, ready to see Freddie, but it was a kid. I doubt he was older than ten or eleven.


    ¡°You¡¯re friends with Freddie?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Yep,¡± I said.


    ¡°Can you ask him if he can come over for Thanksgiving? And give him this to sign?¡±


    He handed me a kid¡¯s boxing glove, about two-thirds the size of a regular one. The area around the knuckles was cracked and stuffing poked out.


    ¡°Yeah, sure. No problem.¡± I almost smiled.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± he said. ¡°And is it true that he¡ª¡±


    ¡°Franklin! Get your ass back inside!¡± Florence yelled from the porch.


    He didn¡¯t bother to finish his sentence, and ran back into the house before Florence got a chance to really get mad. She glared at me, and I hustled to the van, glove in hand.


    It took a few hours to get to the lake house. It was small, and hadn¡¯t been maintained well ¡ª the grass was long and full of weeds, and the baby blue paint had started to chip off of the paneling ¡ª but it was easy to see that there was a nice house underneath all of that. Freddie¡¯s truck was parked in the front, and all of the lights were on.


    I parked down the street a little, and walked towards the house, looking to see if there was any movement near the windows. There wasn¡¯t. An old dude with a platinum blond helmet of hair eyed me suspiciously while he sat on the porch. I gave him the finger and he suddenly became very interested in his newspaper. It wasn¡¯t long before I was able to crouch behind Freddie¡¯s truck and get a closer look at the house. Still no movement inside, from what I could see. My heart thumped thinking about what sort of fucked-up ambush Freddie might have thought up for me.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.Going around to the back of the house, there was a big propane grill, and it was still running. It wasn¡¯t unlike Freddie to get drunk off his ass and forget to turn off a burner, but I couldn¡¯t help but feel like he saw me coming and hauled ass inside. He was waiting for me in there, ready to either kill me or die trying. In that case, there was no point in all of this sneaking around.


    ¡°Freddie!¡± I yelled. ¡°I don¡¯t want to hurt you! Just open the door so we can talk! There¡¯s some shit going on that you need to know about!¡±


    No answer.


    ¡°Come on! We can talk outside if you want! Just come out! I don¡¯t want to set off any fuckin¡¯ boobie traps or anything!¡±


    Still no answer.


    Fuck, why couldn¡¯t anything be easy? If he was going to be like this, I had no choice but to kick down his door and sludge his ass to the wall before he could get a shot off. He knew all of my tricks, but that doesn¡¯t mean he could do anything about them.


    My foot went through his front door with ease, and it flew off into the house. Cautiously, I stepped inside, looking both ways to see if there were any stocky men with guns pointed at my face. But there wasn¡¯t. It was just a tiny mudroom with another door that led into the main part of the house. I kicked that door open too, even though it probably didn¡¯t have a lock on it. It didn¡¯t clang against the floor like the first door. The sound was muffled by a pool of coagulated blood on the floor.


    The entire dining room was painted red with blood. Even the ceiling had splatters of blood that dripped down, leaving circular stains in the cedar tabletop. What was left of Freddie was gathered in one of the chairs. But there wasn¡¯t a whole lot left of him. Most of his internal organs stuck to the walls and floor in bits and pieces, but his head was still fully intact, sitting on top of a pile of unidentifiable gore. There was a look of rage permanently frozen on his face.


    There was only one person that was capable of something like this.


    On the table, right in front of Freddie¡¯s remains, there was a note, folded in half, bogged down by red droplets. I knew it was for me.


    Dear Gus,


    How¡¯s it goin? It¡¯s been awhile. A lot¡¯s been going on back in Tennessee since you left. The country still needed drugs, so I took over for the Futrells. I¡¯ve also been dealing with these crazy cultist fucks for you while you¡¯ve been vacationing in Houston. Hope you had a good time, but the good times are over now. They¡¯re planning something big, and whatever it is, it¡¯s gonna happen soon. If they launch their whole army at my ass, I¡¯m fucked. And if I¡¯m fucked, you¡¯re fucked. Meet me at these coordinates. We need to do some real talkin.


    Love,


    Mickey

 25a: Mickey Was Not the Same

    He really didn¡¯t have to give me coordinates. I swear he did it because it was the most irritating way to give me the directions. We met up at a diner, about an hour away from the scene of the crime. The sign outside had someone¡¯s name on it ¡ª Pam¡¯s, or Tom¡¯s, or Sam¡¯s, or some shit like that. It was one of those places that had been kept afloat by the same twenty people coming in to eat for the last fifty years. Mickey and I sat sandwiched between them, crammed into a booth, talking about the asshole-ripping we were about to receive.


    Mickey sipped on a mug of shitty coffee and leaned back in his seat.


    ¡°I sent a couple of guys to scout the church,¡± he said. ¡°The one that I stole the elixir from. They didn¡¯t make it back, but I got some good info before their heads were blown off. First, that¡¯s not their only location. They have churches all along the east coast. Second, most of them don¡¯t have the marks. It¡¯s saved for the highest ranking members only. Third, there are a shitload of these high ranking members, and an even bigger shitload of non-juiced up church members that will do just about anything this Reverend Alec motherfucker tells them to.¡±


    ¡°How many exactly? You get any solid numbers?¡± I said. Mickey ordered me a roast beef sandwich and a beer, but I hadn¡¯t touched it. After seeing Freddie¡¯s mutilated corpse, I didn¡¯t have much of an appetite. My hatred of this son of a bitch had returned in full force, just as fresh as the day this whole shitshow started. But if he knew something, I needed to know it too.


    ¡°No exact numbers, but there are a couple of marked men at each church, so about a hundred, minimum. But you saw how that old lady was ¡ª she wasn¡¯t any stronger than either of us, and that was a while back. I reckon there are only a few that are stronger than I am. As for the regular members, shit, I have no clue. It¡¯s gotta be at least a thousand though. Those churches are not small.¡±


    ¡°Shit.¡±


    Mickey was not the same as he was when he left. His mark had spread to the other side of his chest and down his left arm as well. I didn¡¯t ask, but he had to have progressed at least two starters since I last saw him. I had been taking out one or two petty criminals at a time and getting nowhere, while this man was waging war against Alec¡¯s men.


    ¡°How many marked men have you killed since we parted ways?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Shit, not too many. At first, they just sent waves and waves of regular guys. Tore through about a hundred of them before they realized it was pointless. I can feel ¡®em coming ten miles away, and by the time any of them saw me, it was too late for ¡®em.¡± He took another arrogant sip of his coffee, and took half a sandwich off my plate. ¡°By the time they started sending tougher sonsabitches after me, my mark was already halfway down my left arm, and they were caught by surprise. I think it likes me or somethin¡¯.¡±This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    ¡°It?¡±


    ¡°My mark. It seems to like me better than their marks like them. Compared to them, seems I¡¯m movin¡¯ up fast. Compared to you too, by the looks of it.¡± He flashed that shit-eating smile, his teeth yellow from the coffee and peppered with little bits of roast beef dangling above his purple gums.


    ¡°Yeah, seems like it,¡± I said. ¡°Probably because you don¡¯t care if it controls you. Y¡¯all seem to want the same thing anyway: senseless violence.¡±


    He stopped smiling and put the sandwich down.


    ¡°Ain¡¯t nothin¡¯ senseless about it, Gus. The violence has been very sensible, actually. I¡¯ve been over here goin¡¯ head to head with the crazy motherfuckers who want us dead, while you¡¯ve been prancin¡¯ around Texas doing fuck knows what. You were out there looking for ways to get stronger without losing your ¡®humanity¡¯ while I¡¯ve been doing the real goddamn work. Well, the high road was too slow. The shitstorm¡¯s coming, and you¡¯re too weak to weather it. You need my help, and I wouldn¡¯t mind your help. What do you say?¡±


    ¡°My tattoo isn¡¯t as big as yours, but that doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m weak or unprepared.¡± I said calmly. The worst thing you could do in front of Mickey was let him know that his bullshit was actually getting to you. I took a sip of my beer for the first time, which was flat as hell by now. ¡°I bet you have a lot of shooters now, slinging all of those drugs and whatnot, but you and I both know they¡¯re gonna last about ten seconds against a marked man. I don¡¯t know if your scouts told you this or not, but I got some men of my own now. They¡¯re mostly useless sacks of shit at the moment, I¡¯ll admit, but soon, one of ¡®em could be worth a hundred of your shooters. I got ¡®em learning dark magic and shit.¡± It was my turn to flash an arrogant smile. I couldn¡¯t help it, in front of him. This piqued his curiosity.


    ¡°You figure out a way to give them marks too?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Nah, turns out Mother Dora has a natural proclivity for the dark arts. She¡¯s much better at it than she was at tellin¡¯ futures ¡ª about as good at it as she was at smokin¡¯ hookah. She¡¯s my new headmaster at Hogwarts School of Fucked Up Blood Magic and Other Nasty Shit. We¡¯re hoping to have at least fifty dirty heretics ready in the next few months.¡±


    ¡°Gus, fuck dude, haven¡¯t you been listening to me? We don¡¯t have a few months. They¡¯re gearing up for a huge, decisive assault against me real soon. We have a month at most. One. How many fuckin¡¯ Slytherins can you have ready by then?¡±


    ¡°Hard to say, really. Not fifty, but I think we can have some ready.¡±


    Mickey let out a wet burp and then a deep sigh. He slunk into his seat a little.


    ¡°Alright, I hope it¡¯s enough,¡± he said. ¡°Keep on training your little heathens, and I¡¯ll keep you posted on what¡¯s going on back east. Let¡¯s meet back here in two weeks though to get a real plan goin¡¯. We¡¯re gonna need one.¡±


    He reached out to shake my hand, but I didn¡¯t return the gesture.


    ¡°Nice try,¡± I said. ¡°You¡¯re dumber than you look if you think I¡¯m ever gonna let you lay a finger on me again.¡±


    Air shot from his nose in something resembling a laugh. ¡°Alright, Gus. Good seein¡¯ you. Talk to you soon.¡±


    We left some cash on the table and walked out the door. I got in the van, and Mickey hopped on a light blue motorcycle that I couldn¡¯t help but think was supposed to resemble my old shitmobile. We went our separate ways again.


    Driving home, a smile involuntarily spread across my face. Shit was about to finally go down, and that was a huge relief. Not knowing when they¡¯d show up was killing me inside. It felt impossible to plan, to really be prepared in any way. Now, things were simple. I had a month until I took on Reverend Alec and his buddies, and I had a month and a day until I killed that motherfucker Mickey Torke.

 25b: Alright, Baldies

    ¡°Alright, baldies, we have less than a month before fuckin¡¯ Armageddon. You will either learn how to defend yourselves, or you will die. But if you live, you will live the rest of your lives as the baddest motherfuckers around. Navy SEALs will shit their pants at the sight of you. The Pope will be afraid to be on the same continent as you. Let¡¯s keep that tall-hatted motherfucker in Europe and let¡¯s kick some ass, alright?!¡±


    The baldies ¡ª who were no longer actually bald ¡ª chanted and pounded the concrete floor in approval.


    ¡°Guys, I told you to stop that shit. It¡¯s fuckin weird.¡±


    ¡°Actually, this is good,¡± Mother Dora said, standing in front of the crowd of baldies. ¡°This chant helps them focus their energy. Puts them in a trance, sort of.¡±


    ¡°Alright, whatever,¡± I said. ¡°How¡¯s the training coming along?¡±


    ¡°Very well, actually. Better than I could¡¯ve ever dreamed. For me at least. Most of the students are¡­ lacking.¡±


    ¡°Can they do anything?¡±


    ¡°Most of them have a grasp on basic blood manipulation, but only a few have gone beyond that. So far, I¡¯d say there are only two or three students who might be competent dark mages by the end of the month, and even that is a stretch.¡±


    I groaned, and the chanting stopped.


    ¡°Which three aren¡¯t completely useless?¡±


    Mother Dora pointed at three baldies in the crowd and gestured for them to step forward. The first was a young olive-skinned man who looked like he was six-foot-four and about ninety pounds ¡ª the definition of a ¡°beanpole¡±. His spine bowed like an old tree branch, and he closed his eyes and kneeled in front of me. The second was a stocky redheaded woman ¡ª a proper Irish lass. I couldn¡¯t believe I used to think all of these people looked the same. She kneeled too. The last was an older guy with pale skin and a ring of brown hair around his head that stuck out in several directions. He kneeled next to the lass.


    ¡°What can you do?¡± I looked at the long man. He looked at me and stood up, back still hunched over. He took out a knife and sliced the top of his arm open without flinching. Blood floated out of the wound and towards one of the baldies behind him. It formed a mask around the unsuspecting baldy¡¯s face, completely depriving him of oxygen. He quickly fell to his knees and clawed at the blood, but his hands went straight through it. A mouth shaped depression formed and flattened out over and over as the man attempted some desperate, futile inhalations.


    ¡°Alright, I get it, I get it! You can stop,¡± I said, and the blood retracted back into the beanpole¡¯s arm. The wound did not close, but it didn¡¯t keep bleeding either.


    ¡°What about you?¡± I said to the redheaded woman. The crowd behind her stirred nervously. She took one of her fingernails between her teeth and tore it off in one swift motion. I flinched seeing that maneuver, but she was cool as ice. She threw the bloody nail on the ground and crouched over it, covering it with her hand and murmuring something in a hypnotic monotone. When she moved her hand, a jet black scorpion scurried towards me. It was at least twice the size of a normal scorpion, and fast as hell. It almost clinched one of my ankles before I jumped out of the way and welded it to the ground with sludge. The redheaded woman looked horrified.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry my lord!¡± she said. Holy shit, she actually had an Irish accent. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to send it after you! I didn¡¯t think it would just go after the first person it¡ª¡±


    ¡°Good shit,¡± I said, and I crushed the scorpion with my heel. ¡°Last guy, what do you got?¡±


    The old man stood and looked the beanpole deep in his eyes.


    ¡°Brandon, smack our Lord in his face. Hard.¡±


    The beanpole walked up to me and slapped me like he was my pimp and I hadn¡¯t paid up. Then he turned around and tackled the old man, bringing him to the ground and punching him repeatedly in the nose.


    ¡°Stop! Stop! It¡¯s fine. I see what he was doing, Brandon,¡± I said. The two men went back to their kneeling positions next to the Irish lass.


    ¡°Congrats to all three of you,¡± I said. ¡°You¡¯ve just been promoted to teacher¡¯s assistants. You¡¯ll need to help Mother Dora get the rest of these pieces of garbage up to snuff, and soon. Meeting adjourned. Get to fuckin¡¯ work.¡±


    The three of them nodded and thanked me profusely. Mother Dora waved her scarred hand and led the baldies down the corridor towards the library.


    ¡°Wait!¡± I said, before they got too far. ¡°Mother Dora, how many new recruits have we gotten so far?¡±


    ¡°None that I see,¡± she said.


    ¡°That won¡¯t do. What¡¯s your name?¡± I turned to the Irish lass.


    ¡°Clodagh, my Lord,¡± she said.


    ¡°Seriously? Alright,¡± I said. ¡°Anyone who doesn¡¯t bring in a new recruit, voluntarily or involuntarily, within the next week is gonna have to deal with one of Clodagh¡¯s scorpions. Got that?¡±


    Clodagh grinned wickedly, and the rest of the baldies nodded vigorously before turning to follow Mother Dora down the corridor for their next lesson. I sat alone in the main chamber, on a nice leather recliner I had the baldies bring in for me. It was sort of like my throne, facing where they all gathered, but I didn¡¯t like to sit when they were around ¡ª I couldn¡¯t relax in a room full of dewey-eyed minions, begging me to tell them what to do. With them gone though, I sank into my chair and allowed the muscles in my neck and back to unclench.


    ¡°My Lord?¡±


    For fuck¡¯s sake. Of course Gerald had to come in at that exact moment. Had he been waiting for everyone to leave so that he could come pester me one-on-one?


    ¡°What?¡± I said.


    ¡°I was wondering¡­¡± he said meekly, ¡°if I could also start attending the lessons with Mother Dora? It has been my lifelong dream to study the dark arts.¡±


    I didn¡¯t get up from my chair, barely bothered to look in his direction.


    ¡°You¡¯re lucky I haven¡¯t killed you yet. You know that, right?¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m sure you want me dead at this point. Why the fuck would I hand you the gun?¡±


    Gerald went ever paler than usual. Blue veins were clearly visible under his translucent skin. He didn¡¯t say anything in response.


    ¡°Ya know, I do feel bad for coming in and taking over like this, though,¡± I said. ¡°I don¡¯t want this any more than you do, but I have a war to fight. You know how it goes. Can¡¯t fight a war without soldiers. Tell you what: I¡¯ll let you study with Mother Dora, but only from a single catalog. You will be our Mender. When someone gets an arm torn off or some shit, I want you to be able to give them a new one, or whatever the fuck ¡ª Mother Dora hasn¡¯t explained it very well to me. She isn¡¯t too advanced on it herself, but she can help you with the Latin at least. That will be your catalog, and if I hear about you reading a single word about any other subject, I will stick you to the wall and let you starve to death. Sound good?¡±


    That last part seemed to bounce right off of him. Some of the opacity returned to his skin, and he looked pleased.


    ¡°Thank you, my Lord,¡± he said. ¡°I will begin my studies as soon as possible.¡±


    I grunted and shooed him away. He damn near pranced down the hall.


    My guys were all preparing as much as they could in the short time we had. Now, it was time for me to begin some preparations of my own.

 25c: I Never Thought I’d Be a Klan Member

    I needed to be stronger, quickly. Once again, Mickey had moved past me, and I had no idea what he was capable of. If we were lucky enough to get through all of this, and it was just the two of us left standing, I reckoned I didn¡¯t stand a chance. I had to give my mark what it wanted. It wriggled with excitement at the thought.


    Killing off scumbags one at a time had been just barely enough to get the mark to stop pestering me so much, to stop the constant nagging urge to kill that would make the center of my brain itch. But I needed to do more if I wanted to progress ¡ª I needed a massacre. My list of gangbangers was dwindling, and none of them hung out in groups of more than five or six. I needed a group in the double digits ¡ª triple digits, even.


    Fortunately, I was invited to a Klan rally by a kind stranger on the street. Guess I look the type.


    I was walking back from the Tunnels, racking my brain for places that might house a few dozen pieces of shit at once, when he shouted at me from a Circle K parking lot. At first, I thought he was either going to ask me for a dollar or tell me how I was going to burn in Hell, but instead, he handed me a flier advertising a party taking place that night at 9pm. It was an amateur collage of white men singing, white men dancing, white men shouting, marching, and burning crosses. Below the collage was a long paragraph containing so many misspellings that I wasn¡¯t even sure which ethnic group he was trying to talk shit about. I took the paper from him and laughed with joy.


    ¡°Thank you so much for this invitation!¡± I said. ¡°You can count on me being there!¡±


    The man had a dirty brown beard and wore an even dirtier black hoodie and blue jeans. People walking by probably thought we were brothers. He matched my enthusiasm, thanked me over and over and shook my hand vigorously.


    ¡°Ya know, a lot of people these days don¡¯t take to us as kindly as you,¡± he said. His teeth were stained yellow from the chewing tobacco that made his bottom lip bulge. He spat a brown glob onto the gas station concrete.


    ¡°I can¡¯t imagine why,¡± I said, absolutely dripping with sarcasm that I knew this dumbass wouldn¡¯t pick up.


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t tell ya,¡± he said. ¡°We ain¡¯t as strong as we used to be, but we ain¡¯t out yet. Still got about two-hundred-fifty men just in east Texas.¡±


    ¡°And they¡¯re all gonna be there tonight?¡± I asked hopefully.


    ¡°Prolly not all of ¡®em, but there¡¯ll be a good showin¡¯ for sure, don¡¯t you worry about that. We¡¯ll give you a warm welcome. What size robe you wear? Ah, never mind, they¡¯re all the same size.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± I said, ¡°see you tonight,¡± and walked off. He stayed where he was, in front of the gas station entrance, waving people down and being ignored. I hoped a few others would accept his invitation.


    <hr>


    It was strangely similar to family barbecues I used to go to as a kid, except everyone was white and saying the most heinous shit I had ever heard come out of someone¡¯s mouth. I had heard nicer conversations between homeless schizos and police officers. And instead of the typical bonfire, there was a giant cross in the middle of the host¡¯s giant backyard. They must have put five gallons of gas on it, the way it was burning. The food was good though ¡ª I had a big plate of brisket, yams, and baked beans. Figured it would be stupid to let it all go to waste. This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    I wanted to start tearing through them, just to get it over with, but as I looked around, I noticed just how many children there were at this part. It really was a family barbecue. The yard was full. At least fifty or sixty men had shown up for the event, and most of them had brought their wives and kids along. The bigger kids were off to the side, playing football, standing around, generally trying to avoid their parents. The smaller kids were interspersed in the crowd though. That would complicate things, but my fucking life was on the line. I wasn¡¯t going to let a few racists-in-training stop me.


    They had a little stage with a podium in front of the burning cross, presumably for the drunken hate speeches that were going to come later. I found the host ¡ª a portly man named Dave who had a bright white mustache ¡ª and asked him if I could say a few words to my new brothers.


    ¡°Well shit, I don¡¯t see why not! Love the enthusiasm!¡± He slapped me on the back with a little too much force. His face was bright red, and he could barely stand upright. The stench of beer poured out of his sweat glands. ¡°Go on and tell them all what you think about the ¡ª¡±


    I will not repeat the rest of what he said to me.


    I got up on the stage and tapped the microphone a couple of times to get everyone¡¯s attention. It took a solid minute, but eventually, everyone was at least facing my direction.


    ¡°Howdy. The name¡¯s Gus, and this is my first day here. I never thought I¡¯d be a Klan member, but y¡¯all are just so nice and friendly, I couldn¡¯t help myself.¡±


    There were a few drunken claps and hoots, but most were just waiting to get back to drinking.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll make this short. I just got one favor to ask of y¡¯all. Can you get your kids and put them in the house, where it¡¯s safe?¡±


    There weren¡¯t any drunken hoots or hollers that time. It was replaced by confused murmuring.


    ¡°Normally, I wouldn¡¯t give enough of a shit about you guys to come here and do all this, but I needed to kill some people ¡ª a lot of people ¡ª and fast. I didn¡¯t know who to kill, and like a gift from God, your friend here hollered at me from across the street and told me to come here. Now, all of you are going to die. I¡¯ll let your kids go though, if you want. Just tell them to get in the house.¡±


    I pointed to the man who invited me, and a bunch of people turned to look at him. He mouthed something like ¡°Ionknowwhathetalkinbout¡±, and everyone turned to look back at me.


    ¡°Who in the fuck you think you¡¯re talkin¡¯ to?¡± a burly ginger man towards the front of the crowd yelled at me. He looked to be about six-foot-six, and had probably never known what it was like to lose a fight. I jumped off the stage and punched him in the throat. His windpipe collapsed like a Pringles can that had been run over by a car. His legs gave out within a second, and I got on top of him and punched him in the head. He went limp.


    The sound of gunshots rang through the air like fireworks, and a stream of kids ran away from me and into the safety of the house. I grabbed the person closest to me ¡ª one of the old, shriveled wives of one of the old, shriveled men ¡ª and held her in front of me. Some people still took shots at us, but none of them were sober enough to hold a gun steady. One grazed the old lady on the shoulder and she screamed, but she didn¡¯t have any hope of wriggling out of my grasp.


    Two men tried to run to the gate in hopes of getting to their cars and getting out of here, but I nailed them in the backs of their heads with booger bombs, painting the white privacy fence with the contents of their skulls.


    Seeing this, and seeing the hostage in my arms, everyone froze. They realized they were hopeless to do anything against me. Some looked like they had resigned to dying. Some looked like cornered animals, ready to do something desperate ¡ª but I wasn¡¯t going to give them the chance. I shot a stream of slime behind me, hitting the cross.


    Slowly, I moved the trail towards them, the fire following it along the way. They started to scream and run in every direction, so I whipped my hand around and created a ring of fire to close them in. I added another ring, and another, and they all gathered in a pile in the middle, pushing and clawing each other in a state of pure panic. But there was nothing that could help them now, and the fire closed in on them and swallowed them whole. The fire, ignited by slime and fueled by the melting fats on their bodies, roared higher than the cross. The smell was a gut-wrenching combination of cooked human flesh and burnt hair. Their screams were deafening for a moment, but died out almost as quickly as they started. There seemed to be a synchronized sigh as the life left their bodies, and then they were nothing more than food for the flame.


    My mark cackled with glee, and so did I.

 25d: IT’S A FUCKING SHELL

    The mark crawled under my skin and covered the left side of my chest. I had never felt so good. It was a feeling that ran deeper than my skin; it was a warm, comforting, exhilarating feeling, like being six years old and going to bed on Christmas eve. Despite the tsunami of bullshit I had to deal with throughout my life ¨C and especially the last couple of months ¨C I had the overwhelming feeling that everything was going to be okay.


    As long as I kept slaughtering people.


    There were a few dozen mini bigots locked inside of the house that I could¡¯ve started with. A part of me wanted to. It wanted to quite a fucking bit. Not out of any sense of righteousness ¨C I just wanted to see how quickly I could destroy the house.


    I moved around the ring of black corpses towards the back door. The children looked through the windows and shrieked and contorted their faces in an attempt to convey to others the absolute terror they felt. The back door was made of solid mahogany, a deep red-brown, with no carvings or anything like that ¨C just solid wood. I looked at it for a second, and decided to put my arm straight through the wall instead. It went straight through the brick and wood into the family¡¯s kitchen. The screams were no longer muffled by the wall. I moved my arm around in the hole and widened it until it was big enough for me to fit through. For a second, I thought about sticking my head in first and saying ¡°Here¡¯s Johnny!¡± but I didn¡¯t think they would get the reference.


    So I climbed through, feet first, and entered a hurricane of panicking children of all ages.


    ¡°Everybody shut the fuck up and sit the fuck down!¡±


    They must¡¯ve heard that from their teachers before. They all shot to the floor instantaneously and sat cross-legged, looking at me. Their faces were still red, and most of them were unsuccessfully trying to hold back tears and trembles, but they were on their best behavior.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I said. ¡°How many of you saw what happened back there?¡±


    A few kids raised their hands.


    ¡°Wrong fucking answer. Let me ask again. How many of you saw what happened back there?¡±


    A few kids started to raise their hands again, but the kids next to them jabbed them in the ribs and they put their hands down.


    ¡°Good. When the cops show up, tell them your parents did that to themselves, for the Lord or whatever the fuck. If you do, you¡¯ll never hear from me again. Sound good?¡±Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    The kids did not respond, but I thought they got the point. I bid them farewell and got the fuck out of there.


    Even after intimidating a room full of children whose parents I had just murdered in front of them, that warm fuzzy feeling didn¡¯t go away. I ran all the way home, but I could¡¯ve fucking skipped to my lou. I was fast before, but I was really fast now. I wondered if I could race a car on foot. Probably not, but it would¡¯ve given it a shot.


    Anita and Caleb were without-a-doubt asleep by now, so I didn¡¯t go inside the apartment, and instead went to the little park area behind the building. It was a little fenced in patch of grass where people took their dogs to shit. Avoiding any unscooped piles, I stood inside and looked down the neck of my shirt. I figured I was going to need a little bit of space for whatever was going to come next.


    Instead of the usual three blister-glyphs, there was only one on my chest ¨C and it was a fucking ice cream sundae with chocolate fudge on top.


    ¡°What the fuck?¡± I said out loud into the quiet night air. ¡°What is that supposed to mean?¡±


    There was something like a mental sigh somewhere inside of my head. The blister-glyph morphed into another shape: a turtle. I still didn¡¯t know what this thing was trying to tell me.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be a fucking turtle. Jesus. I killed a hundred people for this shit?¡±


    The turtle disintegrated and rapidly reformed into words:


    IT¡¯S A FUCKING SHELL


    ¡°Oh, alright,¡± I said, still talking to myself. ¡°Could¡¯ve just drawn a fuckin¡¯ shell then. Don¡¯t have to be a dick about it.¡± I pressed the blister down, and the warm-fuzzies intensified until I fell to the dogshit-laden ground in pure joy. Again, if someone saw me at that moment, they probably would¡¯ve thought I was a junkie ¨C only this time, I took just the right amount. Sludge pushed through the pores around my entire body without asking for my permission. It came from every part of my body ¨C my arms, my legs, my back, my forehead. I continued to roll around, giggling like a stoned middle schooler, while the sludge swallowed me whole. I was encased in the stuff. Nothing but my face was showing. I stifled my giggles and stood up in my sludge suit.


    My entire body was wrapped in at least three inches of hardened sludge. It wasn¡¯t nearly as sticky as it normally was, but it wasn¡¯t quite solid either. The consistency was somewhere between rubber and tar, and it was still pretty damn sticky, which was shown by the grass and turd nuggets that stuck to my chest. I picked them off and flicked them out of sight, and went for a walk.


    I was noticeably slower with the sludge suit on, but I could still move with ease. No unmarked human being would be able to keep up with me, even with the suit on. Aside from the added weight, I didn¡¯t feel any resistance when moving my arms and legs. The sludge almost felt like a part of my body, like it moved with my limbs instead of being carried by them. In a weird way, my body felt lighter, being suspended in a nearly-liquid suit.


    The warm fuzzy feeling turned into full-throttle excitement the more I walked in the suit. I laughed out loud in the empty air, repeating a single thought in my head, over and over.


    Mickey can¡¯t touch me!

 26a: An Old Lady, a Teenager, and a Bum

    Two weeks passed before Mickey contacted me again. While I was on the way to the Tunnels, an old man who looked like he hadn¡¯t slept since he was a young man put his hand on my chest, said ¡°We need you in Tennessee within the week,¡± and then shot himself in the head. Mickey¡¯s idea of a self-destructing note, I guess.


    Fuck. Is this really happening already?


    We weren¡¯t ready. Not even close. Mother Dora and the baldies were studying every day, but that took its toll on many of them. A lot of the magic required self-sacrifice, so practicing it left most of them with open wounds and broken bones. Gerald seemed to be really trying his best to heal them, but he was shit at it. Most of the time, he just administered basic first aid.


    I turned around to go back home, talk to Caleb and Anita about what¡¯s going to come next, and discuss where they should hide, but they were already in the van, coming down the road towards me. Anita drove up next to me and rolled down her window.


    ¡°Get in.¡±


    I got in.


    ¡°We got a message from¡­ Mickey,¡± she said. ¡°We need to go to Tennessee as soon as possible.¡±


    ¡°No, I need to go to Tennessee as soon as possible. You guys need to get as fucking far from Tennessee as humanly possible. Sell this van and get some tickets to California, Hawaii, fucking China.¡±


    ¡°Like we¡¯re just gonna let you have all the fun,¡± Caleb said from the passenger seat. He gave me a thumbs up.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t a fucking movie,¡± I said. The smile was wiped from Caleb¡¯s face. ¡°If you guys come along, you¡¯re going to die. You¡¯ve seen what just one of these people is capable of. Imagine a hundred of them.¡±


    ¡°There are going to be regular people involved in this too, right?¡± Anita asked. ¡°Not just superpowered freaks like you?¡±


    ¡°Well, yeah, but ¡ª¡±


    ¡°So there would be people there that we could fight?¡±


    ¡°No, there won¡¯t be anyone there that an old lady and a fuckin¡¯ ninth-grader could fight.¡±The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Guns work just as well for old ladies and ninth graders as they do for big, strong men.¡±


    Maybe Anita did have superpowers ¡ª she could talk to someone and make them feel like their fucking head was going to explode.


    ¡°Plus,¡± she continued, ¡°Caleb has been hiding something from us, haven¡¯t you?¡±


    The smile returned to Caleb¡¯s face, but it was more devious this time. He stuck a hand into his pant¡¯s pocket, and pulled out¡­ I didn¡¯t know what the fuck he pulled out.


    It was jet black and looked like a reptile and an insect at the same time. It stood in the palm of his hand on two grasshopper-like legs and looked at me with beady little rat eyes. It had a thin, crooked tail that whipped back and forth, and a head like a snake¡¯s that moved with an unsettling fluidity.


    ¡°Caleb, what in the fuck is that?¡± I asked politely.


    ¡°Can¡¯t pronounce the name, but he¡¯s what comes up from the ground when you kill a lizard, bury it, and chant the words on page seventy-eight of Codex Parvorum Daemonum. I call him Frederick.¡±


    I grabbed it, hoping to crush it in my hands before it pulled any shit, but it slipped out of my hands like a buttered hot dog and sank its teeth into the top of my thigh. And holy shit ¡ª or unholy shit, I suppose ¡ª did the bite fucking burn. Everything from my kneecap to my ass cheek was on fire. The little fucker scurried back up into Caleb¡¯s hand while I clutched my leg and yelled obscenities.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Caleb said, ¡°it should wear off soon. He wasn¡¯t trying to kill you or anything. He¡¯s the nicest one.¡± He rubbed the creature¡¯s head with his index finger.


    ¡°The nicest one?¡± I said. ¡°How many of these do you have?¡±


    ¡°Six.¡±


    ¡°Caleb, you¡¯re fucking around with shit you don¡¯t understand. You¡¯re asking me to let you head into a situation you are not equipped for, that isn¡¯t your problem. Get rid of these slippery pieces of shit and get out of here. Go smoke some bad weed and have awkward sex like a normal teenager. You don¡¯t wanna be like me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not asking you anything,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m telling you, and Mom¡¯s telling you ¡ª we¡¯re gonna be there. You got a problem with that, you¡¯re gonna have to speak to Frederick again.¡±


    I rubbed my flaming leg again, hearing the creature¡¯s name.


    ¡°What, you expect us to run away to California and just hope you don¡¯t get your ass kicked? If that happens, we¡¯re dead, and all we¡¯ll think about while we¡¯re being murdered is ¡®why didn¡¯t we go help while there was still a chance to beat these guys?¡¯. So no, I¡¯m not fucking around. I¡¯m helping us survive.¡±


    The creature tilted its head back and made a sound that bore a chilling resemblance to a far away child screaming for help.


    ¡°Caleb, please ¡ª¡±


    ¡°Sorry, that¡¯s just how it¡¯s gonna be,¡± he said. ¡°I really don¡¯t want you to die.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I guess I don¡¯t want you to die either,¡± Anita said. The words came out of her like splinters came out of your toes.


    I started to cry. Seriously ¡ª I couldn¡¯t help it.


    ¡°Thanks guys,¡± I said, wiping my eyes. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s get to the Tunnels and get this fucking show on the road, I guess.¡±


    An old lady, a teenager, and a bum, all heading off to kill as a family. It fills the heart with joy, doesn¡¯t it?

 26b: Hmm, You Sure About That?

    Anita, Caleb, Mother Dora, Gerald, Darius, the baldies, and I all headed to Tennessee to meet with Mickey. East bound and down, loaded up and truckin¡¯. The baldies all sold their cars and bought a couple of dinged-up white vans that looked like they used to have ¡°Free Candy¡± spray painted on their sides. We hadn¡¯t had time to recruit nearly as many people as I¡¯d hoped, and our training wasn¡¯t even close to done, but if Mickey was calling on us this early, things must be worse than he imagined. We had to make do with what we had.


    Mickey didn¡¯t give us an address to drive to or anything like that, but we knew that he was in Chattanooga, taking over for the Futrells, so we made our way back to the city ¡ª or we tried to, at least. Two police cars sat on either side of the road, just outside the city limits, lights flashing. We had to stop.


    One of the officers ¡ª a short, stocky man with a dirty blonde military haircut and sunglasses on even though it was almost dark outside ¡ª was leaning against the squad car, waiting for cars to come by. He came up to us first.


    ¡°Evenin¡¯,¡± he said ¡°What¡¯s y¡¯all¡¯s business in Chattanooga?¡±


    ¡°Do we have to have business?¡± Anita asked. ¡°We¡¯re just passing through.¡±


    ¡°Passin¡¯ through, huh?¡± he replied flatly.


    ¡°Yep, is that a problem?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll let you know in just a minute,¡±


    Well, this is fucking weird, I thought. Officer Stocky beckoned for his partner ¡ª a taller guy with a similar hair and glasses combo, who transcended stocky and ventured straight into morbid obesity ¡ª who got out of the car with two flashlights and handed him one. They shined them into our van, and then all of the baldies¡¯ vans. Their mouths moved and the driving baldies¡¯ mouths moved in return. Both of the cops looked directly at me at the same time, and then they mouthed something into their walkie-talkie. I noticed that the cops in the other squad car also had their eyes locked on me. There were so many things a cop might want to speak to me about that I prayed that they were just profiling me and assumed I had meth in my pocket or something. The two flat headed officers nodded at the baldies and waddled over to my window. They knocked on it, and I rolled it down.


    ¡°Can I see some ID, sir?¡± the stocky officer asked.


    ¡°Don¡¯t have one,¡± I replied, which was the truth. ¡°I was homeless until pretty recently.¡±The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name, then?¡± he pressed.


    ¡°Jacob Dougherty,¡± I said, quickly thinking of a name off the top of my head. Jacob was a kid who was in my fifth grade class. I don¡¯t know why his name was the first one I thought of at that moment, but he was a dick, so I didn¡¯t mind if bad things happened to him because of it.


    ¡°Hmmm, you sure ¡®bout that?¡± asked the obese officer, pulling his belt up over his gut as he stepped closer to the window.


    ¡°Pretty sure I know my name,¡± I replied. This wasn¡¯t looking good.


    ¡°Pretty sure I know your name too,¡± he said. ¡°And I¡¯m pretty sure it ain¡¯t Jacob.¡±


    Silence.


    Anita gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. Caleb hid behind his long hair. Mother Dora rubbed her hands together vigorously. Darius was asleep with his head resting against the window, and I could¡¯ve sworn I saw Gerald trying not to smile.


    ¡°What¡¯s my name then?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Augustus McCall, if I¡¯m not mistaken,¡± said the obese officer. ¡°Am I mistaken?¡± He pulled his sunglasses down his nose and looked over them into my eyes.


    ¡°What gave it away?¡±


    ¡°We were told you were comin¡¯, and there ain¡¯t many bums out there traveling with a sixty-man squad and has a tattoo like that,¡± he looked down at my arm. ¡°Mickey¡¯s waitin¡¯ for you, just go on over to Paw Paw¡¯s and you¡¯ll be able to find him quick.¡±


    ¡°Sounds good, thanks,¡± I said about a millisecond before Anita stomped on the gas pedal and took us out of there.


    What the fuck just happened? I thought.


    ¡°What the fuck just happened?¡± Anita said. ¡°Has Mickey recruited the whole damn Chattanooga police department?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s fuckin¡¯ hope so if he¡¯s back at Paw Paw¡¯s,¡± I said. ¡°That place would be swarming with cops otherwise. Let¡¯s hope he cleaned the place up, too.¡±


    <hr>


    Paw Paw¡¯s Pickin¡¯ Orchard was no longer open to the public. The big steel gate out front was closed and two burly men holding assault rifles stood on either side. When we pulled up, they pointed them at us.


    ¡°Fuck off. We¡¯re here to see Mickey,¡± I yelled from the window before they could approach us. They must¡¯ve not been used to being talked to that way, because they stopped in their tracks.


    ¡°It¡¯s Gus. I¡¯m sure he told you we were coming. Get the fuck out of the way before I glue you to the fucking ground and let you starve to death.¡±


    The gears turned in their heads for a moment, but they eventually decided that everything checked out, and that they¡¯d rather not be stuck to the pavement for the rest of their lives, so they opened the gate and let us in.


    It was bizarre, being back at Paw Paw¡¯s. The walkways and trails that were bustling with people last time were now completely empty. The trees had all shed their leaves for the winter, and formed a jagged wall leading up to the gift shop security bunker. With my motley crew behind me, I walked through the gift shop, to the maintenance closet, through the secret door, and down the stairs, back into the bunker, where Mickey was waiting to greet us with a cigar and a smile.


    ¡°Howdy, glad y¡¯all could make it,¡± he said. ¡°Hope officer Clancy didn¡¯t give you too much shit,¡± The ash on his cigar had gotten too long and fell on its own to the floor. The whites of his eyes had a tinge of pink to them, and his teeth were even yellower than usual.


    ¡°Better follow me to the TV room, quick. I think we¡¯re all gonna want to watch the 6 o¡¯clock news.¡±

 26c: Todays the Big Day

    We all gathered in the hangout room ¡ª the one I took food from the last time I was there ¡ª and Mickey turned on the enormous TV mounted on the wall. There was only one couch, so Anita, Mickey, Darius and I sat while the others stood. It was already tuned to the news, and a middle aged woman with blindingly white teeth sat at a desk and read off a teleprompter.


    ¡°A Central High School football game was interrupted Friday evening after a parent was arrested for tying his horse to the bleachers. The parent insists that it is within his rights as an American citizen to park his horse where he pleases, and that the police were abusing their power. More on that after the break.¡±


    ¡°Wow, that was fucking riveting,¡± I said, looking at Mickey. ¡°Glad I hauled sixty asses from Texas to Tennessee to see that. I hope the dad gets the justice he deserves.¡±


    ¡°Hold your fucking horses, Gus,¡± Mickey said, not turning his gaze from the TV, looking intently at the commercial for prescription-grade antidiarrheal medicine.


    With Shartaxtin, you don¡¯t have to go with the flow anymore!


    The bright-toothed woman was back on the screen, sitting at a desk across from a middle aged man dressed like John Wayne who was talking about horse parking laws. Mickey didn¡¯t blink. I opened my mouth and Mickey immediately put a hand up in front of my face.


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.¡°Just wait. It¡¯s comin¡¯. It¡¯s comin¡¯.¡±


    As if on cue, the man in the cowboy hat was pulled violently to the floor, out of the camera¡¯s view. A second later, the same happened to the news anchor. Terrible, familiar sounds came from the TV: desperate screams, the ripping of skin, the crunching of bones, and the snarling of the clayhounds. I couldn¡¯t see them, but their sound was unmistakable. The camera picked up the sounds of chaos coming from the newsroom.


    ¡°Leave it on.¡±


    A southern drawl penetrated the chaos.


    ¡°Turn that camera off and the dogs are comin¡¯ after you, boy.¡±


    My heart sank into my small intestine. Every muscle in my body seized and I felt paralyzed, almost like Mickey had touched me, but he was still on the other side of the couch, looking almost as tense as I was.


    ¡°So it¡¯s true. Today¡¯s the big day,¡± Mickey said. He tried to project his regular cocky attitude, but his body betrayed him, and his voice warbled like a kid trying not to cry.


    The clayhounds had finished their meals and the snarling died down. The rest of the newsroom settled into total silence, except for the sound of boots thumping against the tile floor. Alec stepped into the shot and sat down at the anchor¡¯s desk.

 26d: You Sound Afraid

    ¡°Howdy,¡± Alec said. His voice was smooth, hypnotically soothing in a way that made my stomach churn. Somehow, the tattoos covering his body looked even darker than they had before.


    ¡°Now, don¡¯t y¡¯all worry,¡± he continued. ¡°Nobody¡¯s gonna get hurt ¡ª except for these two poor souls at my feet ¡ª as long as you behave.¡± He beckoned for his clayhounds and they sat at either side of him, blood falling from their jaws as he patted them on their heads.


    ¡°As you can probably see, I have a gift from God. I¡¯m blessed, truly, and I got a lot of blessed friends, too. The Lord talks to us directly, each and every day, and you know what he tells us? That this country has gone to Hell. Y¡¯all have given yourselves to the devil, and we¡¯re here to bring y¡¯all back into the loving arms of God. As of right now, nobody¡¯s gettin¡¯ in or out of North Carolina, Tennessee, or Georgia. No police, no military men ¡ª nobody. You can come to one of my churches to be purified, or you can wait for us to find you. Your choice. I promise, we¡¯ll make it quick and painless. Have a good night.¡± He tipped his hat and smiled warmly, and put a sign in front of the camera that displayed the various locations someone could go to if they¡¯d like to be murdered. Distant screams and wet thuds came from the TV as Alec slaughtered everyone in the studio. Mickey turned the TV off.


    ¡°Did this crazy son of a bitch actually just annex three states?¡± Anita said.


    ¡°Sure as fuck looks that way,¡± Mickey replied. ¡°And we¡¯re right in the middle of it.¡± He took a walkie-talkie out of his pocket. ¡°Stephen, Carl, Ernesto, we need eyes on every one of these churches. Report back to me in an hour.¡±


    Three staticky Yes Sir!¡¯s came out of the walkie-talkie in unison, and the floor vibrated as dozens of men ran down the hall.


    ¡°Brandon, Clodagh, uhhhh Old Guy, go with them. Help them however you can, and report back to me.¡±


    ¡°His name¡¯s Frank,¡± said Clodagh as the three of them ran out the door to catch up with Mickey¡¯s guys. Mickey stood up and paced back and forth.


    ¡°Alright, we need to know exactly how many men there are, how many are marked, what they can do, and where the fuck Alec is. Will he be at one of the churches, you think?¡±


    ¡°No chance,¡± I said. ¡°He¡¯s going to be looking for us.¡±


    For some reason, that made Mickey smile.


    ¡°I hope he does. The two of us together will whoop his cowboy ass.¡±


    I stood up to look him in the eyes.


    ¡°You don¡¯t know what this guy¡¯s capable of, Mickey. I don¡¯t know what he¡¯s capable of. You¡¯ve seen how much stronger we get each time our marks progress. How fucking ridiculous do you think he¡¯s gonna be, marked from head-to-fucking-toe?¡±


    ¡°You sound afraid,¡± said Mickey. I encased myself in a sludge shell and smacked him in the face, sending him to the floor.


    ¡±I¡¯m not afraid. I¡¯m just not a fucking idiot. If you want to run straight up to Alec, you¡¯re going to die. If I tried to help you, we¡¯d both die. If we both die, everyone dies. You can¡¯t go straight for the checkmate; you gotta take a few pieces first, especially when you¡¯re starting out with fewer pieces.¡±


    He stood up and put a fist in my stomach. Even with the shell protecting me, it hurt like hell, and I stumbled back a few steps, only being kept upright by the sludge.


    ¡°God, I missed hearing you jerk yourself off, acting all smart ¡®n shit,¡± Mickey said. ¡°I¡¯m going straight for that sonofabitch as soon as I find him. I ain¡¯t afraid of his old ass, even if you¡¯re not gonna help me.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve always been a fuckin¡¯ moron, Mickey, I swear to God,¡± I said.


    ¡°You¡¯re a moron and a fuckin¡¯ douche, which is even worse,¡± he countered.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°If you don¡¯t shut the fuck up I¡¯m gonna kick your fuckin¡¯¡ª¡°


    ¡°Holy shit I can¡¯t take it anymore! Shut the fuck up! Both of you!¡± Anita erupted. ¡°Jesus Christ, our lives are in the hands of two bickering children. Mickey ¡ª going into that fight without any knowledge of what you¡¯re up against will end badly. Don¡¯t do it. Gus ¡ª you¡¯re gonna have to fight this guy at some point. If you¡¯re afraid, then you¡¯re gonna get whooped. And if you guys can¡¯t talk like goddamn adults without yelling and hitting each other, all of this is going to be over real quick. Now, sit down and breathe. Damn.¡±


    I wanted to snap back at her for calling me afraid, but she was right ¡ª they were both right. I was scared shitless of that guy after what he did to me, and what I saw him do to Beth. Even if I had gotten stronger, much stronger, since our last meeting, he would still kill me, surely. Not only had he let the mark cover him as much as it possibly could, he had years of experience using his powers. In a one-on-one fight ¨C or even a two-on-one fight ¨C I was almost definitely fucked.


    I just wanted to go back to the fuckin bridge and drink 40s, for Christ¡¯s sake. But no ¨C I had to go fight in a goddamn superhuman war with the biggest prick I¡¯d ever known as my co-general.


    ¡°Alright,¡± I said through a drawn out sigh, ¡°what do you think we should do, Anita?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re outnumbered, fighting a defensive war, which only means one thing ¨C guerilla warfare. You need to fight dirty, like the bums you are. None of that honorable, ¡®fight me like a man!¡± bullshit. Hardly anybody¡¯s going to voluntarily go to one of the churches and die. They¡¯re gonna have to send patrols through neighborhoods, into peoples¡¯ homes, and kill them. That¡¯s where we can intercept them. We take their squads out on the streets, one by one, until the playing field is levelled ¨C or until they catch on and find a way to put a stop to it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll go with Clodagh,¡± Caleb blurted out. I gave him a suspicious side-eye. ¡°Uhhhh¡­ because we do similar things, ya know? Her scorpions, my little guys¡­¡± he trailed off.


    ¡°Yeah, ok,¡± I said. ¡°She¡¯s a little too old for you though, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    ¡°Ugh! What are you even talking about?!¡± Caleb¡¯s voice squeaked at the end of the question. ¡°That¡¯s not even what I was talking about. I just thought that we ¨C¡±


    ¡°Ok, so Caleb can go with his girlfriend, Brandon and Frank can form a unit as well, assuming they don¡¯t kill each other, and Mother Dora and I will lead a team as well. Gerald, you come with me, but be ready to move elsewhere as you¡¯re needed.¡±


    Gerald looked like a baby that was about to spit up, but he managed to nod without throwing up. I ignored it and hoped he got his shit together before we were out in the shits.


    ¡°What about me?¡± Anita said.


    ¡°What about you?¡± I replied.


    ¡°Who am I going with?¡±


    ¡°I thought you and Darius could stay here and watch Law and Order or something,¡± I said. Darius, half-asleep on the couch, jolted awake when I said his name. He looked around, saw there wasn¡¯t any danger, and slunk back into the couch cushion.


    ¡°Are you fucking joking?¡± Anita said indignantly. ¡°I¡¯m the only one here with more than two brain cells to rub together, and you want to leave me behind?¡±


    ¡°Brain cells didn¡¯t account for much when you had cannonballs flying at your head. If I wasn¡¯t there, your brains would¡¯ve been splattered all over the floor.¡± I said.


    ¡°If you weren¡¯t there, nobody would¡¯ve been shooting cannonballs at me in the first goddamn place, but fine ¨C I get your point. I¡¯ll stay here and strategize. But what if they show up here? I¡¯m gonna need more protection than that old lump over there.¡±


    Darius jolted up again when he heard the phrase ¡°old lump¡±.


    ¡°Fine. Mother Dora, stay here with Anita. Make some fucked-up booby traps or something, I don¡¯t know. I¡¯ll lead a squad by myself,¡± I said.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m coming with you too, right?¡± said Gerald.


    ¡°Yeah. Like I said: I¡¯ll lead the squad by myself.¡± He looked at me with that sneering look of disdain that he nailed so well. I wondered how long it would take him to realize that I enjoyed pissing him off.


    ¡°Works for me,¡± said Anita. ¡°Mickey, you should use your men to keep eyes on the area, make sure we don¡¯t get any surprise visits. And form a squad of your own with your best men behind you, of course.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do what I fuckin¡¯ want with my men,¡± Mickey replied. ¡°But yeah, I was thinking something similar. Except I don¡¯t need a squad. I¡¯ll whoop these Gestapo fuckers all on my own.¡±


    ¡°God damnit, Mickey, they¡¯re gonna have marked men with them. We don¡¯t know how big these squads are gonna be. You¡¯re probably gonna get your ass handed to you, running into danger by yourself.¡± I said.


    ¡°Damn, Gus. You must be weaker ¡®n I thought, with all the bitchin¡¯ you¡¯re doin¡¯. You better hope my heart grows two sizes by the end of all this and I let you back out of our little deal. If not, I¡¯ma kill you in about two seconds it seems.¡±


    I wanted to sludge-slap him in his fucking face again, but I restrained myself. I knew he just wanted to rile me up.


    ¡°Alright, go alone. I really don¡¯t give a shit,¡± I said. ¡°The rest of us will play it smart and stick together.¡±


    I looked at everyone for a moment ¨C just trying to take them all in. Holy shit, we were gonna get steamrolled, weren¡¯t we? There¡¯s no way these goofy motherfuckers could take on a whole army.


    ¡°Mickey, call our guys back,¡± I said. ¡°We need everyone together. Tonight, we¡¯re going out.¡±

 27a: Theyre Coming!

    A family was kind enough to take us into their home, once we threatened to kill them if they didn¡¯t.


    We chose a suburb as close to town as we could find, figuring that¡¯s where they would start making their rounds. Gerald, three baldies whose names I hadn¡¯t bothered to learn, and I peaked out of the windows of the Jerichos¡¯ house. They were scared shitless of us at first ¡ª I guess that¡¯s what usually happens when you knock on someone¡¯s door and threaten their lives ¡ª but once they realized we hardly gave a shit if they were there or not, they relaxed a little bit. It was a pair of dads ¡ª Bruce and Marv ¡ª a little boy, barely out of his pants-shitting days, named Austin, and an old lady that just said her name was ¡°Mee Maw¡±.


    Mee Maw Jericho was the first to come out of hiding, saying ¡°I¡¯ve lived eighty-somethin¡¯ years. If you wanna take me tonight, it¡¯s all part of God¡¯s plan.¡± The rest of them trickled into the den with us after we didn¡¯t senselessly butcher Mee Maw.


    ¡°So, you guys are gonna save us from¡­ whatever¡¯s going on?¡± Bruce said. Or maybe it was Marv. They both looked so similar ¡ª short, brown hair, lined-up beards, a little under six-foot tall, athletic builds ¡ª that I had a hard time telling them apart at first. The only thing that set them apart were their voices; Bruce¡¯s voice was deep and smooth like a radio DJ¡¯s, and Marv¡¯s was higher pitched with a pronounced Tennessee twang.


    ¡°I know y¡¯all ain¡¯t got no goddamn superpowers. Prolly just wanted a warm place t¡¯hide like the rest of us,¡± Marv said. It was definitely Marv that time.


    ¡°Would you like a demonstration?¡± Gerald said and side-eyed me and uncoiled a devilish smile. The smile was creepy enough to shut the Jerichos up by itself, but I didn¡¯t want to leave any doubts in their minds, in case they considered trying some slick shit while our backs were turned.


    ¡°Baldy,¡± I said and pointed to one of the baldies, who had a head full of bouncy blond curls, much to the confusion of the two Jerichos. The baldy straightened his back like he was at his first day of Boot Camp. He even started to bring his arm up to salute before I grabbed it and put it back at his side.


    ¡°What can you do?¡± I asked.


    He turned around to face the two men, who already looked like they deeply regretted their skepticism. The blonde baldy rolled up his pants leg to reveal his calf, covered in tattoos that were marred by hideous scars. He took out a pocket knife, flipped it open, and ran the blade up his leg. Marv and Bruce both winced at the sight. Mee Maw was distracting the toddler with a game of patty cake, but couldn¡¯t contain her curiosity any longer and stared at the bleeding blonde baldy. After a couple of seconds, the deep gash in his leg sprouted black threads that knitted together over the wound and quickly formed a new ugly scar on his leg.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°So you can heal?¡± I said. ¡°Great person to have in the one squad with a fuckin¡¯ healer in it, huh?¡± I glared at Gerald, even though he had nothing to do with organizing these squads. He replied with an awkward shrug. ¡°More time to fix up the rest of you, I guess.¡±


    ¡°If it even comes to that tonight,¡± I countered. We¡¯d been in the house for several hours with no sign of any street patrols.


    ¡°Maybe we should go searching for them,¡± I continued. ¡°I don¡¯t want to waste the entire night sitting here and they don¡¯t show up.¡±


    ¡°That might happen,¡± said Gerald, ¡°but we need to be patient, just as you said before we left the bunker. Giving up our defensive position and the element of surprise because we couldn¡¯t sit still for a few hours would be idiotic, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    I grimaced, but nodded in agreement. Gerald closed his eyes and savored the moment I conceded something to him. It really made me not want to do it again, but he was right. I wasn¡¯t Sun Tzu; I was a bum. Strategy was going to have to be a collaborative effort if we wanted to get out of this alive. Which is why I also let Anita devise the plan we were getting ready to execute. Everyone was in position ¡ª all we needed were some marked men to fall into our trap.


    For hours, there was nothing. The boredom was interrupted by a stray cat chasing down a rabbit, but other than that, it was nothing but a dark, empty street. The Jerichos all went to bed, except for Mee Maw, who said that she only sleeps about three hours a night these days because ¡°the diabetes keeps her up all night pissin¡¯,¡± so she sat in the living room and rocked back and forth in a recliner watching reruns of Murder She Wrote. Gerald and the baldies started to doze off too, and I let them. There was no point in keeping them awake when I could keep watch. I reckoned they¡¯d be better in a fight if they weren¡¯t sleep deprived, too.


    They didn¡¯t get much sleep though; a gang of black squares came bobbing down the road at high speeds. Even without the headlights on, I could see the cars coming from about a half-mile away, and they were coming closer quickly.


    ¡°Wake up, motherfuckers!¡± I said. All of the sleepy devil-worshippers sprang to attention. Call me crazy, but all of the fear washed out of me in that moment; I felt like a kid on the way to Chuck-E-Cheese. If I died, I died ¡ª but I was gonna make sure I took a few dozen of those sons of bitches with me.


    ¡°They¡¯re coming!¡±

 27b: Youre Asking for the Wrong Bum!

    Four black SUVs came barreling down the road with their high beams on. Then, four more followed behind them. I thought that would be the end, but nope ¡ª that would¡¯ve been too fuckin¡¯ easy, right? Sixteen goddamn cars came down that road, packed full of people.


    Fuck.


    ¡°Shit,¡± said Mee Maw, looking through the window over her reading glasses. ¡°Lotta people just to round up some softies in the suburbs.¡±


    ¡°My thoughts exactly,¡± I said. They weren¡¯t sending a whole fucking battalion to wrangle up Mee Maw, that was for damn sure.


    The cars parked in a line in front of the house. A head poked out of the front most SUV.


    ¡°Mickey! Come on out! Ain¡¯t you waitin¡¯ for us?¡± he said. He was totally bald ¡ª smooth head, smooth chin, no eyebrows ¡ª with thorny black vines crawling up his neck and etched into his skull. His eyes looked black, like rat¡¯s eyes, illuminated only by street lamps and headlights. Each tooth jutted in a different direction in his massive mouth, and even from inside the house I could see split flying when he spoke.


    ¡°Come on, Mickey! Are you scared? Get out here and fucking atone!¡± the thorned man spat. The cars behind him all rolled their windows down and caused a ruckus ¡ª hooting, hollering, and smacking the sides of the cars like bass drums. I grinned my teeth together.


    ¡°Mee Maw, do you have any booze in this house?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Do I look like a damn square?¡± she replied, adjusting her cardigan indignantly. ¡°How much you want?¡±


    ¡°How much you got?¡±


    She waddled to the kitchen and came back with five mostly-filled bottles of rum, whiskey, and vodka.


    ¡°Sir, is it really wise to be drinking at a time like this?¡± Gerald said in that annoying way I thought I had bullied out of him at this point.


    ¡°As good a fuckin¡¯ time as ever, I reckon,¡± I said, taking the whiskey from Mee Maw and downing a few hot gulps. It had been a while since I had a real drink. It felt good. I felt good. Before, I¡¯d just deal with my throat burning to shit when I chugged liquor, but now it just left a nice warming sensation. I got about halfway through the whiskey before Bruce and Marv came into the living room, armed to the fucking teeth.


    It was a sight to behold ¡ª two men in their PJs carrying AR-15s and wearing Berettas on their hips. I guess it wasn¡¯t too odd, given we were in Tennessee. Bruce snatched the bottle out of my hand.


    ¡°You¡¯re not gonna be much help to us if you¡¯re shitfaced,¡± he said.


    ¡°You¡¯re not gonna be much help to us if these motherfuckers have magical fucking powers,¡± I countered. ¡°Get your GI Joe asses back to the bedroom, and take these bottles with you.¡± Mee Maw was still holding the rest of the liquor, and I pushed her towards them. ¡°Make some molotovs or something if it¡¯ll make you feel better. Or just drink it. Either way, get the fuck out of here.¡±


    They started to protest, but me pushing them was like a NFL linebacker pushing a child. I corralled them into their bedroom and shut the door.


    ¡°MICKEY! GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE BEFORE I START TEARING DOWN HOUSES!¡± The thorned man was getting angry, and the hollering behind him grew in intensity; they were screeching like chimpanzees, frothing at the mouth to start fighting.


    Peeking out the window again showed that they were all out of their vehicles, shuffling back and forth in an unorganized mass. The thorned man stood out in the front of the crowd.


    Stolen story; please report.¡°Gerald, you¡¯re coming with me,¡± I said. ¡°Just stay close by, but unseen. Come out if I need you.¡±


    He looked like a kid who was just told he was going to have to start putting in shifts in the coal mine, but he bit his bottom lip and eventually forced out an ¡°Ok¡±.


    ¡°Baldies, you know what to do: hit the right flank and thin out this crowd as much as you can. I¡¯m gonna take care of this prickly son of a bitch.¡± They nodded and slunk out the back door.


    ¡°MICKEYYYYY, COME OUT AND PLAYYYAYY¡ª¡±


    ¡°Jesus, shut the fuck up already!¡± I said, walking out the front door. ¡°You¡¯re asking for the wrong bum!¡±


    The crowd went silent in an instant, and a few dozen heads locked in on me at once. I covered myself in a thick coat of sludge. The crowd scattered ¡ª they must¡¯ve realized who I was and didn¡¯t want to end up fueling their own funeral pyre. The thorned man didn¡¯t move an inch. He just looked at me with his beady little rat eyes.


    ¡°That¡¯s fine. We can kill you first.¡±


    Black spikes pushed through his skin and covered his entire body. He held his breath until his face turned red and his cheeks puffed out, and a volley of thorns shot from his chest, ripping clean through his shirt, and flew towards me. They stuck into my sludge armor with a wet schlick, and slowly started to burn holes where they landed. The smell was absolutely fucking vile, like a dead skunk smoking a cigar. Luckily, I stayed calm ¡ª thanks, alcohol ¡ª and pushed the thorns out with more sludge before they made contact with my skin. The grass died where they touched the ground.


    I looked up, relieved that there wasn¡¯t venom burning through my kneecaps, and the thorny motherfucker was running straight at me with long black spikes growing out of his knuckles. I shot a glob of slime at his feet, but he hopped over it without breaking his stride. I shot another, right under his foot, giving him no time to react. He landed in it and slid towards me, maintaining perfect balance.


    Fucking great. I made him even faster.


    I dove to the right just in time for his spiked fist to graze the sludge on my cheek and leave a sizzling line of toxic tobacco skunk next to my face. I fell hard to the ground, but the shell around me absorbed almost all of the impact. It was like falling on a goopy, tacky cloud.


    I expected another thorn to come at my head while I was on the ground, but my snail trail carried the thorned man too far, and his fist stuck into a fence post a few feet behind me. It only took him a second to yank it out, but it only took me a second to get off the ground.


    We looked at each other, taking each other in, both waiting for the other to make the next move.


    Behind me there were sounds of war, baldies versus zealots. I didn''t know who was winning, but with three against fuck-knows how many, the sounds of fighting were encouraging. If those sorry sons of bitches could take on twenty men apiece, I could deal with one pointy rat person.


    I focused all of my energy on thickening my sludge shell, adding inch after inch until I was looking through a tunnel of tar. It was heavy as shit, but he couldn''t get a thorn through a foot-thick semi-liquid shell.


    I hoped.


    My sloppy, golem-looking ass stomped towards him like Godzilla. His face was barely visible through my tunnel vision. He sent another volley of thorns at me ¡ª nothing. I had plenty of time to push them out before they burrowed anywhere near my body.


    I took another step. Distant shouts of frustration penetrated my shell as he sent punch after punch into my abdomen with no effect. This fucker was toast. I sent a heavy fist down on his head and he fell to the ground. I laughed, even though I knew nobody could hear me. I lifted a foot up ¨C about to crush his body like an unsuspecting Tokyo citizen. But he was so much faster than me. He rolled out of the way before my foot was even halfway to the ground.


    ¡°You fight like a bitch,¡± he said, but I didn''t give a shit ¨C better to be an alive bitch than a dead non-bitch. I lumbered towards him again, feeling invincible, when that crazy motherfucker did something I never would''ve anticipated ¨C he gave me a hug.


    He wrapped his body around me, sinking into my shell. I tried to push him out with more sludge, but it just swallowed him instead. Slowly but surely, he moved through the sludge, until I felt a thousand points poking me at once.


    It burned more than I thought possible. It felt like my DNA was being ripped apart, dissolving into putrid smoke. I screamed, but I didn''t let him go. The sludge was holding him against me just as much as it was holding me against him.


    I shed the shell from my face and was met with a facefull of rotting yellow teeth. He cackled while my skin crackled. I knew I only had a couple of seconds before the pain would consume my mind, and only a few more seconds after that before my body was turned to mush.


    With my last remaining strength, I snorted as hard as I could and sent two booger bombs into his mouth. The cackling was quickly replaced with coughing and spitting; and the coughing and spitting was quickly replaced by his head exploding.


    He was dead, but I wasn''t in much better shape. I shed the rest of my armor and fell to the ground while the sounds of war echoed around me.

 27c: A Singularity of Souls?

    ¡°Beth?¡±


    I was under the bridge again, and Beth was sitting next to me by the shopping cart we had turned on its side to use as a grill. We were cooking hot dogs and drinking beer. Cars rumbled over our heads in a steady stream and blocked out the rest of the world. It was just us.


    She looked at me and smiled.


    ¡°No, you fucking moron,¡± she said. ¡°You¡¯re half-dead and hallucinating.¡±


    ¡°Ah, go fuck yourself,¡± I replied to myself, continuing to grill the imaginary hot dogs. ¡°I know I¡¯m in a fuckin¡¯ coma. Just figured I¡¯d ask anyway.¡±


    ¡°Uh huh, sure ya did,¡± Beth said.


    ¡°Shut up and pass me the glass,¡± I said.


    She put on a look of mocking concern. ¡°I thought you quit that stuff?¡±


    I reached over into the tent and grabbed the ziploc bag myself. ¡°Not like it¡¯s real, right?¡±


    I opened up the bag of meth, took a pinch between my fingers, and tucked it into my lower lip, how I always used to ¡ª it lasts longer and you can do it on the go.


    Holy shit, I hadn¡¯t realized how badly I missed being high. It felt just like I remembered. The clouds parted in my mind and energy coursed through my limbs; I felt like I could do anything, but what I wanted to do was more meth.


    I reached for the bag, but Beth snatched it up first and threw it into the creek.


    ¡°I told you to stay off of that shit,¡± she said. Some of her hair fell out of her ponytail and hung in front of her face. I forgot how hot she was when she was mad.


    ¡°Why do you give a shit if I take some imaginary drugs?¡± I said.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want you to think about getting back on this shit when we go back to the real world. We have a lot more fighting to do if we want to survive.¡±


    ¡°We? You gonna crawl out of my head and give me a hand out there?¡±


    She just looked at me again, not saying anything ¡ª waiting for something. I took her in. Fuck, I missed that shaggy blonde hair, that devious smile, the slight zig-zags of her nose bridge that she got after trying to fight a bouncer. Now, all I had was a whole lot of bullshit to deal with and this stupid fucking mark on my arm.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Except it wasn¡¯t there. My arm was smooth and barren. I lifted my shirt up and felt around my shoulders and chest to confirm that it was really gone. I looked back up at Beth.


    She was gone.


    The cars stopped driving over the bridge. The creek flowed in place, not moving forward or backward. The fire continued to flicker under the shopping cart, but the crackling stopped and the hotdogs did not sizzle. Everything drifted away at once, spread out, disappeared into entropy, and became pure noise ¡ª including me.


    THE END IS NEAR


    ONLY ONE WILL REMAIN


    WE WILL BRING FORTH


    A SINGULARITY OF SOULS


    wake up.


    <hr>


    I had eyes again, and they opened. I was laid out on a table while a frantic Gerald sprinkled things on my body. There were two baldies helping him ¡ª a white haired woman and an olive skinned man, both drenched in blood ¡ª rubbing some sort of paste on my sides.


    ¡°Holy shit, he¡¯s awake,¡± said the white haired woman. Every muscle in Gerald¡¯s body relaxed at once and he sighed like he¡¯d been holding his breath for hours.


    ¡°We did it. We really did it,¡± he said. The three of them exchanged fraternal slaps on the back and cheered.


    I wasn¡¯t just awake, though. I felt amazing, and it wasn¡¯t because of them. My mark hummed and throbbed on my chest, bulging out from the holes in my shirt. I didn¡¯t bother to correct them, not because my heart swelled at the sight of their smiling faces or anything, but I had more important matters on my mind.


    I rolled off the dining room table and went to Marv and Bruce¡¯s living room, where Mee Maw sat in her recliner, rocking back and forth, looking out the window.


    ¡°You look well,¡± she said, only slightly surprised. ¡°I could see your burns closin¡¯ up when they brought you in here, but I thought you just might be decayin¡¯ already.¡±


    ¡°Not yet,¡± I said. ¡°Fully healed, actually.¡±


    ¡°Look a damn mess though,¡± she said.


    She was right. I could feel the chewy mounds of skin raised up all over my face and chest ¡ª scars that would be there for the rest of my life. Oh well.


    ¡°Got somethin¡¯ throbbin¡¯ all over you too,¡± she continued.


    ¡°Yeah, that happens.¡±


    ¡°I know the feelin¡¯. Ain¡¯t a day that goes by where somethin¡¯ ain¡¯t throbbin¡¯ on me too.¡±


    I grunted and turned around to take my shirt off. Two blisters appeared, beckoning me to make a choice. One looked like a person ¡ª a mobile sludge slave, maybe? The other was a skull and crossbones ¡ª it would make my slime venomous, I had to imagine.


    The words that were shouted at me in the void echoed in my head. A singularity of souls? Sounds like a shitty emo band. Even so, the words gave me chills, thinking about where they came from. It had to have been my mark. It talked to me in my sleep. It brought me back. It told me what to do. It always told me what to fucking do, and the only thing listening to it brought was more fighting, more killing, more bullshit. I looked down at the throbbing blisters, the options it told me to take.


    ¡°Fuck you. I don¡¯t want either of them,¡± I said. I didn¡¯t press them down, and my mark continued to hum and throb under my skin.

 28a: We Only Take the Big Guns

    I don¡¯t think the mark liked being disobeyed.


    I felt fine, mostly. Aside from the nasty scars all over my body, I had recovered amazingly; I was extremely lucky to have killed a marked man right before he killed me. But something didn¡¯t feel right in my body. The blisters continued to pulsate, and the buzzing under my skin got worse and worse. I was constantly vibrating, writhing under my skin like maggots.


    I should just do it. Press one of the blisters down. I need to be as strong as possible for whatever comes next.


    No.


    Yes! Am I going to let everyone else die because I¡¯m too afraid of power?


    Shut the fuck up.


    I¡¯ll just end up pressing it down by accident anyway, when I¡¯m laying down or when I¡¯m bashing someone¡¯s head in. Might as well just do it now and choose which ability I get for myself.


    ¡°Good point,¡± I said aloud to myself, and put a sludge shell over the blisters on my chest, giving them a nice, safe cushion from outside influence. Creating the shell felt awkward, like someone was pushing against it, but they couldn¡¯t stop me.


    Just fucking press them down! You¡¯re being an idiot!


    I ignored my internal monologue. I couldn¡¯t trust it anymore. I haven¡¯t been able to trust it for a long time, really. With each blister-press, I was less Augustus McCall and more Gus the Marked Man. But I could still tell, somewhere deep down, which thoughts were mine and which were put there by the mark, impersonating me.


    But could I really? Always? And even if I could,  how much longer would that last? At what point would I lose Augustus McCall entirely? It was hard to say, and I didn¡¯t want to take my chances. I¡¯d be god damned if I came all this way just to become subservient to a fucking tattoo.


    The tattoo disagreed.


    It constantly protested under my skin, constantly filled my head with doubt ¡ª or at least I suspected it was the one filling my head with doubt.


    ¡°Anyone hungry?¡± Marv¡¯s voice came from the kitchen. ¡°I¡¯m making chicken wings.¡±


    ¡°Marv, it¡¯s five o¡¯ clock in the morning,¡± Bruce said on his way out of the bathroom.


    ¡°I just survived a battle in a supernatural holy war ¡ª I¡¯m not eating oatmeal.¡±


    He had a point, I thought. I actually really fucking wanted some chicken wings, but I needed to see what the damage was outside. There was the sound of chicken bubbling in oil, and a glorious smell started to waft through the house, and I reluctantly stepped out the front door into a street that was painted red. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    If someone had told me that this is what Hell looked like, I wouldn¡¯t have been surprised. It wasn¡¯t just your everyday, run-of-the mill smattering of corpses on the street. The entire road was red to the point that I couldn¡¯t see any asphalt. Intestines hung from roofs like Christmas garlands. Shards of bone stuck into the dirt. Somehow, the most intact body out there was the headless thorned man I left on the front lawn of Bruce and Marv¡¯s house.


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome.¡±


    Mickey leaned against a blood-soaked tree, admiring his handiwork, smug as a fucking bug.


    ¡°You did all of this?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Nah,¡± he said. ¡°Once you took out the big baddie, your guys actually put up a damned good fight. Probably only half of these grunts were still on their feet when I rolled up. And only one of the baldies looked real injured by the end. Gerald got him lookin¡¯ alright, though I think he¡¯s still knocked out.¡±


    ¡°Wow, didn¡¯t think he had it in him, to be honest,¡± I said.


    ¡°Why? He saved your ass too.¡±


    ¡°Killing a marked man saved my ass, and everyone else¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°Probably helped, sure, but it took a couple of minutes. You would¡¯ve been a puddle on the sidewalk if Gerald didn¡¯t pull you into the house and stop the venom from spreading. Maybe you shouldn¡¯t be so hard on him. I think he likes you.¡± Mickey grinned.


    ¡°Haven¡¯t you ever heard of tough love, Mickey?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Sure I have.¡±


    ¡°Well that¡¯s not what I¡¯m giving to Gerald. Can¡¯t fuckin¡¯ stand the sight of that guy. Glad he¡¯s not completely useless though.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s more than that. I¡¯m tellin¡¯ you now, Gus: he might be the most important guy you got by the end of this. Might not want him hatin¡¯ you.¡±


    ¡°If I¡¯m being honest, I really couldn¡¯t give a shit, but thanks for the words of wisdom. Now, what¡¯s your next move? They were expecting us here ¡ª well, they were expecting you. Now they know I¡¯m here, too. We¡¯ll probably be met with a lot more firepower next time we meet them.¡±


    The smell of chicken wings wafted into the street, competing with the scent of blood ¡ª and winning. Mickey smelled it too and walked past me into the house without answering my question. I followed; I was fucking starving.


    ¡°Hope y¡¯all got enough for me!¡± Mickey said as he burst through the door. Bruce and Marv looked absolutely fucking delighted to see him.


    ¡°Sure do,¡± said Marv. ¡°Must be hungry after kicking all that ass.¡±


    Mickey chuckled. ¡°You ain¡¯t ever told a lie. Poppin¡¯ motherfuckers is hungry work. And I popped a lot of motherfuckers.¡±


    We all took plates and found seats ¡ª some in the kitchen, some in the living room, some at the dining room table. Mickey and I both ate like rabid hyenas.


    ¡°Mickey, what are you thinking for our next move?¡± I repeated with a mouthful of meat. The whole house was staring at us, the two generals, with bated breath.


    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t think you¡¯re gonna like my plans. You never do,¡± Mickey said.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t say I was gonna follow your orders. I just wanted to know where your mind was at,¡± I said.


    ¡°Alright, but don¡¯t just dismiss it immediately like you did last time,¡± he said.


    ¡°Sorry, didn¡¯t realize you were so sensitive. I¡¯ll be nice, even if it¡¯s dumber than shit, which it probably will be,¡± I said.


    ¡°Better than what you got, evidently, which is nothin¡¯,¡± he said. ¡°Personally, I was thinkin¡¯ we go pay one of their churches a visit. We only take the big guns: you, me, Gerald, and Caleb.¡±


    ¡°What? Caleb?¡± I said.


    ¡°Oh, you haven¡¯t heard?¡± Mickey smiled.

 28b: Caleb’s One Bad Motherfucker, Apparently

    ¡°Caleb¡¯s one bad motherfucker, apparently,¡± Mickey said, choking out a chuckle. It was a funny thought, I had to admit ¡ª lanky, awkward Caleb being some sort of badass ¡ª though most people would¡¯ve probably had similar thoughts about me.


    ¡°He¡¯s probably gonna want to tell you for himself,¡± Mickey continued. ¡°We¡¯re all due back at HQ anyway.¡±


    ¡°Yeah I¡¯m just about ready to never see this street again,¡± I said.


    ¡°Y¡¯all are just gonna leave us here to wait for more nut jobs to come kill us?¡± Mee Maw said like we were the dumbest people to ever walk the planet. She seemed like she was somehow making herself look older and more frail at that moment too. Fuck police interrogators ¡ª old ladies are the true master manipulators.


    ¡°I s¡¯pose you could keep Anita company,¡± I said. ¡°Though she might not want you to. Bruce, Marv, you can come too, I guess.¡±


    ¡°Long as you cook for us,¡± Mickey added, slouching back in front of a pile of chicken bones. ¡°You can even bring your little shitlin with you.¡±


    Bruce grabbed the toddler out of the bedroom. She was slumped over, completely limp in his arms.


    ¡°Did she sleep through all of this ruckus or do we need to go throw her in the trash?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Doped her up with some of Mee Maw¡¯s sleeping pills,¡± Bruce said, shaking her and making her arms flop around to show she was really out cold. ¡°Didn¡¯t want her seeing any of that.¡±


    ¡°Perfect. I like most kids better this way,¡± I said. ¡°Now, let¡¯s get the fuck out of here.¡±


    <hr>


    Everyone else was already back at HQ by the time we got there. Caleb was in the lounge, sipping on something at the bar. He stood straighter than usual and there was a slight grin permanently planted on his face.


    ¡°My, you look fucking chipper,¡± I said. ¡°Enjoyed yourself out there?¡±


    ¡°Me? Not too much,¡± he said with a grin still on his face. ¡°But my little guys had a pretty good time.¡±


    One of the¡­ things¡­ crawled out of his pocket and skittered up Caleb¡¯s back. It looked bigger than the one he brought out in the car, and it was much calmer ¡ª docile, even. It stood on his shoulder and its worm head swayed gently from side to side like Stevie Wonder playing a ballad. Caleb scratched the thing¡¯s head with his index finger.


    ¡°We killed one of you guys. Well, they killed one of you guys,¡± he said.


    ¡°Don¡¯t act like you did it all yourself, little boy,¡± One of the baldies said. She was an older woman, on the couch in front of the TV with Anita, Angela, and Mee Maw, getting acquainted with the newest member of the Golden Girls.


    ¡°Angela helped too,¡± Caleb conceded. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°First, fuck you,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m not one of those guys. Second, how the fuck did you kill one of us?¡±


    ¡°It was crazy,¡± Caleb said. His eyes lit up and he took a deep breath. ¡°There were at least like fifty guys out there, all yelling for Mickey. The guy in the front looked like a monster. Seriously ¡ª he was frickin¡¯ huge, with tattoos all up to his neck. He carried a sledgehammer in each hand and swung them like it was nothing. And that wasn¡¯t even his power ¡ª the guy was just insanely strong. If that wasn¡¯t enough, though, he could also conduct electricity. He held the hammers up and electricity would arc between them. You could hear sparks crackling off of the metal. I was like ¡®How the heck are we gonna fight all these people?¡¯  Lucky for us, Clodagh had been making scorpions for days getting ready for this, and she and the rest of the baldies were able to hold off most of them for a while. That just left the human battery for me and Angela. I was about to shit myself, not gonna lie, but Angela stood right up to him and stuck a bloodsicle ¡ª a big shard of blood ¡ª right into his leg. That just pissed him off more than anything, though, and he ran straight for her. I thought he was gonna turn her into an electrified pancake for sure, but she stuck another bloodsicle straight through his foot and he fell over. It was like a frickin¡¯ tree falling in the forest. But he got up, even more pissed off, and kept charging at her. Meanwhile, I was hiding in a house, still trying not to throw up, but I was like ¡®I can¡¯t just sit here!¡¯ and went out there and sent my little guys after him. They¡¯re not very smart, but they can take instructions well enough. I have four of them at the moment. I told two to bite at his ankles and two to crawl into his shirt. I really caught him by surprise ¡ª he didn¡¯t even know I was there. With Angela distracting him, my little guys bit right through his Achilles tendon and burrowed two holes into his chest. He screamed like a little girl the whole time. After that, it wasn¡¯t a big deal to help Clodagh clean up the rest of the churchgoers, or whatever you guys call them.¡±


    I was shocked. I looked at the thing on his shoulder and tried to imagine it burrowing into someone¡¯s chest, its wormlike head slithering through open flesh. They were lucky that scene was hidden underneath a shirt. Though I wasn¡¯t sure Caleb would¡¯ve been too upset to witness something like that. He seemed positively fucking tickled by the brutal murder. I wondered what Anita thought of that.


    ¡°Wow,¡± I finally said after a moment of silence. ¡°Took him out just like that, huh?¡±


    ¡°Just like that,¡± Caleb said. ¡°And they¡¯re growing too, as you can probably see. Who knows how strong they¡¯ll be once they¡¯re full grown.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I said nervously. ¡°They better keep fuckin¡¯ listening to their papa.¡±


    ¡°Oh, they will.¡± Caleb gave the monster another scratch on the head. ¡°They love me.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what Satanic monsters are most known for: their love,¡± I said, but my smartassery did not get under Caleb¡¯s skin at all. He was still on too much of a high from the battle.


    ¡°Mickey¡¯s saying he wants to go straight to them, to one of their churches, and he wants me and you to come with him,¡± I said.


    ¡°Shit yeah, let¡¯s do it. Tonight?¡± Caleb replied.


    ¡°Fuck no!¡± Anita yelled from the couch. She got up and scrambled towards us. ¡°You guys got lucky yesterday. All of you. We didn¡¯t count on just how many people they have at their disposal, but they didn¡¯t count on us having tapped into some dark magic shit. But now they know. We need to be more prepared if we¡¯re going anywhere near one of their headquarters.¡±


    ¡°So, like two days?¡± Caleb asked. Anita¡¯s nostrils flared, but she could tell that he was just fucking with her. I thought about mentioning the fact that she would¡¯ve, without a doubt, slapped the shit out of me for acting like that towards her, but I kept my mouth shut ¡ª it wasn¡¯t worth it.


    ¡°At least a week,¡± she said. ¡°We need to scout. We need to draw up a plan ¡ª a real plan. We need to make sure we¡¯re more than ready.¡±


    ¡°A whole week?¡± Caleb whined.


    ¡°A week does seem like a long time,¡± I said. ¡°What, are we supposed to just sit here with our thumbs in our asses while you make a plan?¡±


    ¡°Children, we¡¯re in a war,¡± she said. ¡°There¡¯s always something to do. Why don¡¯t you make sure the place is secure? Help Mother Dora shore up our defenses or something, I don¡¯t fucking know.¡±

 28c: Bottle Episode

    ¡°I don¡¯t want your help. Go away.¡±


    Mother Dora looked like she had the perimeter defenses under control by herself. The once blissful path to the plantation house now looked like a walkway straight to Hell. Barbed wire lined either side of the concrete path. It was covered in blood for some reason ¡ª I hadn¡¯t heard about any intruders trying to come in. Gaping mouths with needle-like teeth sprouted from the ground, opening and closing mindlessly. Giant black birds with red eyes perched on top of the trees, constantly scanning the area, looking ready to pull out a motherfucker¡¯s intestines if they got too close. And to top it all off, a tower, about two stories tall, that looked like it was made of human skin, with an opening at the the top that puffed out clouds of black smoke into the sky.


    ¡°Ah yes, the Hell Pillar,¡± Mother Dora said, catching me staring at the flesh tower. ¡°You want to see it in action?¡± She didn¡¯t wait for my response. She muttered some nonsense, and the center of the tower engorged and puked out a ball of magma with the force of a cannon, hitting a tree about fifty yards away and dissolving it completely.


    ¡°Yeah, I don¡¯t think we¡¯re needed here,¡± I said. Caleb agreed, and we went back towards the bunker, Mother Dora shooing us away as we walked.


    <hr>


    ¡°Are we really gonna just sit here and wait for mom to give us orders?¡± Caleb asked as we walked down the corridor towards the elevator to the bottom floor.


    ¡°I know you think you¡¯re a big badass now that you snuck in a kill on a marked man,¡± I said, ¡°but running into shit without a plan will get you killed. It¡¯ll get us all killed. Anita might be a cold bitch sometimes, but she¡¯s smart. She¡¯s got a mind for this sort of thing. Teenage me would kill me right now if he could hear me, but the best thing for us to do is to listen to mom.¡±


    Mom ¡ª it felt weird to call her that. I didn¡¯t like the way the word felt in my mouth.


    ¡°You¡¯re right, you¡¯re right,¡± Caleb conceded. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we be doing something though?¡±


    I thought about it for a second.


    ¡°Great idea. Let¡¯s get drunk.¡±


    Caleb looked at me like I was the prettiest girl in school and had asked him to prom.


    ¡°For real?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Fuck it. Why not? You¡¯re old enough to kill people in a war, but you¡¯re not old enough to have a goddamn beer? What kind of bullshit is that?¡± I said.


    ¡°Can¡¯t argue with that.¡±


    <hr>


    Caleb got wasted.


    Somehow, word got around that I was getting Caleb drunk, and everyone wanted to help. Mickey came down first, to the old meeting room where we were hanging out, and saw Caleb with a beer in his hand.


    ¡°No way are you starting a long, illustrious career as an alcoholic with a fucking Natty Lite,¡± he said. He ran to the elevator in a blur of motion and came back with a bottle of Jack Daniels, and filled a plastic cup halfway with liquor.


    ¡°Here ya go.¡± He handed it to Caleb, who started chugging it like it was sweet tea ¡ª for a second, at least. It took him about two gulps to see the error of his ways, and he sprayed a brown mist onto the floor.


    ¡°Hey, gotta respect the ambition,¡± Mickey said. I was too busy laughing my ass off to pat him on the back.


    Pretty soon, other people started to trickle in, all with offerings to place at the Altar of the Drunk Child. He took each beer, shot, and cocktail with the tenacity of someone young enough to still think drinking was cool, and downed them all. Somehow, after sampling every type of alcohol Mickey had stowed away down here, which was a pretty damn good selection, Caleb was still on his feet. Clodagh put on some music ¡ª some sort of hardcore punk sang by the most Irish-sounding man to ever walk the planet. Everyone was having a great time. It was fucking weird. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    ¡°What is this garbage? Sounds like someone threw a leprechaun in a garbage disposal,¡± Angela said, nursing a beer.


    ¡°Fack off, ya old cunt,¡± Clodagh yelled over the speakers and then laughed maniacally.


    ¡°I thingit¡¯s preddygood¡­ actually,¡± said Caleb. His looked completely closed, but somehow he was still moving around the room without walking into anyone. He pointed his head in the direction of Clodagh and lifted up his cup. She lifted her cup as well and gave him a long distance cheers.


    ¡°You¡¯d like nails on a fuckin¡¯ chalkboard if Clodagh said it sounded good,¡± Mickey said. ¡°Why don¡¯t you just ask her out already? Is it because you¡¯re fourteen and she¡¯s thirty-two?¡±


    Caleb¡¯s face turned beet red. Clodagh laughed so hard she spilled some of her drink onto my shoes.


    ¡°Sorry, sorry,¡± Clodagh said, choking back the rest of her laughter. ¡°But I only like men who¡¯ve killed more people than I have.¡±


    A glimmer of hope sparked in Caleb¡¯s drunken eyes.


    ¡°I can make that happen,¡± he said confidently.


    ¡°Oh, and they can¡¯t be fuckin¡¯ teenagers,¡± she said, and started laughing again. Caleb¡¯s confidence melted away. He started to walk towards the elevator.


    ¡°Come on Caleb! Learn to take a joke! Don¡¯t be such a little bitch!¡± Mickey yelled to him when he was almost at the elevator. Caleb stopped in his tracks, turned around, and moved towards Mickey. Four of those disgusting creatures crawled out of his pockets and sat on his shoulders. He squared up to Mickey, standing as close as he could without physically touching him. His creatures shuddered with excitement. Clodagh stopped the music.


    ¡°Who¡¯re you calling a little bitch?¡± Caleb said, suddenly sounding much more sober. Mickey looked back at him with dead eyes.


    ¡°Careful now, boy,¡± he said. ¡°Don¡¯t make me do something I¡¯ll regret.¡±


    There was something animalistic about Mickey¡¯s eyes that made me deeply uneasy. He wanted to kill. He was looking for any reason at all to do it.


    ¡°Touch him and I¡¯ll fucking kill you right here, Mickey,¡± I said. But Mickey didn¡¯t take his eyes off of Caleb, and Caleb didn¡¯t take his eyes off of Mickey. Everyone stood completely still, looking at the two of them, waiting for something terrible to happen.


    Caleb whispered something.


    ¡°What?¡± Mickey said.


    A creature latched onto his face. Caleb moved away from Mickey, who was taken by surprise as the creature burrowed its head into his cheek. He grabbed it and it popped like a zit, covering Mickey¡¯s face with brown and peach gunk. He looked at Caleb with crazy eyes and a hole in his face that dripped blood onto his shirt.


    Oh fuck.


    I had a pretty good idea of what was about to go down, and moved towards Caleb before Mickey started running at him. They were only a few inches away from each other when I got between them and stuck out a sludge-encrusted arm to catch the hand that Mickey intended to wrap around Caleb¡¯s throat. Mickey sent his other hand at my stomach, but it only hit a thick layer of sludge. He tried to pull it out, but couldn¡¯t.


    ¡°Alright boys, let¡¯s calm the fuck down,¡± I said. ¡°Are we really going to do Alec¡¯s dirty work for him over a little drunken argument?¡±


    Mickey¡¯s eyes were locked on me now, the animalistic urge still clearly flaring up inside of him. But he looked back at Caleb and saw the look of horror on Caleb¡¯s face, and started laughing.


    ¡°Holy shit, boy, you¡¯re a cranky drunk,¡± Mickey said. ¡°And this shit hurt like a son of a bitch.¡± He wiped the blood off of his cheek with his shoulder. ¡°Hurt more than anyone¡¯s hurt me a long damn time, excluding your dear ol¡¯ brother, of course.¡± He laughed some more. The look in his eye wasn¡¯t gone completely, but it was softer, less pronounced.


    ¡°Let me go, motherfucker,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m not gonna kill anyone.¡±


    I let him go.


    ¡°That shit¡¯s really gross, you know that?¡± he continued. ¡°Feels like warmed up cow shit.¡± He wiped his hands on his shirt even though I didn¡¯t leave a trace of sludge on him.


    Caleb still crouched behind me, trembling and dew-eyed like a baby deer. Mickey walked around me and crouched down in front of him, and extended his hand. Caleb didn¡¯t grab it.


    ¡°Really? Fuck. Cover it in cow shit again, if that¡¯s what it takes.¡± I covered his hand in sludge, and Caleb cautiously shook it. They stood up together, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.


    ¡°God damn, that was close,¡± I said. ¡°How about everyone go and get some sleep? Some of y¡¯all clearly can¡¯t handle your alcohol.¡±


    Everyone seemed to agree that the party was over and went to the elevator, filing in five at a time. Mickey, Caleb and I were the last ones to get on.


    ¡°Sorry about your pet, or whatever the hell that was,¡± Mickey said.


    ¡°It¡¯s all good,¡± Caleb shrugged. ¡°I was meaning to conjure up some more anyway.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just glad nothing bad happened for once,¡± I said.


    As if the universe heard me and told me to go fuck myself, alarms started going off and red lights flashed around the room. Anita¡¯s voice echoed through an intercom.


    ¡°Get your asses up here, now. We have visitors.¡±

 29a: Just Go the Fuck Home!

    I guess they didn¡¯t want to wait for us to come to them. They came to us.


    Mickey, Caleb, Mother Dora and I stood on the porch of the house and saw hundreds of faceless men lining the property, going so far back that I could barely see the end of the crowd. A few of the dumber ones had already tried to charge right in, and they laid on the walkway, their eyes plucked out of their sockets by Mother Dora¡¯s ravens. The rest of them had taken care of the guards that Mickey had put at the gate, and now hunkered down behind cars, sheet metal, and other makeshift fortifications, trying to figure out what sort of defenses we had set up, plotting their next move.


    Mickey grumbled something into a walkie-talkie, got a staticky, inaudible reply, and a few seconds later a swarm of men flowed in from the back of the house and stood on both sides of us. They went into the trees, obstructing them from view and giving them cover to hide behind, and they watched the enemy. Mickey had a lot of men at his disposal, but it paled in comparison to the horde at our gate, and one marked man could take out a hundred goons at minimum.


    But Mickey and I could take out a few marked men.


    ¡°Caleb, Mother Dora, get to those trees. Help those non-magic motherfuckers the best you can. They¡¯re gonna need it. Mickey ¡ª come with me.¡± I said, and donned a sludge suit, big enough to obscure Mickey, who was a little taller than me. Mickey seemed to understand what he needed to do without me having to tell him much. Caleb and Mother Dora ran into the woods. I walked down the steps, and Mickey followed close behind me.


    I stepped down the walkway, slowly, approaching the horde with no idea what I was getting into. What if every marked man on the planet was here right now? What if Alec had finally decided to show himself? Memories of clayhounds nearly tearing me to pieces clawed their way into my head. But the memories didn¡¯t scare me ¡ª they pissed me right the fuck off. This man ¡ª these men ¡ª had ruined my fucking life. And they had fucked up by letting me get this strong, and letting me get back here to Mickey. He was the biggest douchebag I¡¯d ever known, but together we were powerful. Extremely fucking powerful. With my defenses and ranged coverage, and his speed and raw power to devastate people up close, we were damn near the perfect duo. For a second, I thought we might even be able to fuck up Alec if we fought him two-on-one.


    We were about to show them how badly they¡¯d fucked up by letting us live this long.


    We got closer to the horde, and bullets started to whiz into me. Fucking idiots. They just sank into my shell. I barely even felt them. They really should¡¯ve known better by now. Mickey stood behind me, in no danger of being hit. We kept going until we stood right in the middle of Mother Dora¡¯s hellscape ¡ª thank fuck she set them to only attack intruders ¡ª and the bullets stopped.


    ¡°Anyone who doesn¡¯t have a tattoo, just go the fuck home!¡± I yelled. ¡°This will not end well for you!¡±If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Nobody moved. I stepped closer, and a couple of bullets whistled by, shooting from some anxious soldiers like premature ejaculate. But still, the horde didn¡¯t thin out, and no marked men showed themselves. We walked up until we were right behind the bars of the gate. I could see the details in the soldier¡¯s faces now. Most of them looked like people who would¡¯ve spit on me if I hit them up for a dollar at the gas station ¡ª they were all either bald or had a buzz cut, sunglasses, medium-length beards and scaly white skin.


    ¡°Any marked men out here,¡± I continued, ¡°Y¡¯all should just come out and show yourselves. Save these poor fucks the pain of being slaughtered to buy you a few extra minutes.¡±


    Nothing.


    ¡°Really? Nobody¡¯s gonna come out?¡± I asked. I was pretty annoyed, to tell you the truth. These fuckers were usually champing at the goddamn bit to fight us. Did they finally realize they should be afraid of us? Or was Alec stupid enough to send his army here without any marked men? Neither seemed likely.


    ¡°Alright, motherfuckers. I¡¯m gonna count to three. If no marked men come out before I get to three, I¡¯m just gonna start ripping into you guys. Are you all ready to die?¡±


    I looked one of the soldiers in the front directly in his eyes. The determined look in his eyes did not waver. What a brave, stupid son of a bitch. I was going to kill him first.


    ¡°One¡­¡± I said like a mother whose patience was running thin, holding up my middle finger.


    ¡°Two¡­¡±  My other middle finger went up. Still, no response.


    I paused. Mickey tapped me on the shoulder. He was ready to fuck some people up.


    ¡°Three.¡±


    Mickey opened the gate and pressed his back against mine. I swallowed him into the sludge shell, leaving nothing but a couple of air holes near his nose and mouth. I did the same for myself. He lifted his arms, though it seemed to be a bit of a struggle, and extended his pole from his right hand until it stuck out several feet on either side. I ran headfirst into the horde.


    The bullets patted against my shell like rain against a roof, in a soft, soothing rhythm. Then came the heavier, wetter smacks of human body parts flying through the air as Mickey¡¯s pole cut through them and caused them to burst. Their bodies popped with such little resistance that it barely slowed me down. Red, pink, and white cascaded down in front of me and took up almost my entire field of vision. I spun in a circle and a hundred men died.


    God damn, Mickey is a strong son of a bitch.


    The army splintered into two, half running in one direction and half in the other, all as far away from GusMickey as possible.


    Perfect.


    We took out a few stragglers who couldn¡¯t run as fast as the rest of them, but once they were far enough away, I let Mickey out of the sludge suit and took most of it off of myself, just leaving a thin shell on my legs and torso.


    The scene looked eerily similar to the street where I fought the thorny rat man, where Mickey had turned the street into a fucking butcher¡¯s shop. The sight of scattered human parts, entrails, oceans of blood hardly even phased me at this point. It was just the status quo when fighting with Mickey ¡ª or against him.


    ¡°Ha! That was fuckin¡¯ incredible!¡± Mickey laughed. ¡°Can¡¯t believe no marked men came out though.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, me neither,¡± I said. ¡°Are they even here?¡±


    ¡°Alec would have to be dumber than he looks to try to attack our headquarters with no marked men. He tried it a couple of times, before all this shit went down, but I always figured it was just to get information on me.¡±


    ¡°Maybe that¡¯s what this is,¡± I said.


    ¡°He ain¡¯t sending thousands of men for a fuckin¡¯ scouting mission,¡± Mickey said. ¡°Something shady is afoot though, I know that much.¡±

 29b: We Didn’t See Any Birdmen, and We Didn’t See Any Dwarves

    We stood there like we expected someone to sprout from the ground or something ¡ª it would be right on cue ¡ª but nothing happened. There was nothing to see except blue sky and red concrete, and there was nothing to hear except for the shouting of the fleeing men, who were now being shot at by Mickey¡¯s men in the trees. In the distance, I saw a couple of men fall to the ground, desperately smacking their own bodies until they went limp. I smiled warmly.


    Good shit, Caleb.


    ¡°What the fuck is that?¡± Mickey said. I turned around and he pointed to the sky. Something was flying through the air. Or was it someone? It was the size of a man, but with wings that connected at his hands and feet.


    ¡°Whatever it is, it¡¯s coming at us fast,¡± I said. He flew high overhead in our direction. I tried to shoot him with spurts of slime, but he was way too far, and way too high up. Fortunately, the dead soldiers left me with a solution. I moved some meat out of the way to uncover an assault rifle, and started shooting at the bird man. Mickey did the same.


    Neither of us are particularly good shots, and this guy was flying at us fast. My first shot missed by a mile, and the next ten missed by even more. It didn¡¯t help that, once he saw what we were doing, he started to zig and zag in the air, do barrel rolls, and drop low before shooting back up into the air ¡ª the asshole was showing off.


    He was getting closer. I didn¡¯t know what he had planned for when he landed, and I wasn¡¯t keen on finding out.


    ¡°Mickey, keep shooting,¡± I said, dropping my own gun onto a mound of flesh. ¡°I¡¯ll blast his ass when he gets close enough.¡±


    Mickey didn¡¯t hear a word I said through all of the gunfire, but he continued shooting at the bird man anyway, clearly enjoying himself. Meanwhile, I prepared to knock this motherfucker out of the sky with a wad of slime, or maybe a booger bomb if he got close enough. But he zigged, then zagged, and then took a hard left into the trees.


    ¡°What the fuck?¡± I said. Mickey stopped shooting and scratched his head.


    ¡°What was that whole show for if he was just gonna puss out at the last second?¡± Mickey asked. I grunted, wondering the same thing.


    ¡°If he¡¯s marked, things might not end well for our guys over there ¡ª for Caleb and Mother Dora,¡± I said, and we both took off running towards the trees.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Compared to a normal person, I was incomprehensibly fast ¡ª but I was like a fat asthmatic child compared to Mickey. He flew past me and made it over there a solid two minutes before I did. I don¡¯t think I¡¯d ever seen him run at full speed up to that point, and it was hard not to be impressed.


    When I finally made it over there, the bird man was nowhere to be seen. Gunfire rained from both directions and I quickly donned my sludge armor. Several desiccated men, completely drained of their blood, were scattered throughout the woods ¡ª Mother Dora¡¯s doing, I reckoned. A little disgusting creature skittered between my legs, and I looked behind me to see Caleb peeking out from behind a tree. I went over to him.


    ¡°Hey, have you seen Mickey? Or any dudes with wings?¡± I asked.


    ¡°What?¡± Caleb replied.


    ¡°A dude with wings,¡± I repeated. ¡°He was flying at us and then turned this way.¡±


    ¡°Nope. Haven¡¯t seen him,¡± Caleb said. He closed his eyes, concentrating hard and looking frustrated.


    ¡°Shit,¡± he said. He flicked his head to the left and scrunched his eyes up even harder. It was like I wasn¡¯t even there. He shook his head vigorously, his hair flying in all directions, and muttered ¡°Shit, shit,¡± under his breath. After thirty seconds or so of this, his eyes shot open.


    ¡°Dammit. Benny¡¯s gone,¡± he said.


    ¡°Who the fuck is Benny?¡± I asked.


    ¡°One of my guys. My ¡®pets¡¯ if you want to call them that. I can see through their eyes if I concentrate really hard.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ concerning,¡± I said.


    ¡°What¡¯s more concerning is what I saw through his eyes,¡± Caleb said. ¡°He was killed by a marked man. A dwarf with half his body covered in tats.¡±


    ¡°So there¡¯s two marked men here now, at minimum,¡± I said. ¡°I swear to god if Mickey ran up on one like a fucking idiot¡­¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t run up on people like an idiot,¡± Mickey said behind me. I turned around; he was covered in blood. ¡°I run up on people like an intelligent individual. I didn¡¯t run up on the bird man, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re wondering. Only because I couldn¡¯t find him, though.¡±


    ¡°Well, he¡¯s not the only other marked man here, apparently,¡± I said. ¡°Caleb saw another one. A dwarf.¡±


    ¡°Like from fuckin¡¯ Lord of the Rings?¡± Mickey laughed.


    ¡°Shut the fuck up, you goddamn moron,¡± I said. ¡°But yeah, kinda. We don¡¯t know what he can do. Just because he¡¯s short doesn¡¯t mean he can¡¯t fuck shit up.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t give a shit how tall or short he is. They all pop the same,¡± Mickey grinned. His teeth looked extra yellow surrounded by all of the red on his face.


    ¡°Let¡¯s just find him before he finds us. Don¡¯t want him to have the element of surprise,¡± I said. ¡°Caleb, keep doing what you¡¯re doing. Except for the part where you get your pets killed.¡±


    He didn¡¯t find that funny at all. His face was grim, as if the disgusting worm-crab creature from Hell was really his pet. When you can live inside of their heads, it¡¯s sort of hard not to get attached, I reckon.


    Caleb stayed where he was, and Mickey and I moved to the perimeter of the woods and made our way towards the enemy lines, closer to where we last saw the bird man. We were also keeping our eyes peeled for any marked up dwarves walking around.


    But we didn¡¯t see any bird men, and we didn¡¯t see any dwarves. Instead, someone saw us.

 29c: You Can Call Me Shane

    The man was freakishly tall, freakishly thin, and covered in tattoos.


    I shot a glob of slime at him out of reflex, but he moved out of its way, his long arms swaying like bamboo on a windy day. His movements looked slow, lumbering, but he was shockingly fast, getting out of the way of my shots with sudden bursts of clumsy, awkward motions.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t slime me,¡± he said mildly, almost pleadingly. ¡°I don¡¯t want to fight you.¡±


    ¡°You were sent here by Alec, weren¡¯t you?¡± I asked, flinging another ball of slime that went right over his narrow shoulder.


    ¡°Yes, technically, but I think it¡¯s time Alec and I parted ways. I can explain later, once the battle is over.¡± He had shaggy brown hair that looked like it used to be kept in a neatly combed side part, and a mustache that looked like a caterpillar taking a nap on his face. He spoke like a therapist, calm and soothing, which irritated the shit out of me.


    It must¡¯ve irritated Mickey too, because he lunged at the long man. He came at him with both hands, sort of looking like he wanted to give them man a big ol¡¯ hug, just to cover as much area as possible and prevent him from moving to the left or right, to slither his way out of being popped. With his lateral options removed, the long man went down. He didn¡¯t fall to the ground or anything like that, mind you ¡ª the man fucking compressed hisself down until he barely went up to Mickey¡¯s ass.


    Few things caught me off guard at this point, but this did. His bones made scraping, crunching sounds as they collapsed into themselves. His skin became saggy and wrinkled and folded over itself before pulling itself into place. Different parts of his body shrank at different rates and I saw a whole fucking cornucopia of different fucked up human shapes during his transformation from beanpole to dwarf. At one point, his head shrank, but his eyes didn¡¯t, and they bulged out of his head ¡ª I thought those sons of bitches were gonna pop right out. Then, his rib cage started to shrink before his internal organs, and they pressed through the bones and the outlines of his heart, lungs, and whatever the fuck else showed through his skin. It all looked like it would¡¯ve been extremely painful if it wasn¡¯t over in about half a second.


    In his dwarven form, while Mickey and I were both still taken aback by what the fuck we just saw, he slipped between Mickey¡¯s legs, grabbed both of his ankles and pulled him right off his feet. He fell flat on his face, and the dwarf hopped onto his back. His legs started to pop and crack, and they extended down each side of Mickey¡¯s body and dug into the dirt. Mickey was pinned. The long-legged dwarf held his hands up and looked at me.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°I don¡¯t plan to hurt him, and I don¡¯t plan to hurt you,¡± he said. ¡°Seriously, I want to kill Alec just as much as you guys do ¡ª and I can help you do it. Just give me a chance to explain.¡±


    I looked at him, my hands burning to blast him while he couldn¡¯t get out of the way. But, with Mickey squirming and cussing on the ground, completely helpless, this guy probably could¡¯ve killed him if he really wanted to ¡ª a few good blows to the back of the head would¡¯ve probably done it. So I held my slime.


    ¡°Alright, explain,¡± I said.


    ¡°Not right now ¡ª no time. When the battle¡¯s over. As you could probably guess, Alec sent these non-marked men as a diversion. He just sent them here to distract you. The real problems are going to come when I give them the word.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± I said, ¡°maybe fucking don¡¯t give them the word then?¡±


    ¡°I have to,¡± he replied. ¡°Or they¡¯ll know I¡¯ve turned. Here¡¯s the plan: I¡¯m going to leave now, tell them I spotted you two, together, and they¡¯re going to come this way. I will pretend to still be on their side ¡ª don¡¯t believe anything I say when I¡¯m talking to them. When the time is right, I¡¯ll turn and we¡¯ll take them by surprise. That sound good to you?¡±


    Mickey thrashed on the ground, his face beet-red. ¡°Don¡¯t listen to this little fucker! Get him the fuck off of me!¡± he yelled. The little fucker looked at me and raised his eyebrows. He made me feel like I would be a dumb motherfucker to listen to Mickey over him ¡ª and he was probably right.


    ¡°If you¡¯re not fucking with us, then lead whoever¡¯s coming right here, into these woods. There¡¯s a little gorge about a hundred yards that way,¡± I pointed in the northwest direction. ¡°Get them there, and we¡¯ll be waiting somewhere in the trees. Attack them before we reveal ourselves, and we¡¯ll come out to help you finish the job. If you don¡¯t attack them within two minutes of walking into that gorge, we¡¯ll kill you all. That sound good to you?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯ll work,¡± he said with a warm smile. ¡°Will that work for you, Mickey?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, sure, whatever. Just get the fuck off of me, asshole!¡±


    The man retracted his legs and got off of Mickey. As Mickey got back to his feet, the man sprouted up to approximately the size and shape of an average man, and stuck his hand out to Mickey for a handshake ¡ª a ballsy move, to say the least.


    ¡°It¡¯s nice to finally meet you, Mickey. You can call me Shane.¡±


    Mickey brushed the dirt off of his pants and saw the man standing there with his hand out. Reluctantly, he shook it.


    ¡°Not gonna get me with that cheap shit a second time, I¡¯ll tell you that much,¡± Mickey said, squeezing the man¡¯s hand ten times harder than necessary.


    ¡°Don¡¯t plan on it,¡± Shane smiled. His smile started to grow on me a little bit. It was kind, fatherly ¡ª kind of like Newt¡¯s. It made me want to trust him more than I probably should trust a stranger ¡ª especially one that¡¯s employed by a man who wants to murder me. But I trusted him anyway.


    He stuck out his hand towards me, and I shook it like a goddamn normal person and not an insecure gorilla.


    ¡°I¡¯ll meet you at the gorge,¡± he said.

 30a: Ya Powas Won’t Work Pon Me, Ya Eediot

    Mickey sat in one tree, and I sat in another, patiently waiting for whoever Alec sent for us.


    The battle was mostly done by now. With our defensive positions and the power of Hell and marks on our side, a quick survey of the bodies below me suggested that we had taken out at least twenty of Alec¡¯s men for every one of our goons that went down ¡ª and only a single baldy died that I could see. It was the one that could heal, ironically enough. Their body was propped up against a tree with dozens of holes in the skull. I guess they couldn¡¯t heal that up quickly enough. Most of the remaining soldiers that were still alive had retreated, so there was only the occasional burst of gun shots every couple of minutes, and it was always somewhere in the distance.


    The winged man came over the trees and landed right in the middle of the gorge. For a second, I thought our plan was fucked. Surely he saw us in the trees as he flew overhead. But he looked up at me, gave me a wink and a thumbs up, and retracted his skin back into his arms and popped his bones back into the shape of our double agent.


    Of course.


    The bird, the dwarf, the man ¡ª all the same guy. That was good news. Fighting someone that could fly seemed like it¡¯d be annoying as shit. At least there was a chance it wouldn¡¯t come to that.


    ¡°I saw them run this way!¡± Shane twisted his body around and yelled into the trees. He could twist his torso much farther than a normal person. He turned the top half of his body almost completely around while his legs faced the other direction. Then he snapped his body back into its proper shape, looked up at us and mouthed


    Get ready.


    A few seconds later, three people barged into the grove ¡ª two women and a man. The first woman was old, plump, and had big white hair. She was what Paula Deen would probably look like without the makeup and studio lighting. The second woman was shorter, leaner, and much younger. She might have been a teenager, and she had straight black hair that went all the way down to her ankles. The man looked like he was supposed to be trading stocks on Wall Street ¡ª a fitted black suit, red tie, and perfectly sculpted hair that was forced to stay in place with an excessive amount of hair gel. All three of them had marks that covered both arms and up their necks.


    They looked around, expecting Mickey and I to be standing there ready to greet them.


    ¡°Well?¡± The man said, looking at Shane. ¡°Where are they?¡±


    Shane sprouted his wings and flapped his arms until he was above the trees, then came back down after a second.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°I don¡¯t see any movement nearby. They must be hiding,¡± he said.


    Is this motherfucker going to give us away?


    The three looked over their shoulders, clearly on edge. They seemed anxious. Good.


    I sat still, hoping they wouldn¡¯t look up and ruin our element of surprise, hoping that Shane wasn¡¯t fucking us over. They seemed anxious, sure, but with their marks covering so much of their bodies, they had to be powerful ¡ª extremely powerful. The more I thought about it, the dumber it seemed for Shane to turn on these three, to help us try to kill him.


    ¡°Oh! I think I just heard them over here!¡± Shane yelled and pointed at the ground, towards a group of trees nowhere near either of us. All three of them walked cautiously up to the trees and tried to see what Shane was talking about.


    ¡°I think I see them!¡± he whispered. ¡°Over there ¡ª do you see?¡±


    They leaned in and squinted.


    ¡°Riiight over there.¡±


    They squinted harder. They man held his hand above his eyes to shield them from the sun.


    Shane approached the woman with the long black hair from behind. He grabbed her shoulders, which clearly made her uncomfortable, and turned her body.


    ¡°See? Right¡­ there!¡±


    He grabbed ahold of her arms and yanked them hard. They popped out of their sockets and she let out a howl that was equal parts pain and fury. Shane compressed down as small as he could ¡ª about the size of a toddler, by the looks of it ¡ª and scurried into the woods.


    ¡°Your guys¡¯ turn!¡± he shouted to us before he vanished from sight.


    The three of them spread out around the grove to look for us. The dark haired girl was grimacing any time she turned even the slightest amount. She was taking the pain well though, I had to give her that. I looked at Mickey, whose head was just barely poking out of his tree, and motioned for him to jump down first.


    Pussy, he mouthed, and I gave him the finger. But he did what I asked.


    When Paula Dean got a little too close to Mickey¡¯s tree, he leapt out from cover and onto her back. He put his hands on either side of her head and¡­ she didn¡¯t pop. Nothing happened. The man really didn¡¯t have many other tricks up his sleeve ¡ª he was kind of a one-trick pony, though that one trick was pretty goddamn devastating to most people ¡ª so he went with the old fashioned option of punching her in the side of the head. That didn¡¯t work either. His fist just bounced off her temples. She laughed, and the other two marked men didn¡¯t even bother to come to her aid; they stood on the sidelines and laughed with her.


    ¡°Ya powas won¡¯t work pon me ya eediat,¡± the Paula Dean looking motherfucker said in a thick Jamaican accent.


    ¡°What the fu¡ª¡±


    Was all Mickey was able to get out before she grabbed his arm and flung him over her shoulder, halfway across the grove. We found out that her plump, round figure wasn¡¯t just for show when she jumped into the air, tucked her knees into her chest like she was doing a cannonball into a pool, and started boing-boinging on her ass towards Mickey, gaining an impressive amount of momentum in a short time. She was probably only two more ass-bounces away from him when I shot a glob underneath her and made her slide and bounce off at a weird angle, forcing her to plant her feet on the ground.


    I was hoping to hit them with a better surprise attack than that, but nothing can just go the way you want it to, can it?


    The man looked up at me first, locking eyes with me almost immediately after I shot off the slime. He closed his eyes and his skin started to bubble gently. White foam pushed out from his pores and condensed into a thick cloud that headed my way.

 30b: Mr. Foam and Jamaican Paula Dean

    The foam cloud was huge, several times wider than the tree I was perched in, so I had no choice but to jump down and meet Jamaican Paula Dean and the news anchor looking asshole head on. The long haired girl hid behind a tree. Shane must have known that rendering her arms useless would render her useless. Still, even with that advantage, it looked like we were fucked. He shot another stream of foam at me with more force. It was still plenty slow enough to dodge, but it lingered in the air, taking up space in an already cramped arena.


    ¡°Come with us. Don¡¯t make this harder than it needs to be,¡± the man said.


    ¡°Suck our asses, fuckhole,¡± replied Mickey. I pretty much agreed with his sentiment on that one. Mickey lunged at the man and poked him in his exposed neck, and he burst instantly.


    But he wasn¡¯t dead. His blood and organs didn¡¯t fly into the air. He burst into a thin cloud of foam, filling up half of the grove with dense fog, and completely engulfing Mickey. Mickey fell to his knees in a fit of coughing. The coughs alternated between sharp and wet, and reminded me of the time he tried to smoke crystal out of an old lightbulb. It didn¡¯t sound good.


    It wouldn¡¯t be long before he suffocated, that much was clear. I had to get him out of there. The only thing I could think to do was make a bubble of sludge around my head. There was one problem with that, however ¡ª I couldn¡¯t see shit. I probably looked like a shit lollipop, stumbling around with a fucking sludge balloon covering my head. I tried to move in the direction of the coughing and waved my arms wildly until I felt a douchebag. The coughs grew louder, and eventually I felt the crooked bridge of Mickey¡¯s nose. I grabbed him and ran.


    The inside of my helmet was getting sweaty and the air was going stale. I needed to move quickly. I figured I¡¯d just turn around and run the way that I came and I¡¯d be out of the cloud, no problem. But when you can¡¯t see a single shit, it turns out it¡¯s pretty damn easy to lose your sense of direction. Was ¡°back the way I came¡± directly behind me? Was it a little more to the right of me? A little to the left? I had no fucking idea, and I didn¡¯t have time to find out. I just turned and ran, holding Mickey in my arms like he was Shaggy and I was Scooby-Doo.


    The air was getting real thin in there. I felt like I¡¯d somehow forgotten how to breathe. No matter how many breaths I took, it felt like it wasn¡¯t enough. My lungs started to scream for air. I didn¡¯t know where I was or if I¡¯d made it out of the cloud just yet, but I wasn¡¯t thinking rationally anymore. All I knew was that I wanted that fucking helmet off of my head.


    So I took it off.


    And took a breath.


    Holy shit, it felt amazing. I was several yards clear of the cloud, which was already moving back into itself, condensing back into the form of a man. I took in a long draw of cool, crisp air, and it was like a bump of fucking Percocet in my nose ¡ª it felt so good. I put Mickey on the ground. He was still coughing, and his face was so red that it was almost purple. He wasn¡¯t going to be any help for a while. It was two against one, if I was lucky ¡ª who knows when that long-haired girl would figure out how to put her arms back in their sockets and come out of the trees to fuck me up.


    Jamaican Paula Dean stood to my left, laughing her jolly ass off. Mr. Foamy stood to my right, completely reconstituted, looking at me with stoic contempt.


    I¡¯ll admit, I was scared for a second or two. Mickey was fucked up. How much of that foam could I inhale before I was taken out too? And how long could I avoid it with a crazy old lady bouncing at me?


    I guess I was going to find out.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    I shot a stream of slime out of my left hand and a stream of sludge out of my right. Mr. Foam dodged the sludge with ease ¡ª but that was ok with me, I just wanted to keep him moving. Jamaican Paula Dean wasn¡¯t so fast, and the slime slapped against her gut and pushed her back. She wasn¡¯t easy to knock over, though. She kept her feet firmly planted in the ground and dug up dirt as she was pushed back into a tree. After a few seconds, she was a rosy-cheeked, white-haired booger, completely covered in slime, but she didn¡¯t give up. I continued to shoot off sludge at Mr. Foam to keep him from shooting off more than a few suds at once, and moved the slime up towards Jamaican Paula Dean¡¯s face. The slime went directly into her mouth and up her nose, but she still didn¡¯t fall to the ground. She didn¡¯t even try to move her head out of the way. The crazy bitch opened her mouth and started drinking the slime with loud gulps. She made it sound positively goddamn refreshing.


    I¡¯d gotten nowhere with these people.


    ¡°Dat di best yuh got? Mi dead wit laugh!¡± Slimy Jamaican Paula Dean put her hand in front of her face and shouted. Then, with the form of an Olympic swimmer, she kicked off of the tree and slid at me. I had no choice but to stop shooting and get the fuck out of the way ¡ª but that wasn¡¯t the end of that. She kept going until she hit a tree behind me and bounced right off of it like goddamn pinball and hurtled back in my direction. I dodged it again, and she hit another tree. Her momentum seemed to increase with each ricochet until she was slimy, laughing blur shooting across the grove in random directions. I dodged her one more time and picked Mickey up and threw him, still coughing wildly, into the woods before she could crush him. It was all I could do to avoid her, which was a big fucking problem when Mr. Foam was up in a tree and creating an overcast over foam clouds. I looked up at the blanket of death floating above me and a column of foam came down towards my face.


    Fuck.


    Now I had two assholes to dodge. It was clear he was trying to be careful and not hit his partner, so he waited until I dodged her and then sent down a pillar of foam. It sounds predictable, but this wasn¡¯t a video game boss. Their timing would change; sometimes Jamaican Paula Dean would take two or three bounces before heading my way, and sometimes Mr. Foam would send down multiple pillars and in multiple directions. It was pure fucking chaos, and I had to make my way through it unscathed.


    I tried to make my way towards the edge of the grove, towards a tree that I could get on to get the fuck away from this elastic asshole, but Mr. Foam would block my way each time. It was frustrating ¡ª beyond frustrating. The stalemate really started to piss me off, so I said fuck it ¡ª break my legs if you can, you white southern-looking Jamaican asshole.


    I dug my feet into the dirt and shrouded myself as much sludge as I could muster in a half-second. I closed my eyes and braced myself for the collision, but it didn¡¯t come. I opened up an eye slit to see what was happening, and the bouncing had stopped. So had the foam. Both of them were running towards the tree line ¡ª towards Mickey. I had done exactly what they wanted me to do.


    Mickey crawled away from them, but it was pointless. They each picked up a leg and snapped it. I never thought I¡¯d hear such a pained howl come from Mickey ever again, but they were strong, and they were ruthless. Within seconds, they had beat Mickey to within an inch of his life. I moved as fast as I could and got behind Mr. Foam in a second and wrapped sludge around his stupid fucking face. He was taken by surprise and struggled to breathe. Foam shot off of every part of his body, but evidently, he couldn¡¯t evaporate nearly as quickly by himself as he could when Mickey popped him. He slowly floated away in the wind as a stream of foam while clutching the helmet and trying to pry it open at the same time.


    Jamaican Paula Dean didn¡¯t pay me or Mr. Foam any mind and continued to wail on Mickey. It seemed like the only thing she wanted in this world was to kill him. I know the feeling, and I could see it in her. But why did she hate him so much? How could she hate someone she didn¡¯t even know more than I hated him? Was it pure loyalty to Alec? Was it her mark egging her on, shouting at her to kill, to nourish it with Mickey¡¯s life force?


    I guess we¡¯ll never know.


    I jumped on her back and attached myself to her with patches of sludge on my thighs. Then I put my hands over her ears and sludged with all of my might, filling up her ears, then her head, until it started to extrude through her nose, her mouth, and from under her eyes. She opened her mouth, but couldn¡¯t scream. She fell to the ground, mouth still agape, waiting to suffocate.


    Mickey looked like a plate of puked-up spaghetti, but he was alive. I would¡¯ve loved to feel relief at that moment, but Mr. Foam was done solidifying, and stood behind me.

 30c: Let’s Get to the Pig

    ¡°Can you guys just fuck off already?¡± I asked politely. He declined.


    It was the first time I¡¯d heard him speak, and he had the exact type of voice I would¡¯ve expected ¡ª deep, monotone, commanding.


    ¡°You have to die,¡± he said. ¡°Both of you. It¡¯s either you or us. There is no compromise. The Reverend will have you both, and then he will bring this great nation to new heights!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s just about the dumbest shit I¡¯ve ever heard in my li¡ª¡±


    He claimed up another tree and made another canopy of foamy that covered the entire gorge.


    This shit again? Really?


    But he wasn¡¯t concerned with avoiding his partner anymore. The entire canopy closed in on me, curling inward and creating a bubble that I couldn¡¯t escape from. Slowly, it got smaller, smaller. I shot slime through it, but it was so thick that it closed up before I could see any daylight. It kept coming closer, until I couldn¡¯t move, and I could feel bits of foam finding their way into my throat, burning like hot coals.


    And then it went away. The damn thing just disappeared. I could see daylight again.


    I looked up, and Shane had come back to grab the motherfucker out of the tree, and they soared through the air like an eagle and a rat. They ascended higher and higher until they were barely visible, and then Shane stopped moving. Mr. Foam didn¡¯t, however. He fell through the air, shedding foam from his body the whole way down. But he wasn¡¯t fast enough, and the majority of his body made contact with the ground. His face was pulverized beyond recognition and his back split open, spilling out white and yellow fat and amorphous organs.


    The shapeshifter killed him.


    Shane descended back to Earth, landed on the other side of Mr. Foam¡¯s corpse, and popped himself back into the shape of a man.


    ¡°Shit, I figured you were halfway to Mexico by now,¡± I said.


    ¡°Probably would be if I could, but nobody¡¯s getting out of here anytime soon,¡± Shane replied. ¡°Where¡¯s Kim?¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°The girl with the long hair,¡±


    ¡°Oh, fuck if I know,¡± I said. ¡°She¡¯s been hiding in the trees since you dislocated her arms. We should probably get back to Mickey, though. He¡¯s looking pretty rough.¡±


    ¡°Not as rough as you, Lumpy,¡± Mickey said behind me. His face was clear, his limbs were mended ¡ª he looked like a million bucks.


    ¡°Guess your mark somehow got something out of that fight, even though you did jack shit,¡± I said.


    ¡°Of course he did,¡± Shane said with his finger up in the air like some kind of fucking nerd. ¡°Anyone who participates gets a cut of the defeated foe¡¯s soul at the end of the fight.¡±


    ¡°Their fucking what now?¡± I asked politely.


    ¡°Their souls. Well, parts of their souls, at least. I can explain more later. We should probably get out of here ¡ª I should probably get out of here,¡± Shane said.


    ¡°We have a couple hundred people under our command. We can¡¯t just fuckin¡¯ skedaddle on out of here,¡± Mickey said. I nodded in agreement.


    ¡°Shit. You¡¯re gonna need to get rid of them. Kim¡¯s probably long gone, but if you see her, kill her. When everything¡¯s taken care of, Meet me at the old Piggly Wiggly. I¡¯ll be waiting.¡±


    ¡°Get rid of them? What the fuck do you me¡ª¡± I tried to ask, but he had already sprouted his skin wings and flapped his way into the air.


    Aside from the corpses on the ground, Mickey and I were alone. He was chipper, zipping around the gorge even faster than he could before. Meanwhile, I itched inside like a motherfucker. My mark wanted to progress two times at once now. A pressure was building in my body and making my limbs tingle.


    ¡°Fuck yourself,¡± I said to myself.


    ¡°But it would be so useful,¡± I replied to myself. ¡°And you¡¯ll have to kill some more. If it builds up too much, who knows what will happen.¡±


    ¡°Good point. Fuck yourself.¡±


    I didn¡¯t realize that this conversation was taking place out loud until I noticed that Mickey was looking at me like I was a special needs child.


    ¡°You alright, bud?¡± he asked with an eyebrow raised.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I lied, and tried to hide the fact that it felt like I was rotting from the inside and that every movement took ten times the effort it usually did. ¡°Let¡¯s get back to HQ.¡±Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Mickey said. He ran up to me, popped the shell off of my blister, and pressed it in. ¡°There ya go. You just forgot to press your blister ¡ª probably why you were lookin¡¯ like shit.¡±


    ¡°Fuck!¡± I shouted. The mark took the liberty of going all the way down my arm. It progressed as much as it could while it was able, not giving me any options. I hate to say that it felt amazing, but it did. It felt pretty good each time, but having so much bullshit built up inside of me and then releasing it all at once ¡ª I damn near passed out from the bliss. I fell to my knees, then onto my face. When I got up, I felt like I could bitch slap God and tell him to say sorry.


    Without thinking about it, I held my hands into the air like a goddamn sorcerer. A river of slime flowed through my forearms and out of my fingertips, slowly, clustering together until a big, wet ball hung in the air in front of me. I moved my hands and the slime moved with them until it took the shape of a horse, or some sort of large four-legged animal, at least. I don¡¯t know what to tell you; I¡¯m not a fucking sculptor.


    ¡°Good lord!¡± Mickey guffawed. ¡°Just what in the Sam Hill is that?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s my trusty steed, bitch,¡± I replied. I knew it looked like shit, but it still felt pretty badass to conjure a creature out of thin air. There were no features on the thing¡¯s face, but it moved its head to look at me anyway, as if to say ¡°Hop on¡±. So I did.


    Or at least I tried to. Turns out a fucking snot-steed isn¡¯t the sturdiest mount in the world. I jumped up onto its back and sank right through. Of course, Mickey thought that was the funniest shit in the world.


    ¡°Fuck off,¡± I said as I got up and pulled the slime off of me and back into an amorphous ball. I probably should¡¯ve known that would happen, if I¡¯m being honest, but I was buzzing too hard at the time to think I could make a mistake. I lifted my arms up again, this time sending dark sludge through my arms and out of my hands until a big ball of sticky black shit hovered in front of me. I molded that into a horse-shaped thing too, but it wasn¡¯t much better. The damn thing moved like a damn turtle.


    ¡°Gus, can we get a fuckin¡¯ move on please?¡± Mickey said.


    ¡°Hold your fuckin¡¯ horses,¡± I replied, cringing at my choice of words. ¡°I think I got it this time.¡±


    I held my hands up for a third time, this time a little farther apart, and created a ball of sludge with one hand and a ball of slime with the other. The sludge ball became the top half of the horse so that it could actually hold my ass, and the slime ball was the bottom half so it could actually move my ass. It was perfect. I hopped on the motherfucker and slid off towards the compound, the wind blowing through my greasy hair.


    It took a minute to build up speed, but when it did ¡ª holy shit. I probably could¡¯ve entered that bad boy into a drag race. Mickey, lighter on his feet and faster than ever, still got ahead of me, but our top speeds seemed to be about the same. We both got to the compound in less than a minute, and everyone was outside waiting for us.


    Mickey gathered his goons and led them to the back of the plantation house. My crew looked a bit smaller than I remembered, but Mother Dora, Caleb, Gerald, and Clodagh all sat in a group on the front porch with baldies standing around on either side, looking exhausted.


    ¡°How many did we lose?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Thirteen,¡± Clodagh said. ¡°Unlucky. We were ripping them to shreds until some fat cunt came bouncing through on her arse saying somethin¡¯ about ¡®bombaclot¡¯ or somethin¡¯ like that. She crushed about eight of us before fucking off. The rest were shot in all of the confusion.¡± The more she spoke, the more pissed she looked. She said something in a language I had never heard before. I didn¡¯t ask what she said, but it was probably something along the lines of ¡°I¡¯ll rip those cunt¡¯s throats out with my teeth,¡± or something like that.


    ¡°Everyone else is alright though?¡± I asked, trying to move away from the subject before she hit someone.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± she said. ¡°There were a few with injuries ¡ª gunshots and whatnot ¡ª but Gerald¡¯s patched them up. Thank fuck for him.¡± Gerald beamed a few feet away from her.


    ¡°Some of their wounds looked pretty dicey, but I figured it out. Glad I could save some of my former pupils and keep most of the army intact,¡± he said.


    ¡°Yeah, thanks for doing your fucking job. I¡¯ll be sure to commission a fucking statue in your honor when this is all done,¡± I said. ¡°Back to the goddamn point of discussion ¡ª we need to get out of here, and we need to split up. We met someone while we were out there. A double agent. He¡¯s marked and he wants to help us. Mickey and I are gonna meet up with him.¡±


    I called for Mickey to get his ass over here, and he and his goons came back around to the front porch.


    ¡°Mickey, Caleb and I are gonna be heading off now, and we probably won¡¯t see any of you for awhile, or ever again,¡± I addressed the crowd. ¡°With this double agent¡¯s help, I think we can take these motherfuckers out, one by one, but we need your help. We need you guys to fuck as much shit up as you can, to be thorns in their asses. We¡¯re gonna split you up into three groups, each with seventy-five of Mickey¡¯s men, ten baldies, and led by Clodagh, Mother Dora, and Anita. Now, before you big boys start to bitch and moan about a powerless old lady leading you, just fucking listen. Actually, where is Anita?¡± I just realized she was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Darius, or Mee Maw, or Bruce, Marv, and their shitlin.


    Everyone looked at each other, expecting someone else to have the answer.


    ¡°Alright, two groups, Mother Dora and Clodagh, now fuck off!¡± I said and ran into the compound. Caleb followed behind me.


    ¡°They¡¯re not in here,¡± he shouted. I was already at the secret entrance in the maintenance closet. I ran back towards him.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Mom left,¡± he said. ¡°She said it was too much. That this was pointless, and that we were all going to die.¡±


    ¡°A couple of guys roll up and she thinks we¡¯re doomed? Fuck her. I hope she comes back and sees the bodies we left here,¡± I said.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t because of the attack today. She said that she was planning to leave anyway, and this just made her do it sooner. This is what made her leave.¡± He took a folded up sheet of printer paper out of his pocket. I snatched it from him and unfolded it. It was a blurry aerial shot from a drone¡¯s camera that showed hundreds, thousands of clayhounds, dirt golems, and I don¡¯t even fucking know what else, standing together against tanks, airplanes, and little green men shooting at them.


    ¡°These men weren¡¯t Alec¡¯s army,¡± Caleb said. ¡°That¡¯s Alec¡¯s army.¡±


    I looked at the picture for a few more seconds. Was Alec really capable of doing all of this? Could he single-handedly conjure an army? And if so, what else was he capable of? The thought made my bowels quiver.


    ¡°Whelp,¡± I said. ¡°Bye bye Anita. Thanks for the fucking goodbye present, I guess. Let¡¯s get to The Pig and ask our new friend about this goddamn insanity.¡±

 31a: Tell Me This is Photoshop

    Shane was waiting for us at the Piggly Wiggly, just like he said. He was sitting on a checkout counter and helping himself to an entire birthday cake when we walked in. He eyed Caleb suspiciously and put the cake down.


    ¡°Who¡¯s the child?¡± he asked.


    ¡°My brother, and the only non-marked motherfucker I know to kill a marked man,¡± I replied. Shane raised his eyebrows. Caleb didn¡¯t bother to clarify that the man was distracted and taken off guard. He just smiled and said ¡°Yep.¡± and got one of his little buddies to come out of his pocket and sit on his shoulder. Shane was intrigued. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but shook his head and stopped.


    ¡°We can¡¯t stay here long,¡± he said. ¡°Kim will report back to the Reverend, and they¡¯ll find us. But I need to get you guys up to speed first. The Reverend is not the same man you once fought.¡± He looked at me.


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ll fuckin¡¯ say,¡± I said and took out Anita¡¯s picture. ¡°Tell me this is Photoshop.¡±


    Shane looked at the picture and laughed. ¡°I really wish I could, but it¡¯s true. The Reverend has gained a lot of power in the last few months. He¡¯s been holding the army back without assistance since we arrived here. All of his men are out here, culling everyone they can, and then reporting back to be slaughtered, absorbed into him.¡±


    ¡°Fuck, why would anyone do that?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Some do it willingly, some don¡¯t. A lot of them genuinely want to be absorbed, to become part of the Reverend and a part of the singularity of souls. They gravitate towards his power and are happy to die. The ones who don¡¯t agree to it are brought to him by the loyal followers, and they¡¯re given a brutal, humiliating death instead of a quick, honorable beheading.¡± Shane appeared more gaunt, like talking about this was sucking the life out of him. ¡°A friend of mine tried to leave. It didn¡¯t end well for her. But she didn¡¯t have help. She didn¡¯t have you guys.¡±


    ¡°A singularity of souls?¡± I said. The phrase sounded familiar, but I couldn¡¯t quite place it. ¡°So that¡¯s Alec¡¯s plan? Absorb everyone on Earth until he¡¯s a god, and then rule over the dirt?¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t his plan at first. At least, he said it wasn¡¯t. He never mentioned anything about exterminating the entire human race until fairly recently ¡ª the last month or so. Lately, he¡¯s looked angry, hungry, like a starved animal. I think he¡¯s lost his damn mind, to tell you the truth.¡±


    I thought about the look Mickey had in his eyes when he was drunk and Caleb stepped to him. The marks made us hungry, starved us like tapeworms, and Alec was more tapeworm than man now. It made perfect sense to me. Looking at Mickey, I saw it made sense to him too.


    ¡°The son of a bitch has gone too far,¡± Mickey said. There was a tinge of fear in his voice. Genuine fear. ¡°How the Hell are we gonna stop him?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s only one thing we can do,¡± Shane said. ¡°We need to get to the marked men before they get to the Reverend. You two need to absorb their power to have a chance of stopping him. And I can tell you exactly where to go.¡±


    Mickey and I looked at each other. I think he finally saw what these marks really were, and what might happen if we follow through with Shane¡¯s plan.


    ¡°That¡¯s why it needs to be both of you,¡± Shane said, reading the expressions on our faces. ¡°Neither of you will end up as strong as the Reverend, but together, maybe you could take him on while still preserving your sanity.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t convinced. I wasn¡¯t sure there was much sanity left to preserve, even now. But if Alec was that strong, we had no choice but to feed our marks, to get stronger. I couldn¡¯t let Mickey do it alone, even if I wanted to. There¡¯s no way he would be able to keep himself together, and even if he did, he¡¯d be strong enough to flatten my ass at the end of it. No ¡ª we had to do it, the both of us.


    I turned to Caleb.


    ¡°You should get out of here,¡± I said. ¡°This is going to be more dangerous than I thought. Go meet up with Mother Dora, or Clodagh. They can¡¯t have gotten too far yet. Mickey can hotwire a car for you in the parking lot.¡±


    ¡°I certainly can,¡± said Mickey.


    ¡°What?¡± Caleb said like I just asked him to shit in my hand. ¡°No way. Sounds like you guys need as much help as you can get. And I¡¯m not gonna waste my time disrupting freakin¡¯ supply chains while you guys go fight superheroes.¡±


    ¡°When are you going to realize that this isn¡¯t a fucking game, Caleb!?¡± I snapped. ¡°There are no superheroes here. Just a bunch of fucked up people with too much power ¡ª a lot of them with more power than you, with your little pets.¡±


    Caleb just smiled. ¡°Who you callin¡¯ little?¡±


    The creature on his shoulder jumped onto the ground and Caleb drew a circle around him. Then, he started putting pieces of himself into the circle: he bit off some of his fingernails and spat them in; he pulled out a lock of hair and tossed it; and finally, he pricked his finger with a pocket knife and squeezed drops of blood onto the creature¡¯s head. When that disgusting process was over, he knelt onto the ground and hummed, his eyes closed. His body relaxed, then started to sway from side to side. The creature swayed with him, perfectly mirroring his movements. He put his palms against the white tile floor and took big, heaving breaths. With each breath, the creature grew in size, until it was as tall as a man. The heavy breathing stopped, and he slowly rose to his feet, and looked the creature in the eyes. Then he looked back at me, and the creature looked at me too.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°Like I said, who you callin¡¯ little?¡± he said. ¡°You saw what they could do when they were small. Imagine what they can do now that I¡¯ve figured this out.¡±


    He touched the creature on its head and exhaled slowly. The creature shrank back down to its original size in time with his breath, and it crawled back into his pocket.


    ¡°Alright, alright, you can come,¡± I said. I was honestly curious to see that monstrosity in action.


    Mickey clapped his hands together. ¡°Guess that settles that little family squabble. Ok Shane, where to?¡±


    Shane was waiting for us at the Piggly Wiggly, just like he said. He was sitting on a checkout counter and helping himself to an entire birthday cake when we walked in. He eyed Caleb suspiciously and put the cake down.


    ¡°Who¡¯s the child?¡± he asked.


    ¡°My brother, and the only non-marked motherfucker I know to kill a marked man,¡± I replied. Shane raised his eyebrows. Caleb didn¡¯t bother to clarify that the man was distracted and taken off guard. He just smiled and said ¡°Yep.¡± and got one of his little buddies to come out of his pocket and sit on his shoulder. Shane was intrigued. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but shook his head and stopped.


    ¡°We can¡¯t stay here long,¡± he said. ¡°Kim will report back to the Reverend, and they¡¯ll find us. But I need to get you guys up to speed first. The Reverend is not the same man you once fought.¡± He looked at me.


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ll fuckin¡¯ say,¡± I said and took out Anita¡¯s picture. ¡°Tell me this is Photoshop.¡±


    Shane looked at the picture and laughed. ¡°I really wish I could, but it¡¯s true. The Reverend has gained a lot of power in the last few months. He¡¯s been holding the army back without assistance since we arrived here. All of his men are out here, culling everyone they can, and then reporting back to be slaughtered, absorbed into him.¡±


    ¡°Fuck, why would anyone do that?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Some do it willingly, some don¡¯t. A lot of them genuinely want to be absorbed, to become part of the Reverend and a part of the singularity of souls. They gravitate towards his power and are happy to die. The ones who don¡¯t agree to it are brought to him by the loyal followers, and they¡¯re given a brutal, humiliating death instead of a quick, honorable beheading.¡± Shane appeared more gaunt, like talking about this was sucking the life out of him. ¡°A friend of mine tried to leave. It didn¡¯t end well for her. But she didn¡¯t have help. She didn¡¯t have you guys.¡±


    ¡°A singularity of souls?¡± I said. The phrase sounded familiar, but I couldn¡¯t quite place it. ¡°So that¡¯s Alec¡¯s plan? Absorb everyone on Earth until he¡¯s a god, and then rule over the dirt?¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t his plan at first. At least, he said it wasn¡¯t. He never mentioned anything about exterminating the entire human race until fairly recently ¡ª the last month or so. Lately, he¡¯s looked angry, hungry, like a starved animal. I think he¡¯s lost his damn mind, to tell you the truth.¡±


    I thought about the look Mickey had in his eyes when he was drunk and Caleb stepped to him. The marks made us hungry, starved us like tapeworms, and Alec was more tapeworm than man now. It made perfect sense to me. Looking at Mickey, I saw it made sense to him too.


    ¡°The son of a bitch has gone too far,¡± Mickey said. There was a tinge of fear in his voice. Genuine fear. ¡°How the Hell are we gonna stop him?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s only one thing we can do,¡± Shane said. ¡°We need to get to the marked men before they get to the Reverend. You two need to absorb their power to have a chance of stopping him. And I can tell you exactly where to go.¡±


    Mickey and I looked at each other. I think he finally saw what these marks really were, and what might happen if we follow through with Shane¡¯s plan.


    ¡°That¡¯s why it needs to be both of you,¡± Shane said, reading the expressions on our faces. ¡°Neither of you will end up as strong as the Reverend, but together, maybe you could take him on while still preserving your sanity.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t convinced. I wasn¡¯t sure there was much sanity left to preserve, even now. But if Alec was that strong, we had no choice but to feed our marks, to get stronger. I couldn¡¯t let Mickey do it alone, even if I wanted to. There¡¯s no way he would be able to keep himself together, and even if he did, he¡¯d be strong enough to flatten my ass at the end of it. No ¡ª we had to do it, the both of us.


    I turned to Caleb.


    ¡°You should get out of here,¡± I said. ¡°This is going to be more dangerous than I thought. Go meet up with Mother Dora, or Clodagh. They can¡¯t have gotten too far yet. Mickey can hotwire a car for you in the parking lot.¡±


    ¡°I certainly can,¡± said Mickey.


    ¡°What?¡± Caleb said like I just asked him to shit in my hand. ¡°No way. Sounds like you guys need as much help as you can get. And I¡¯m not gonna waste my time disrupting freakin¡¯ supply chains while you guys go fight superheroes.¡±


    ¡°When are you going to realize that this isn¡¯t a fucking game, Caleb!?¡± I snapped. ¡°There are no superheroes here. Just a bunch of fucked up people with too much power ¡ª a lot of them with more power than you, with your little pets.¡±


    Caleb just smiled. ¡°Who you callin¡¯ little?¡±


    The creature on his shoulder jumped onto the ground and Caleb drew a circle around him. Then, he started putting pieces of himself into the circle: he bit off some of his fingernails and spat them in; he pulled out a lock of hair and tossed it; and finally, he pricked his finger with a pocket knife and squeezed drops of blood onto the creature¡¯s head. When that disgusting process was over, he knelt onto the ground and hummed, his eyes closed. His body relaxed, then started to sway from side to side. The creature swayed with him, perfectly mirroring his movements. He put his palms against the white tile floor and took big, heaving breaths. With each breath, the creature grew in size, until it was as tall as a man. The heavy breathing stopped, and he slowly rose to his feet, and looked the creature in the eyes. Then he looked back at me, and the creature looked at me too.


    ¡°Like I said, who you callin¡¯ little?¡± he said. ¡°You saw what they could do when they were small. Imagine what they can do now that I¡¯ve figured this out.¡±


    He touched the creature on its head and exhaled slowly. The creature shrank back down to its original size in time with his breath, and it crawled back into his pocket.


    ¡°Alright, alright, you can come,¡± I said. I was honestly curious to see that monstrosity in action.


    Mickey clapped his hands together. ¡°Guess that settles that little family squabble. Ok Shane, where to?¡±

 31b: Whelp, Guess it’s Fucking Showtime

    Shane pulled a map from his pocket. It was covered in writing. Some areas were crossed out, others were circled multiple times over, and the border that Alec currently controlled was outlined as a black, scratchy border around multiple states.


    He pointed to one of the circled areas.


    ¡°This is the church closest to us,¡± he said. ¡°Which is why we¡¯ll go here.¡± He moved his finger up to a circled area much farther away.


    ¡°The Reverend will know what we¡¯re doing, so it¡¯s gonna be a game of chess between us and him. We can¡¯t go where he¡¯s expecting us or we¡¯ll be swarmed by marked men.¡±


    ¡°Got it,¡± I said. ¡°Enough talking. Let¡¯s get the fuck out of here.¡±


    I grabbed a Honey Bun, and then we got the fuck out of there.


    Shane took off into the air, flying low, leading the way. Mickey smashed the window out of a car and started hot wiring it for Caleb, but before he could even finish cutting the wires with his teeth, Caleb zipped by us on the back of one of his pets.


    ¡°I still fuckin¡¯ hate those things,¡± Mickey said with rubber between his teeth. He took off running, and I whipped up the cruddiest looking horse the world has ever seen and followed behind.


    There we were: a teenager riding a fucked up worm monster, a man with skin wings flying through the air, a bum on a sludge horse, and a good ol¡¯ fashioned crackhead all running off to battle. The streets were empty and we were free to go as fast as we pleased, which was fast as shit. Shane had to do some fuckin¡¯ Blue Angels diving maneuvers to gain enough speed to stay ahead of us. Mickey took the opportunity to show us what new power he unlocked when a turned over mack truck blocked the road ahead of us. Caleb and I had to go around it, but Mickey ran straight for it. His body turned blurry, and the son of a bitch went right through the thing, carving a Mickey-sized tunnel through the entire bed of the truck and spilling hundreds of gallons of Coke onto the road.


    I hope he can¡¯t do that through a sludge shell. Shit, he probably can.


    <hr>


    I wanted to snap Shane¡¯s fucking wings off when we got to the church.


    We got on the roof of a nearby house to scout the place out, and it was filled with assholes. I didn¡¯t count them, but it had to be in the dozens.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    ¡°Something tells me you weren¡¯t the fucking captain of the chess team in high school, were you?¡± I said.


    ¡°What did you expect?¡± Shane replied. ¡°You guys have made it clear that sending one or two men after you isn¡¯t going to cut it. Their only mission right now is to find you two ¡ª and me. This whole state is going to be packed with marked men now. There are no great options, but trust me, this one sparsely populated compared to the other churches around here, I¡¯m sure. Plus, you guys need to kill as many men as possible as quickly as possible.¡±


    ¡°You guys? What about you?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Oh, I can¡¯t help you fight. Not directly, at least. If I hit one of them, I¡¯ll get a cut of their souls. We can¡¯t split it three ways. It¡¯s got to be you two.¡±


    ¡°And me,¡± Caleb piped up.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Shane said dismissively. ¡°You too.¡±


    Caleb¡¯s worm monster whipped its head at Shane, baring its sharp teeth an inch from his face. He didn¡¯t flinch.


    ¡°Gus, can you conjure anything aside from¡­ whatever that is?¡± He gestured at my horse.


    ¡°Yup. Can mold this shit into just about anything I can imagine, it seems,¡± I said.


    ¡°Perfect. Fortunately, what I have in mind doesn¡¯t take too much artistic prowess ¡ª just make a copy of yourself.¡±


    ¡°That seems harder than making a horse.¡±


    ¡°¡­yourself in a sludge suit.¡±


    I patted him on the back, half to convey the message that he was a smart motherfucker, half to remind him that I could snap him in half if he kept talking to me like I was a bitch. I¡®m pretty sure he got the message.


    ¡°I think I can do that,¡± I said.


    ¡°Perfect. Mickey, Caleb and I will tag along with the decoy. We¡¯re going to make an opening for you, Gus. Make it count.¡±


    I nodded, though I had no earthly idea what I was going to do. I got to work on forming the horse into something that vaguely looked like me and tried to think of something. I was a bad motherfucker, I know, but what could I do to turn the tide in our favor against ten, twenty, fucking thirty marked men?


    The second the sludge was sufficiently me-shaped, Shane crunched himself down to the size of a child and skittered off, and Mickey and Caleb walked away with the decoy. It stumbled along like a baby giraffe, but I didn¡¯t think that would give it away too quickly; they¡¯d realize what happened as soon as I came at them from behind anyway.


    They were long gone, on the ground and halfway to the church. I whipped up some sludge boots and jumped off the roof. Hiding behind houses and cars for cover, I slowly made my way to the side of the church opposite of the rest of the gang. Mickey and Caleb were specks in the distance, holing up in a small house right next to the church. There wasn¡¯t such a convenient shelter on the other side, but there was a car parked on the street not too far away. I crouched behind it and peered into the church windows.


    It was worse than I expected. It looked like a fucking tattoo convention in there ¡ª at least half of them were marked.


    Little Shane skittered over to Mickey and Caleb, said something, and skittered away. A minute or so later, Mickey and Caleb ¡ª with four man-sized creatures ¡ª came out of the house, the decoy trundling along behind them.


    ¡°Hey assholes!¡± Mickey shouted towards the church. ¡°Looking for us?¡±


    Whelp. Guess it¡¯s fucking showtime.

 31c: I Closed My Eyes, Clasped My Hands Together, and Asked for Guidance

    There was no response from the church. People continued to shuffle around like they hadn¡¯t heard Mickey. Caleb hopped on the back of one of his creatures, ready to go, but nothing happened, which was so much worse than if they came out guns-a-blazin.


    Were they expecting us here?


    Looking closer, it didn¡¯t look like they were just shuffling around aimlessly ¡ª they were arranging themselves. The marked men gathered against one wall of the church, and the non-marked people gathered on the other.


    ¡°Hello? Assholes? Get the fuck out here!¡± Mickey shouted.


    The marked men were discussing something among themselves, occasionally shooting glances over to the bare-skinned people on the other side of the room. The argument started to look heated. One of the marked men ¡ª an old, bald man with thick-rimmed glasses on ¡ª started shouting at the others. A woman with short hair and marks up to her arms stepped up to him and shouted back. Everyone else shuffled off to the side. It seemed she had made some good points, because eventually the bald man put his hands up like he was conceding. The short haired woman stood apart from the crowd and faced the bare-skins, made a flicking motion with her hand, and they all lined up shoulder-to-shoulder in a hurry. I couldn¡¯t quite make out the looks on their faces, but I could guess what was about to happen anyway ¡ª at least partially. The short haired woman walked up to the bare-skin on the far left of the line, and devoured him. I don¡¯t mean that metaphorically ¡ª she fucking unhinged her jaw and swallowed him whole.


    The rest of the bare-skins shuffled a little, but didn¡¯t move from where they were standing. One by one, she wrapped her mouth around every single one of them and ate them ¡ª except for the last person. Each time her head tilted back and the person slid down her throat, I felt like gagging. Forget the fact that she was a cannibal ¡ª where the fuck did all of that food go? How the fuck would it all come out?


    She didn¡¯t seem too concerned with these issues though. By the end of her meal, she rubbed her stomach like she was at the end of a very successful Thanksgiving, and her arms were red and throbbing. She pressed into her abdomen and her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Then, the bald man pulled a small bottle from his pocket and approached the one bare-skinned survivor. He was a tall Asian man with broad shoulders and shaggy black hair. He was strong and probably would¡¯ve intimidated most people under normal circumstances, but he cowered in front of the old bald man, who put his hand around his throat, brought him to his knees, and put the bottle in his mouth. The Asian man immediately fell onto his back and started seizing. I knew exactly how he felt at that moment ¡ª he was being marked.


    When it was over and he was able to stand up again, they sent him outside, alone.


    That would piss Mickey off for sure.


    ¡°Seriously? Only one of you motherfuckers is brave enough to come out? Three against fuck-knows how many, and y¡¯all are scared? Guess you¡¯re smarter than I gave you credit for,¡± Mickey shouted. Staring at Mickey and Caleb, the Asian man looked like a rat staring at a cobra. He looked past Mickey and down at the street, probably thinking of running, but knowing that it was pointless. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Mickey, don¡¯t be a fucking idiot. Don¡¯t charge at him.


    But he didn¡¯t. I didn¡¯t know if Caleb was talking sense into him or if he had finally grown a couple of brain cells, but he stayed where he was. The Asian man had no choice; he ran towards them with the reckless abandon of someone who already knew their life was over.


    Shit was about to go down.


    Fuck. I need to think of something. Now.


    The fresh meat wouldn¡¯t last long, but he would draw Mickey and Caleb out of the house, leave them exposed, and probably reveal that I¡¯m not actually in that sludge shell. If I didn¡¯t act fast, I would lose the element of surprise ¡ª but I couldn¡¯t think of shit.


    Nothing I thought of seemed like it would be enough to even the odds. In an act of desperation, I clasped my hands together, closed my eyes, and asked for guidance from the bloodthirsty sonofabitch inside my head.


    As if by divine inspiration, I had a plan.


    I stayed as low as I could and moved farther away from the church, into an empty house across the street. I needed space, and I needed time. It was a long shot, but I was assured that it could work. Hopefully it was enough.


    I conjured a ball of sludge inside of the house and formed it into a man shape, just like I did with the decoy. It was getting easier, and I was getting better at it. This one wasn¡¯t quite as dumb as the last. He could at least walk in a straight line. It was a start. I did it again, and I commanded the man-shaped sludge to open the bathroom door. After a couple of attempts, it was able to do it. Fuck yeah. I did it again and again and again until I had a house full of sludge men that moved around almost like a real person would. They could run, jump, crouch and throw half-decent punches.


    We were ready.


    I stepped outside with my legion of sludge men behind me, and saw that Mickey was struggling with the fresh meat, who teleported back and forth to dodge Mickey¡¯s blows. It didn¡¯t look like he could teleport far ¡ª only a couple feet at a time ¡ª or he definitely would¡¯ve just fucked off. But he had already done what he needed to do. Mickey and Caleb were outside, preoccupied with the human gnat flying around their face, and weren¡¯t paying attention to the church. The decoy was just standing there, swaying from side to side. Mickey swiped at the man, and Caleb¡¯s creatures lashed their worm heads at him, but they were only met with open air and a frightened man standing two feet farther away than he was a millisecond ago.


    At long last, the bald man stepped out of the church. He raised his pointer finger into the air and whipped his hand. His finger extended all the way to the fresh meat and cracked like a whip, and cut a gash into his neck. Blood poured from his neck and down his shoulder until he collapsed onto a bed of wet dirt. The bald man whipped him again and he was dead.


    He glowed and pressed down on his left arm. While he was contorting on the ground in a state of unholy bliss, the rest of the marked men came out of the church to confront Mickey, Caleb and the decoy.


    ¡°About goddamn time,¡± Mickey said. Caleb and his creatures moved to the left, Mickey moved to the right, and the decoy stayed in the middle. The marked men got into a rehearsed formation, four groups of five, two in the front, two standing behind them. The two frontmost groups charged at Caleb and Mickey. The men in the front cast up barriers, one made of what looked to be bone, the other of thick fingernails. The other two groups stayed behind, near the church. All at once, they lobbed ranged attacks at the decoy, sending fireballs, explosives, arrows and whatever else they could shoot from their hands at what they thought was me. The decoy disintegrated instantly.


    But it didn¡¯t matter.


    I was behind them, surrounded by twenty more.

 31d: Seriously? Why is Everyone Fucking Running?

    We got up right behind them without them noticing. The chaos of their projectiles gave us cover. Two of the decoys tapped two of the marked men on the shoulder. When they turned around, I gave them a mask of sludge and watched them suffocate. By the time the rest had stopped firing and turned around to see what happened, the decoys and I had scattered across the field.


    Half of the sludge men ran away from the crowd, some towards the church and some towards Mickey and Caleb, who were fending off attacks of their own. The other half stayed and fought. One hugged a marked man who tried to sling a flaming ball that smelled like butane, and cemented his arms to his side. I caved his face in with a single punch. Another seemed to get inspiration from the sludge mask I gave the first two guys, and headbutted the arrow-flinging man. I snapped his neck to finish the job.


    A whip cracked over my shoulder and cut a decoy in half. The bald man then looked at me and cracked the whip against my face. It cut through the sludge shell and split the skin on my forehead wide open. Blood cascaded over my eyes.


    ¡°This is the one!¡± he yelled to the rest of the marked men. There were still five left, and they all turned to me at once. Two of the remaining sludge men slammed their bodies against the bald man from either side, and slowly crawled across his skin until they swallowed him. He lashed at his own face, showing flashes of red as he mangled himself trying to get free. I knew it wasn¡¯t going to work so I turned my attention to the five motherfuckers that still surrounded me.


    ¡°Damn, your guys are getting fucked up over there without you,¡± I said.


    It wasn¡¯t true. Caleb¡¯s creatures were doing everything they could to protect him, but hadn¡¯t managed to kill anyone yet. There was a pile of gore at Mickey¡¯s feet, but four men still swung at him while he did his best to phase through it. It was bullshit, but it bought me a second.


    My entire right leg hummed, and it throbbed down at my calf. My mark was pleased with the fact that I¡¯d just killed five marked men. I could feel the energy coursing through me already. I smacked the side of my leg, and so much energy flowed through me that I could hardly stand it. I felt more vigor, power, bliss than any man has ever felt. No drug could even try to match the high I felt. Then I looked at the men in front of me and the bliss turned into fury, though the two didn¡¯t feel all that different. It was a pure, indescribable fury, and it felt great. I knew now that I was put on this Earth for a single reason: to kill.


    I raised my arm, clenched it into a fist, and formed a sludge hammer taller than I was. With slime at my feet, I skated towards the marked men. One shot a flurry of glass shards at me; I brought my hammer down on his head and crushed it like an egg. The remaining four shot at me with all of their strength ¡ª giant bone darts, spit bombs, steel shurikens, and even a fucking laser ¡ª but my sludge shell regenerated impossibly fast now. It was hopeless for them. I swung my hammer into the ribs of the spit bomb man and blood spurted from his mouth. Another swing to the chest and he let out one last raspy breath before falling. The last three saw there was no hope and started to run. I threw my hammer into the laser woman¡¯s back and heard her spine snap from ten yards away. I skated after the last two. They were going separate directions, but they were moving painfully slow. I caught up, skated in between the both of them and aimed my open palms in their directions. A torrent of slime came from my hands and pierced holes in each of their abdomens. I laughed as they tried to crawl away. I shot another hole into each of them, then another and another, carefully avoiding the areas that would lead to a quick death. Their screams got weaker, and I felt myself getting stronger. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    I left those Swiss cheese motherfuckers in the grass to fade away slowly. There were more motherfuckers to kill.


    I went to help Caleb first. He was struggling pretty badly, down to only two of his pets without killing a single man in return.


    ¡°Y¡¯all pickin¡¯ on my little brother? That¡¯s fucked up.¡± I made a finger gun and cut one of them in half from his nutsack up to his head. The halves of his body folded over each other as they fell. The short haired woman was in this group. She pressed a finger to her ear, and the remaining four men took off running.


    ¡°Seriously? Why is everyone fucking running?¡± I sighed and took off after them. I brought my finger gun up to my eye, aiming for the hungry bitch¡¯s head, but one of the men huddled them all together and they disappeared into the ground. They just fell right in ¡ª didn¡¯t leave a hole or anything.


    ¡°Fuck!¡± I roared. The urge to kill them burned inside of me, and the fact that I couldn¡¯t pissed me off beyond belief. I slid right past Caleb over towards Mickey, but his work was done. Popped assholes littered the grass and he was painted solid red with blood. He phased forward and the blood stayed behind, cleaning him off.


    ¡°Damn! Those fuckers were fierce!¡± he said, smiling. ¡°One of ¡®em ran away ¡ª little bitch ¡ª but I think we did what we needed to do.¡±


    ¡°I know I did,¡± I said. ¡°Was four enough for you?¡±


    ¡°You tell me.¡± He pulled his staff out of his palm and swung it downwards in the direction of the church. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the wall crumbled to pieces.


    ¡°Finally got some range, huh?¡± I said. ¡°Hope it can fuck up some dirt dogs.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ma do more than that,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m gonna pop Alec¡¯s stupid fucking head right off his shoulders.¡±


    ¡°Maybe. I¡¯m gonna break every bone in his body before you do it though.¡±


    Caleb had been oddly silent since the fighting was done. He was pale and his face sunk in and made him look thirty years older.


    ¡°You alright?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Yeah, just tired,¡± he said. ¡°Hopefully we can get some food and a good night¡¯s sleep before we have to fight this Reverend guy.¡±


    ¡°You know, you can sit that one out,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯d rather you did, to be honest. You helped a lot here today, but that¡¯s gonna be a whole other ball game. I think we should find Shane and you two should go somewhere safe.¡±


    I thought he would protest, despite his weariness, but he sighed and said ¡°Ok¡±.


    ¡°Shane shouldn¡¯t be too far off. I think he¡¯s waiting for us,¡± Mickey said. We went through the neighborhood looking for someone tall, or short, or with wings, but the entire place was devoid of life aside from some sad bushes and dying grass.


    ¡°Is that him on the roof over there?¡± Mickey said. It did look like someone was peeking over the top of a roof a few houses down. As we got closer, the figure disappeared behind the roof completely, and there was a thud in the backyard.


    ¡°Shane?¡± I said. There was no answer.


    We ran to the back of the house, and Shane was there, his legs and wings crushed, and his head twisted the wrong direction.


    ¡°I shoulda just dealt with y¡¯all at the very beginning.¡±


    Reverend Alec appeared in front of us, and he flung a boulder at Caleb¡¯s head.