https://nymag.com/intelligencearticle/jamaal-bowman-george-latimer-primary-israel.html
The Most Endangered Democrat in America Jamaal Bowman might lose his job over Israel.
By Ross Barkan
Jamaal Bowman, the two-term congressman from Westchester County and the would-be future of the progressive left, is tired of the questions about George Latimer. "Yeah, I mean, I think it says something about his character, his integrity, and his actual leadership for the district. But enough of him. When are we going to talk about me?"
We're at Salsa Picante, a Mexican restaurant in Port Chester, the heavily Latino village on the eastern reaches of the 16th congressional district. It's late April, and Bowman, munching on chicken empanadas, is in a cheery mood, despite my prodding on Latimer. The night before, Summer Lee, a fellow progressive in Congress, had survived a furious primary challenge, and Bowman senses a pattern. "Salut!" he calls out. "I'm excited, hopefully, for the whole progressive movement to zero in on NY-16. Let's get to work."
The work is daunting. Bowman, less than two months from the June 25 primary, is one of the most endangered Democratic incumbents in America. This is in spite of — or because of — his charisma and budding celebrity, his ability to slash through the noise of 435 House members and command attention on a scale only one or two levels removed from Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez. A former public-school principal and self-described hip-hop head, Bowman marries her online savvy with a deft working-class touch. Burly and boisterous, with a knack for whipping up crowds, it is not hard to imagine him as a future presidential candidate, storming through South Carolina with a pack of reporters hanging on his every word.
But first he needs to win. And Latimer, the sitting Westchester County executive, has outraised him in the primary, thanks in part to the American Israel Public Affairs Committee (AIPAC) — the conservative, ardently pro-Israel political powerhouse that is seeking to crush the pro-Palestinian movement and the left itself. "They do not want any critique, they do not want any accountability, and so what it looks like to people in my district and around the country is that Israel can do whatever it wants even though, to people on the outside looking in, it looks completely wrong and horrible," Bowman says of AIPAC. "One, it doesn't represent all the Jews. It doesn't represent all the Jews in Israel!"
"If Israel represents all the Jews," Bowman continues, revving up now, "and if Israel is doing bad things without accountability, some idiot in the street just makes the connection that, Oh, Jews must be bad because Israel is bad. That's fucking — excuse my language — that's effing scary, man, and dangerous. And as we fight antisemitism, that has to include accountability for Israel."
There was a time, not very long ago, when no member of Congress would speak this way. The Israeli government's response that has starved out Gaza and killed thousands of civilians has catalyzed a new era though. Mass protests have flooded the streets and rocked college campuses, including two, Columbia and City College, that are only a short drive from Westchester. Bowman has been an AIPAC target for his support of conditioning military aid to Israel and his willingness to label the military campaign in Gaza a "genocide," among other criticism lodged at the Jewish state. "AIPAC is one of the most powerful lobbies in America. Well you know what we have got to say to AIPAC? Bring it on," he said at his campaign kickoff earlier this year. "AIPAC, bring it on. We are not scared of none of that. I'm from the streets of New York."
In this deeply polarized moment, with Israel hawks reasserting themselves and the pro-Palestinian movement booming, few primaries in America offer a starker contrast between two candidates.
In one corner is Bowman, 48, the first Black congressman from Westchester who, just four years ago, unseated one of the staunchest Israel defenders in Congress, Eliot Engel. He immediately joined Ocaso-Cortez, Ilhan Omar, and Rashida Tlaib as one of the nation's leading progressives. Latimer, meanwhile, is a 70-year-old county executive, ex-state senator, ex-assemblyman, and ex-Rye councilman. (He also had a career, as he likes to remind voters, in marketing and sales.) After October 7, AIPAC asked Latimer to run against Bowman. "I was a reluctant bride," he told me in May, less than 24 hours after the NYPD had raided Columbia's campus to arrest the protesters who had occupied Hamilton Hall.
I met Latimer at the Mount Vernon Metro North station, where he dutifully passed out palm cards ("Good morning, I'm George Latimer, I'm on the ballot") to the few dreary commuters who ambled through. A couple lit up when they recognized him and one man, who was white, seemed to lament "identity politics" while promising his vote to Latimer. And it's easy to make this race, as much as it's become about Israel, about race: Latimer is the white ethnic, Irish and Italian, trying to depose a congressman who told me racism is the number-one issue facing the district and that he views himself, as the first Black man to hold this congressional seat, as a role model to Black youth throughout the area.
The district, which also ropes in a sliver of the northern Bronx including the sprawling and Bowman-friendly Co-op City, is both diverse and plenty segregated, with towns of immense wealth like Scarsdale lying within half-hour drives from working-class Yonkers. It's about 40 percent white, 29 percent Hispanic, and 21 percent Black. Bowman's trouble is that the white, well-heeled vote has soured on him, and Jews are expected to flock to Latimer. Jerry Skurnik, a Democratic consultant and data analyst, estimates that as much as 15 percent of the Democratic electorate who turn out in the primary might be Jewish. A conservative group, Westchester Unites, undertook an effort to register Jewish Republicans as Democrats to impact the primary, in an implicit effort to boost Latimer and undercut Bowman.
Both campaigns agree that Israel alone is not what motivates voters in Westchester and the Bronx, who are mostly consumed with the cost of living. Bowman, as a national figure, may be vulnerable to the very attacks that he once leveled against Engel: He's too high-flown to care adequately about quotidian Westchester concerns. "He has a different brand of politics which appeals more so to getting clicks and likes and retweets and making headlines versus someone who has delivered," said Tyrae Woodson-Samuels, the majority leader of the Westchester County Board of Legislators and a Latimer supporter.
Latimer is the rare insurgent who also profiles as an incumbent and can theoretically neutralize some of the attacks he's taking from the left. If, on Israel, Latimer has held to the rightward fringe of his own party — he refused, in his conversation with me, to support Chuck Schumer's call for Netanyahu to step aside — he is, on almost every other issue, a conventional, center-left Democrat. Until challenging Bowman, he regularly took the Working Families Party ballot line and earned plaudits from progressives for ousting Rob Astorino, his right-wing Republican predecessor as county executive.
"There are lots of people who really like both candidates," says Evan Roth Smith, a Democratic pollster. "For many voters, the most loyal Democratic voters who do turn out in these kinds of primaries, it's sort of like picking between mom and dad."
Latimer, in that sense, was the dream recruit for AIPAC and Democratic Majority for Israel, another influential PAC that is spending heavily in Democratic primaries to bludgeon progressives. His knowledge of the district is encyclopedic and he shows up at every town board meeting, chicken dinner, and parade imaginable; he tells me he's at train stations five days a week and bagel shops on weekends. He has the ability to cut into Bowman's Black support, with endorsements from the Democratic committees in Yonkers and Mount Vernon. Bowman has won the backing of the influential health-care workers' union 1199 SEIU, but Latimer has racked up his own support from civil-service, transit, and firefighters' unions. In his Facebook musings on classic rock and the Knicks, he comes off as earnest and homespun, a Mr. Fix-It paterfamilias.
The cash, though, is anything but homespun. Latimer, never a prolific fundraiser before, banked $3 million at the end of March, double Bowman's haul, and there are top donors who are either AIPAC-affiliated or cut checks to Donald Trump, including Alex Campos, Alex Dubitsky, and Stephen and Carolyn Lauro, who once hosted a Long Island fundraiser for Trump. Another donor is Daniel Loeb, the hedge-fund billionaire who accused Latimer's old ally, the Black State Senate majority leader Andrea Stewart-Cousins, of doing "more damage to people of color than anyone who has ever donned a hood" because she wasn't a supporter of charter schools, is another donor.
"You're the reason why these guys are donating to me — because of what you said and done," Latimer says of Bowman at the New Rochelle Diner after finishing at the Mount Vernon train stop. "I'm not even soliciting them. I have an event, they send checks. It's not going to change what I do in Congress, Ross, I'm going to be a very progressive congressman on most policy issues."
"It's deeply disturbing that the Latimer campaign is being financed by many of the same people trying to elect Trump," says Jasmine Gripper, the co-director of the Working Families Party's New York chapter. "He's accepting financing from people actively working against the Democratic Party."
The real threat for Bowman is the super-PAC spending. AIPAC and DMFI together can blow past $20 million, if they choose, in attack ads and mail. (AIPAC did not respond to a request for comment.) And he offers them enough fodder, like a House censure for pulling a false fire alarm when Democrats were trying to stall a vote, which Bowman told me was an accident and Latimer believes was intentional. Blog posts Bowman wrote more than a decade ago appeared to give credence to 9/11 conspiracy theories and last week his YouTube page following conspiracy accounts became news. More recently, he was forced to apologize after lavishing praise on Norman Finkelstein, the acerbic anti-Israel scholar, at a panel discussion.
"Bowman has been one of the most anti-Israel members of the entire United States Congress," charges Mark Mellman, the president of DMFI. "If he is defeated, it will send a strong message to the rest of the country." Justice Democrats, the group that helped launch politicians like Bowman into orbit and is fighting desperately now to save him, would not disagree with that last part. "It's absolutely a threat to the progressive movement and I think we have to be clear-eyed about what's at stake here," Usamah Andrabi, the group's communications director, tells me. "The same people spending millions to try to elect Donald Trump and prevent Hakeem Jeffries from being speaker of the House are also spending millions to try to send George Latimer to Congress."
Latimer, who once falsely accused Bowman of taking money "from Hamas," argues the AIPAC cash has only arrived because he was already, long before the primary, genuinely pro-Israel. He also believes Bowman invited their wrath. "If Mike Tyson was in the room and I decided to go over to Mike Tyson and say, 'Hey Mike Tyson, bring it on, yo,' what do I think Mike Tyson might do to me? Whatever I used to be, I wouldn't be the same person after he finished with me."
Latimer has a fondness for analogies. He's sitting with me and his campaign spokeswoman, and there are three paunchy, middle-aged men at a table near us, sipping coffee. "You shouldn't return hostages as part of a negotiation. You should just return them. If someone came into this room, for the sake of argument — terrible analogy, I'm about to make — somebody came into this room and killed those three guys and me, wounded you, and kidnapped her, what right do they have to hold onto her? What right? This is not, 'Let's negotiate now.' Four dead bodies, you're wounded, and she's kidnapped, and God only knows what they did to the people they kidnapped. Now let's ceasefire and have a negotiation? That's ridiculous."
Latimer refuses to critique the Israeli military strategy in Gaza or declare he would, as a congressman, ask the U.S. government to condition military aid to Israel, as Biden has done in opposition to a potential Israel attack on Rafah. Unlike Bowman, he's supportive of the police crackdowns on pro-Palestinian college protests and gladly associates himself with Israel hawks Ritchie Torres, John Fetterman, and Hakeem Jeffries, the AIPAC ally and House Democratic leader who has tempered his own outward pugilism since ascending to the top of his party. Jeffries has endorsed Bowman, a courtesy to an incumbent, but he has not tried to restrain AIPAC.
One irony of the primary is that Bowman, in 2021, broke with the Democratic Socialists of America over his support for funding the Iron Dome, an Israeli missile-defense system, and visiting Israel with J Street, the liberal (and much smaller) counter to AIPAC. J Street, still proudly Zionist, rescinded their endorsement earlier this year after Bowman began, like many activists, to speak of the Gaza death toll in terms of genocide.
Bowman tells me he is for, like almost every American politician, a two-state solution: a nation for the Jews and a nation for the Palestinians. Many of the most prominent activist groups in the nation today, like Within Our Lifetime and Jewish Voice for Peace, call for a single, multinational democratic state that wouldn't necessarily guarantee a Jewish numerical majority — something that even most leftists in elected office shy away from.
I ask Bowman if Israel should always have a Jewish majority. Strikingly, unlike a vast majority of American politicians, he doesn't answer immediately in the affirmative. "It might have been the day after or definitely the weekend after we won against Congressman Engel — who's my guy, Peter Beinart, wrote a one-state piece that I thought was brilliant, I thought it was phenomenal," he says. "Some of this stuff is, like, I'm not Jewish, man, you know? So I don't want to be talking out of turn about Jewish issues. I'm also not Palestinian, right? It's the same kind of deal but because my values are rooted in human rights and I know my district well, I have to comment on these things. And I do."
"I want Palestinians to be free from occupation and apartheid and I want Jews to be safe — and Palestinians to be safe, of course. How do we do that?" he adds. "Jews should have a safe place to exist. What that looks like, the details of that, let's figure that out. That is not Jews are safe, Palestinians are under occupation — those two things can't co-exist anymore."
It would be an exaggeration to say that the future of the progressive movement hinges on the outcome of this one primary. With or without Bowman, the Squad will be larger than it was four years ago, and the activists in the streets won't be deterred if Latimer is sworn into Congress. Unconditional support for Israel is no longer a guarantee within the Democratic Party — look no further than Schumer applying the sort of pressure on the Netanyahu government that AIPAC loathes.
But a Bowman defeat would deprive the left of one of its most prominent voices at a moment when Establishment forces have regrouped from some of their losses over the last decade. The prospect of this not only makes AIPAC giddy but thrills moderate Democrats who are weary of the media attention and influence the Squad perpetually commands. The fear, for progressives, is that this primary could offer an obvious roadmap for the future: hunt out popular — or possibly venal — local politicians who are willing to target leftists and promise them a bounty of campaign cash and super-PAC spending if they take the plunge. Some more just might.

Shout out to SpacePaladin15 for the original universe and credit to Soggy_Helicopter8589 for the AU lore, check out his story The New Age of Wolves.
Getting interrupted is the worst.
First
Previous
Memory Transcription Subject: Salisk, Arxur hunter, Second-in-Command, Mercenary
Date [Post Cataclysm]: March 4, 1291
The fires crackled in the night, illuminating the people surrounding each one. There were too many for us to build just one fire, so we had ended up building several. I expected that to mean that the Arxur and the Federation species would separate and prefer the company of their on kind, but they remained remarkably close.
The Arxur that had come with us, seventeen in total, remained close with the other rescues, conversing with them and even sharing body heat. There wasn’t an iota of fear in any of their eyes, they had grown completely accustomed to the presence of the Arxur. I think it scared me.
They weren’t scared of the one thing that had always scared them. They weren’t cowards anymore, by my definition that made them people. And I had come to the conclusion the Drotkla was correct, you cannot simply become sapient one day, you had to have been born that way. That means they have always been people, and what I have done in my time in the Dominion I have done to people.
I stared deeply into the fire, running through the thoughts again and again. I was desperate to find the flaw, to pick out something I could use to prove they still weren’t people. There had to be a missing piece, an unknown factor. There had to be. I couldn’t accept that there wasn’t.
Date sat next to me, crossing his legs as he did. He carried a large piece of the rations we were given, surely too much for the human to eat himself. Wordlessly, he took his sword and began slicing the meat into strips before passing them off to the rest of the Arxur crowded around my fire. Drotka and Loznelt accepted theirs with little more than a nod of thanks, Kostlo was the only one to actually say their thanks. Rurutk did chirp when he got his, but that's less of a thanks and more of a gasp.
When Date offered me a slice, I held out a claw. “Not hungry.”
Every one of the Arxur looked at me like I was insane, except for Rurutk who was too busy enjoying his meal to notice. Refusing food was paramount to suicide, you never knew when your next meal could show up. One was likely to starve to death if they even missed out on one small meal.
Date shook the sliver in the air. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. I’ve lost my appetite.”
Date shrugged and pulled down his face mask to eat what was once mine. “Suit yourself. I’ve never been one for boar, but I’m also not one to waste food. And neither are you. Well, were. You are now.”
Date chewed a few times, looking me up and down. “What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing you can help.”
He chewed a few more times before swallowing. “Would taking your mind off of it help?”
I slowly nodded my head. “I guess it would.”
Date thought for a moment. “Remember how we were talking about what to do when Rurutk gets older? And how we were worried he was going to lack friends? Well, I got to thinking. There are plenty of human kids around, why don’t we introduce some to him?”
“He’s scared of your eyes, remember?”
Date looked passed me and to my son. “I don’t think he is anymore. He seems to be able to tolerate mine at least.”
I looked back and forth between them. “I hadn’t realized he was so comfortable with you now. I guess that ball-and-string toy you gave him made him like you. He plays with it all the time.”
“Well it’s better than being bored. And it’s not just me. Remember Sofia, he got along with her just fine. They even bonded a little over how little they spoke.”
“I know. Once you told me who she was I never left her out of my sight. I know Rurutk needs more friends, but she’s not going to be one of them and that’s final. I don’t care how much they bonded, I’ll introduce him to some other human kids.”
I thought back to the poisoner, recalling the last time I saw her. She started acting odd after we delivered Shume and the others who wanted to stay with the overbearing warlord Anneli. She kept offering me food and drinks, and she followed me and my soldiers everywhere. She even tried to sleep with me! We couldn’t get out of that camp fast enough.
“But how are we going to get some human kids to talk to Rurutk?”
Date shrugged. “I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out. For his sake.”
I nodded. “For his sake.”
Drotka decided to chip in. “Hey, I’m sure there’s another Arxur kid on this planet somewhere. If not, I’m sure there’ll be more soon enough. I’m sure you’ve noticed it too. Most of the female Arxur we’re bringing with us are carrying eggs.”
Date stared out to the other fires. “How… I don’t want to know.”
Kostlo sighed. “Vikings are cruel. I’m just glad we were found by the Blade Watch before anyone else. They’ve been good to us.”
I nodded. “Yes they have. I wouldn’t expect Anneli to give us an entire village, let alone any amount of independence.”
Date nodded, which looked odd with his wide straw hat. “You have more independence than when I ever had working for someone else.”
I blinked. “Wait, I thought you never worked for anyone?”
“Did I say that?”
“When we first met you said you hated the idea of having someone else tell you what to do. Oh, wait, no. You said you hated having anyone tell you who to kill.”
“Really?”
“Pretty sure.”
“Damn, you have a good memory.”
“I’ve always had one. It’s helped me out quite a bit. Anyways, tell us about this job.”
Date picked up a stick and stocked the fire slightly. “Not much to say, honestly. This was a very long time ago, I’m not good with dates. Heh, I’m Date and I’m not good with dates. Ironic.”
He chuckled to himself once more as he set the stick down. “So, after… some unfortunate things happened in my life, I decided to become a samurai under a dymio. It sucked. I don’t really know why I did it in the first place, but I ended up regretting it. In the end the dymio died of smallpox and I was left without a master once more. You probably know the rest of the story, bounty hunted until I met you, and now I’m helping you raise that one. After that, eh, I’ll figure it out when I get there.”
Drotka giggled. “That’s it? You’ll figure it out? Surely you have more of a plan than that.”
“You're one to talk. I bet you don’t have a plan for the next sentence you speak.”
Drotka leaned back. “I’ll have you know that I plan everything in advance. Well, as much as I can. I’ve seen people get killed way too many times on raids just because they had no plan and charged in. Just because you are hungry doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have a plan. I only thought like that in raids until I saw… someone I was close with get killed for not having a plan. Fucking idiot spoke out of turn and our captain killed him. I made a promise to myself as I watched him get beaten to death to always have a plan, even if it was a bad one.”
She leaned over and picked another piece of wood out of the pile, tossing it in and causing the embers to roar for a moment. “It’s just become a habit to think like that now. Once I started I just couldn’t stop.”
Everyone was silent for a moment before Kostlo decided to tell his story. “I’ve seen people get mauled too. An offhand remark, speaking out of turn, looking the wrong way, even fucking breathing too loudly… They wouldn’t get a warning, they would just start getting mauled. No chance to defend themselves, maybe that’s why I wear this armor. Even though I know Salisk would never do that, I just feel safer. And it’s not like it’s hurting anyone to wear armor.”
Drotka smiled. “It’s making us slower.”
Kostlo didn’t respond with words, only staring in annoyance at the sassy Arxur. All Drotka did in response was shrug before returning her attention to the fire with a smile. I expected the conversation to end there, but I was genuinely surprised when Loznelt of all people spoke up.
With his deep voice, he had everyone’s attention before we even realized it was him talking. “I’ve seen the same. It’s why I don’t talk. It’s just habit to keep my mouth shut. Guess I’m finally loosening up.”
Drotka was the first to speak, as expected. “Woah. You sound exactly like I imagined you would.”
Loznelt huffed. “Is that good?”
Drotka smiled and placed a claw on her face. “Sure is.”
Loznelt huffed again and looked away, returning to his silence. Drotka sighed and shook her head. “Back to the silent treatment. Well, whatever. There’s still one more that has yet to talk.”
Every head turned to face me, including my son. Date shifted in his seat, turning to face me more. “Yeah Salisk, we’ve all shared a little at least. Can’t you say something?”
I sighed. “There really isn’t much to say.”
“Well, say what you can.”
I shook my head before sighing again. “Fine. It’s probably not as tragic as you might expect. I didn’t know my father, and my mother might as well have been a stranger. I had the incredibly rare luck to eat frequently, and that’s probably why I’m so strong. Not many Arxur get to eat properly throughout their lives, but I did. Anyways, when I wasn’t attending training or growing somehow more distant with my mother, I would be picked on by the older kids. It was constant, and I grew accustomed to the beatings. I never complained or even whimpered about them to anyone, I knew I would just be blown off.”
I looked deep into the fire, recalling memories I could have sworn I forgot. “It went on like that for a long time. Eat some scraps, go to training, get beaten by an instructor, get beaten by some older kids, go home, sleep away the pain, repeat. It wasn’t until I was old enough to be drafted did it change. People in higher positions noticed that I was stronger than most others, so I got better positions, more food, more power, everything an Arxur was supposed to want, but I never felt any accomplishment in it. It was all… hollow. I tried to find any sense of joy in my life, but I couldn’t. I turned into a robot, just taking the next step because someone told me to do it. The worst part was, I was okay with it in the end.”
I blinked as I looked away from the fire, focusing my attention back to my son. “That all changed when-”
A searing pain shot through my back, causing me to stretch out in pain. I roared in surprise, scaring both Rurutk and Date. Now, instead of just the people around me looking at me, the entire camp was.
Date, clearly confused, leaned back. “What’s wrong?”
I let out a growl to try and fight the pain. “I’ve been stabbed!”
I twisted to show Date the wound, hearing a small gasp as he saw it. “That’s a bolt! Someone shot you!”
I pointed a claw at Drotka and Loznelt. “Find them!”
They rushed into the woods without a second thought, barely remembering to pick up their weapons as they did. Kostlo stood as well, but instead of rushing into the woods he picked up his shield and planted it behind my back. Rurutk got close to him, seeking cover form his confusion behind Kostlo’s shield.
I tried reaching over my back to find the bolt and remove it, but Date stopped me. “Hold on Salisk, I’ve got it. Just stay still, it could be barbed.”
“Just get it out!”
After a moment of waiting, I felt the pain spike in intensity for a moment before settling back down. “You’re lucky this wasn’t barbed. It would have left a lot more permanent damage.”
I winced as I turned around and grabbed my mace. “I’ll kill whoever did this.”
Date held out his hands. “Now hold on, Loznelt and Drotka can handle it, you know they can. Just take it easy, a wound like that might not seem bad at first, but It can be more dangerous than it looks. Just have faith in those two, you’ll be fine.”
I settled back down on my log, once again reaching over my back to feel the wound. “Who would be so stupid…”
Date rolled the bolt in his hands. “A knight. Who specifically, I don’t know, but only knights use crossbows. Someone wants you dead.”
“Think it’s Anneli?”
“Don’t see why she would, but I also don’t know any other knights out here. Why don’t you take Rurutk and go to your tent. I’ll tell the rescues what happened, okay.”
“Yeah, just come get me if they return with that knight alive.”
“Sure thing, you have my word.”
I collected Rurutk and returned to my tent, still nursing the wound on my back. Rurutk clung to my free claw as we traversed the camp, still scared about someone in the woods hurting him. I pulled him into the tent and sat in front of him.
“I’m sorry for screaming Rurutk. I didn’t mean it.”
He took a few steps forward and leaned close. I didn’t have a clue what was happening until he wrapped his arms around me. Even if we had hugged many times before, this time was different. I had comforted him many times, but I never expected to be comforted by him.I returned the hug and pulled him close.
“You’re a great son.”

First/Previous
“No! Jack!” Sephy cried out as she saw them fall, quickly swapping to her plasma rifle to try and give him some covering fire.
“Sephy! Enemies close!” Nika warned with a yell as she blasted a gutter punk that had tried to rush her, destroying the left part of the amphibian’s torso with a powerful shotgun blast that stopped him dead.
“Shit!” The Skritta cursed as she dove into cover on the opposite side of the alcove as plasma blasts zipped over her head, pummelling the plastered walls where she had just been standing and spitting up dust. Scrambling to her feet and unclipping her plasma rifle she blind fired around the corner, not caring who was on the other side as she bought Alora and Chiyo time to use their powers.
Dante barked loudly, as a dome of the most translucent sparkling blue settled over the girls. Recognising it as the same kind of shield the ‘dog’ had summoned when they were ambushed by the Red Legion aspirants on the way back from the Oracle, the Skritta grit her teeth as her brain caught up to what had been pure instinct. Holy shit this was bad!
Chancing a peek around the corner she could see a scrum for the stairs as a few of the more sober and less combative-looking patrons wisely decided to make their escape while they could, meaning that the stairs were clear enough to descend quickly if she and the others could get there. Unfortunately the path to get there was packed with many, many more of the rougher-looking mercenaries, gangsters and other toughs fired up by what was going on!
“ERE WE GO BOYZ!” A loud drunken voice yelled out from somewhere nearby. “WAAAAAAAGH!”
As two heavy-armoured Xarak wearing purple gang symbols charged into a group of avians wearing green, the resulting drunken brawl quickly escalated like wildfire into a full-blown melee, drawing nearby bystanders into the mix as drinks were spilled, bottles were smashed and bodies hit the floor.
‘Shit, getting out won’t be easy.’ The Skritta thought to herself, before suddenly getting an idea as she looked to the overhead turrets that looked like they were powering up.
“Cover me!” She called back to the others, as a translucent AR feed highlighted her vision to reveal the poorly maintained and vandalised local Matrix. Looking around the display, she could see poorly coded glitches rampant throughout the area making it difficult to perceive the local connections, with what looked like years of virtual graffiti scrawled everywhere else.
‘I’m surprised that any electronics work here…’ Sephy thought to herself, sending a scouting program to work out what she had to work with, while in the real world she moved to the balcony to try and look for Jack. She couldn’t see anything through the chaos and her view of the Matrix before she had to duck down back into cover as several plasma blasts were sent her way from the opposite side.
A quick blip from her scouting program told her that it had found what she was looking for, and Sephy wasted no time as she switched her view to that of her scouting program, holding back the nauseous sensation caused by the sudden perception shift, as almost immediately she had to focus on bringing her defensive programs to bear as several hostile nodes honed in to attack her.
‘What the fuck? These IC are way too powerful for a place like this!’ Sephy thought to herself as she backed away, maintaining her defences and cursing the fact that she couldn’t fully fade into the Matrix to speed things up. Looking up, Sephy saw the connections for the local turrets defended by a wall of advanced Blocker IC too advanced to be part of the local system, and she also saw the reason.
‘Oh you motherfucker!’
Hiding behind the defences, Sephy spotted a shrouded ghost-like shape by the turret connections, working an intrusion program on them to bring the turrets under their control.
Another slicer was already in the system!
As she sent a data bomb their way, the defences quickly acted to protect their charge, intercepting the digital attack and exploding in a debris of code lines and pixels. Turning around, the other slicer grinned as his hack of the turrets continued automatically, indicating that he was fully sliced into the local Matrix.
“Ah, yes. We were informed that the outsider had a slicer amongst his group.” The figure cruelly cackled, though Sephy was unable to tell their species or gender due to them both being in cyberspace. “I would normally tell you to surrender, but our Lictor gave us orders to eliminate every single one of you. But hey, if you’re lucky you’ll be alive long enough for me and the boys to run a train on you and your friends while you stare at the Outsider’s bloody, broken corpse. What do you say?” The form gave a wicked grin even as he knew the answer, summoning more Defender IC.
“Go fuck yourself,” Sephy snarled as she programmed another data bomb. “Doesn’t matter if it’s cyberspace or in reality, you’re not leaving this shithole alive!”
“I doubt it!” The other slicer chuckled as they summoned more Attacker IC, easily done for them as they were fully immersed in the Matrix, unlike Sephy who was attempting it in synchronised real time as she stayed in cover in reality. “We were told you were the dumb one in the briefing, you are no match for me!”
‘That’s what you think…’ Sephy thought to herself as she tried a new plan, seeing that the other slicer was too well entrenched. Quickly pulling up her pre-prepared list of viruses she shot out her virtual hands as what looked like several paper aeroplanes shot out to go for the other slicer. They were weak, unable to do any damage to the slicer, and most were easily intercepted, but enough hit the slicer to do what she needed them to do. Just for a moment, the avatar dropped and she saw the slicer for a brief as he actually was, an obese toad-like being in some kind of uniform.
More importantly, she was able to pinpoint the exact direction and distance of his real body from her current location.
“Hah! Pathetic!” The other slicer cackled again, not noticing what Sephy’s attack had actually done. “Was that meant to hurt? Take this!”
Sephy grimaced as her Matrix defences took a heavy hit as she quickly backed out of cyberspace to return to the real world, grunting and shaking off the disorienting feeling of treading two worlds and being violently ripped back into one. Had she been fully sliced in, it could have caused her some serious injury.
“Guys! We have a problem!” She shouted back to the others, as she saw the turrets begin to swirl around to aim their way…
*****
“Dessenta!” Alora gasped as she finished the spell she had been casting, causing blurry illusionary duplicates of her, Dante and the other girls to randomly appear near them, before with another word of command she caused them to run out and scatter to hopefully confuse the enemies targeting them. Ever since the trick had worked when they fled from the Cult of the Destroyer, Alora had been practising this technique, though it was still far from a perfect distraction.
Some of the illusions ran off the balcony only to dash uselessly through the air, while others waded into the various fights that were breaking out, even going through some people as they yelped out in confusion before trying to attack them.
“We’ve got to get Jack and run!” She yelled out, though she wasn’t sure if the others could even hear her over the blazing music and the veritable moshpit that had formed on the ground floor under them. She turned to the crew of River Giants that were still with them, standing there with weapons brought to bear, but not really knowing what to do. “Where is your vessel located?” She asked them sharply.
The River Giants just stood there with a dazed look, and Alora realised they were probably in shock at seeing what just happened with Jack.
“Captain! Where?” Alora yelled, and that seemed to awaken the giants out of their stupor.
“Far right side of the docks, lass!” Captain Ripples-On-Salt spoke up hastily. “Largest vessel there, it’s called the Siltskimmer, you can’t miss it!”
“Alright.” Alora nodded, trying to remain calm. “When you get the opportunity, get away from the place and get everything ready to leave. Pull out of dock a little bit if you need to but do not leave without us. We’ll join you as soon as possible.”
“Lass, we’re not sticking around if things get bad!” The captain warned with a panicked look.
“If it spreads that far and you need to protect your people, then do so,” Alora acknowledged. “But we’re here for a reason, and our mutual friends won’t be pleased if you lose your nerve!”
“Alright, alright!” The captain nodded, raising a hand placatingly. “We’ll do what we can and wake all hands, they’ll be sleeping around this time.”
“Good!” Alora nodded. “Stay back and as far away from us as you can be, then make a break for it!”
“We can fight, you know!” One of the crew spoke up, as the captain rounded on them.
“You’re drunk off your ass Dips-In-Bog! And we have our orders! We’re not sticking around, but at least we’ll probably have to batter some fools to get out!”
Glad to have resolved that, Alora turned around to assess the situation. She could see Sephy covering the right side while she was looking up towards the turrets, no doubt trying to take them over, while Nika was holding the right, and was attracting the most amount of fire. Seeing where the shots were coming from, Alora quickly ran towards the edge of the balcony near a wooden pillar that would hopefully give her some covering fire as she quickly cast a spell.
“Pyrallis!” She yelled out as she pointed her wand at the group of enemies aiming for Nika, as a jet of fire roared out, zipping around, above and below anybody not shooting at them as it smacked into the trio on the opposite balcony that were, immolating two of them, but the third, a great hulking Balnath with a huge overgrown maw of teeth, was able to shrug it off. Alora dove to the ground as they returned fire, completely obliterating the pillar she had tried to hide behind.
‘Well that got his attention’. Alora thought to herself as she rolled to the side away from the pillar, out of sight of the Balnath as they let rip with their gatling plasma gun, though fortunately most of the wild shots had been intercepted by Dante’s shield. Waiting for the sounds and lights to dissipate, Alora quickly got to her feet and cast another spell…
*****
“Come on then you fuckers!” Nika growled after she dispatched her amphibian attacker, quickly switching to her plasma rifle as she checked her side of the balcony alcove, quickly dispatching a figure that looked like she was heading for them. Nika didn’t allow any sliver of doubt to shake her, this situation was dire enough that anyone even remotely looking like a threat to her or her friends was going down!
‘We need a way out, Sephy has the stairs.’ The Kizun thought to herself as she spotted a sharpshooter on the opposite balcony far too assured of themselves to be just an ordinary patron, an assumption that was proven correct as they moved to take aim at Sephy, before a burst from Nika smacked into him and threw their aim wide, though didn’t finish them.
‘They’ve got good armour, maybe shields too, these guys are professionals.’ Nika concluded, though grinned as she spotted a group of some blue-feathered avian species mob the sharpshooter, clearly looking to grab their weapon in the midst of all the chaos. ‘Stairs were at the back of the building, so my way leads to the front. Maybe we can blast a way out and jump down? That plan worked out for us before…’
She contemplated the idea, knowing that she hadn’t taken as many breaching charges as she normally would for an urban mission, having dismissed the need to have as many in a rural environment, but she had one on her just in case, with a couple more distributed among a few of the others. However, the building they were in wasn’t the most structurally sound, and she had a real fear that enough damage could bring it crashing down above their heads!
The decision was taken away from her, as from one of the far alcoves ahead of her, a group of three strangely uniformed soldiers of some kind advanced towards her, with the Kizun having no doubt they were enemies, as two of them carried tall, broad riot shields locked into place, while the third shot at her with an accurate burst, cracking her shield and thumping into her heavy armour as she retreated. Where had these guys come from? She could have sworn she hadn’t seen anyone in uniform, but realised that, like them, their opponents may have been in disguise and had needed to quickly gear up before engaging.
Immediately, Nika reached to her belt for a grenade, electing for a smaller yield as she activated the timer and waited a few seconds before flinging it back from cover with a well-practised blind throw, sending it bouncing and clattering in a straight line before detonating right on target. Grinning with the roar, she dashed out from cover, going full auto as she unleashed hell, keeping low as she pushed forward, not letting up as she saw one of the shield guys drop to the ground while another couldn’t hold on, stumbling and falling back down the freshly blown hole caused by the grenade, which must have slipped under the shields and taken out the third guy.
And as she looked at the freshly blown hole, she realised now they had a quick way down!
*****
Those are Regulators! Chiyo warned, though she had no idea if any of her friends were paying attention as the Ilithii drew her power in to assist Dante in maintaining an energy barrier, before taking out her magic staff and channelled her power to lash out with psionic power at whoever she could detect down below, sensing that they were going after Jack. She heard her friends acting and knew she had to do everything in her power to get them all out in one piece!
Sensing a lot of magical energy flaring up, Chiyo activated her astral sight to check what was happening, and cursed as she did. There was a lot of ambient mana dissipating in the air from several illusionary spells, likely from their attackers, and she detected three strong signatures in particular, and two of them were situated on the ground floor.
The third was on the other balcony!
Responding to the imminent threat, Chiyo focused on her attack as she saw the astral form of the physically obscured wizard on the other side of the room whispering words of power and weaving their hands in strange patterns for a complicated spell of some kind that didn’t look good.
Her meditations with the Essence of Water they had looted from the Pallid Pit had proved fruitful as she had quickly learned to combine her new affinity with her existing psychic powers to weave together some new tricks, her most basic one coming into play as she quickly drew in the ambient water from all around them to cluster in one great ball, before launching several blasts that shot out to catch the enemy mage completely off guard, battering their body and cracking several ribs, causing them to flail back and, more importantly, completely disrupting whatever spell they were trying to cast.
The enemy mage appeared physically as their illusion mask was dispelled, revealing a diminutive blue furry mammalian with a long, thin snout in a set of traveller's robes with the insignia she recognised as belonging to the Order of the Infernal Harmony. Chiyo saw them angrily motion at her, ordering several more Regulators on the other side of the building to aim at her.
‘Well, I’m flattered…’ Chiyo thought to herself as she put more of her energy into maintaining her personal shields and hunkered down to avoid the gunfire, which took some of the heat off Nika, before the inevitable explosion went off several seconds later.
“We’ve got a quick way down!” Nika called back after dashing back to them, a sentiment that Chiyo quickly repeated to Alora to get past the deafening noise.
“Understood!” Alora shouted. “Chiyo?”
Lead your crew to the left and drop down the hole, the Ilithi told the River Giants, imbedding the thoughts directly into their minds over the noise. We shall follow promptly. Get everything ready for a quick exit. We’ll cover you, go now!
Quickly nodding in agreement, the band of River Giants needed little prompting to run the fuck away from the ongoing shitstorm while the group covered for them, with Chiyo unleashing her power and levitating a Regulator from behind an overturned table, only for Nika to cut them down mercilessly with plasma fire.
“Guys! We have a problem!” Sephy yelled in a panic. “They have control of the turrets! I can’t take them back from here!”
We’ve got to get off this balcony! Chiyo warned the others. Nika has an exit! We’ve-
But then she sensed it.
Scatter! Now! She warned as the entire balcony suddenly collapsed violently from under them…
*****
With a roar, Jack braced for impact as the ground rushed up to meet him with terrifying speed as he struggled with The Redeemer, before they both collided with the dancefloor in a bone-jarring smash, breaking the grapple as The Redeemer slammed hard onto his back, with Jack faring little better as his shoulder took the brunt of the heavy impact, sending shockwaves of pain radiating heavily through his body. The air was knocked from his lungs as he had the presence of mind to roll away, quickly scrambling to his feet with a fierce determination as he gathered his bearings
The room span in a disorienting blue for a second as Jack blinked away the stars dancing in his eyes, but Jack could see a crowd of gangsters and mercenaries forming around him, whooping and cheering, having seen his fall but not having any idea what just happened.
“Where is he?” Jack managed to gasp, as sudden movement from the side caught his attention, springing him into action as he quickly drew his heavy rifle, dodging the Redeemer’s enraged charge at the same time as he managed to get off a risky burst of heavy plasma that caught the Redeemer dead centre of mass as they passed and crashed into a table of avian mercenaries wearing what looked like biker leathers.
“You fat cunt! You spilled my beer!” One of them squawked at the Redeemer, who simply pushed the speaker aside as he quickly assessed the hits he took, a decision he quickly regretted as Jack put another accurate burst into him, staggering him backwards with many smoking holes in his now ruined brown overcoat, but not dropping him.
“Go down you fucking wanker!” Jack growled as he levelled his gun to shoot again, before several shots smacked hard into his shoulder, sending him careening to the side in a wild spin as his shots were sent wide, blasting smoking holes through the roof that allowed the evening light to shine through as he barreled into a group of furry beings that closely resembled silverback gorillas in matching military fatigues that denoted them as part of a militia.
“Fucking kid!” One snarled as he bodily shoved Jack to the ground, flicking a telescopic baton as he approached again to try and do him more harm before Jack got his gun up.
“Back off! Back the fuck off!” He yelled in a panic as he got back to his feet, warning the gorilla-men who cautiously took several steps back as he scrambled to his feet again, as he was shoved and jostled by alien bodies writhing and thrashing around in a frenzied melee of fists, feet, tails, claws, paws, teeth and fuck knew what else.
The pulsating thudding beat of the music jarred like a rampaging heart attack to provide a rhythmic backdrop to the rapidly escalating brawl, punctuated by the gunfire, the crash of breaking glass, and the roars of the combatants locked in drunken combat as he found himself in the middle of a full-blown mosh pit.
Risking a glance to the side, he saw The Redeemer rip off the smouldering remaining scraps of his brown overcoat to reveal the dull thick metal plates of his own heavy armour. He could see that his heavy plasma rifle had done some kind of damage, though he couldn’t tell how much from the melted, blacked, smoking marks from where Jack had shot them, or if his shots had even penetrated past the layers. But he could see that the Redeemer wasn’t going to go down easily as the avian gang was piling on the Ogar, who lashed out at them with his huge powerful fists as plates extended around his neck and head for extra protection.
Suddenly, Jack caught another movement out of the corner of his eye as he spun around, before a pincer deflected the barrel of his rifle, as a spindly insectoid quickly closed the distance, hostile intent abundantly clear in their snarling expression as they snapped a pincer at Jack’s face, who ducked out of the way and shunted backwards.
‘Shit! This place is too swarmed!’ Jack cursed to himself as he tried to aim his gun through the ongoing brawl. ‘I can’t risk firing into an open crowd! The rest of these people haven’t done a thing to me!’
Realising his rifle wasn’t the best choice of weapon now as he was knocked about by the horde of bodies, Jack flicked it around and behind him, relieved upon hearing the magnetic clips on his armour do their thing, latching his rifle in place so he could retrieve it later.
“Aegis!” Jack yelled out as the pincer of the insectoid came at him again, summoning his shield to take the blow before he lashed out, taking the bug in the maw and knocking him back, before he followed through with a quick draw of his sidearm, putting two controlled shots in the thing’s chest and missing the shot to the head as several bolts of blue light smacked into him, though his shield took a few of the hits as he disengaged.
‘Shit! How many of these fuckers did the Redeemer bring with him?’ Jack thought to himself, as he heard an explosion from somewhere up above him. ‘And how the fuck did they know we’d be here?!’
His Ring of the Berserker was flaring up as Jack tried to regain his bearings, trying to spot the source of the magic missiles that had just been flung his way, before he suddenly brought up his forearm, reflexively parrying a swipe from the gorilla-man that had tried to blindside him with the baton. His armour held, only causing him to feel a slight tingle as he lashed out with a punch, clocking his attacker in the face as his gauntlets instantly reacted to cap his knuckles with a metal coating, adding to the power of the punch, sending the gorilla-man to the ground in a daze.
“What’s up retards? May I have your attention please?” A sneering voice called out over the speakers of the music, and though Jack looked for the source of the voice as he tried to get away, he could see the DJ still at his podium looking confused at who was talking. “I know you crackheads aren’t very bright, so I’ll try and use simple words so you understand."
"You are currently being graced by the presence of the Order of the Infernal Harmony, along with our very special guest, The Redeemer! The reason why we’re here is the Outsider practically shitting himself on the dancefloor of this dump, along with a few random bimbos dumb enough to tag along with him. Anyone that gets in the way of our business or takes any action against us should be prepared to accept the consequences, up to and not limited to your brutal death, so if any of you losers are actually lucid enough to understand me, I’d get the hell out of our way.”
“Fuck you, bitch!” One drunken patron yelled out above the noise as he drunkenly shot at the nearest speaker, missing several times before reducing it to slag.
“Oh golly gee, what an unexpected answer from a bunch of fucking crackheads!” The voice mocked sarcastically as Jack saw the turrets above glow with power. “Time to die motherfuckers!”
*****
First/Previous
Yep, these bad guys came prepared! Shame Jack can't just start blasting with all the people around!
Don't forget to check out The Galactic High Info Sheet! If you want to remind yourself of certain characters and factions. One new chapter a week can seem like a while! Don't forget! You all have the ability to leave comments and notes to the entries, which I encourage you to do!
I am now on Royal Road! I would appreciate your support in getting myself off the ground there with your lovely comments, reviews and likes!
If you're impatient for the next chapter, why not check out my previous series?
As always I love to see the comments on what you guys think!
Don't forget to join the discussion with us on Discord, and consider checking me out on Youtube if you haven't already! Until next week, it's goodbye for now!

Out there - Patreon (for all those curious or wanting to support :))
At the Beginning
Adventure Arc - Arc 2
Wilderness Arc - Arc 3
Academy Arc - Arc 4
Nobility Arc - Arc 5
Previously on Leveling up the World...
Emptiness resonated in the air, despite the giant crowds. Seen from the outside, Lanitol seemed better than ever. The city had seen a lot of calm as of late, despite the ongoing war. The surrounding fields and orchards produced food in great quantity and variety. There was plenty to go around and even use on luxuries such as exotic drinks and decorations. All that was fake.
Everyone with an awakened level of over eighty would feel that something was not right. Those above a hundred would even see everything that was wrong. Beneath the superficial glitter lay a core of nothing. Dallion couldn’t see people interacting. From his perspective, he was surrounded by sleepwalkers whose actions were constantly directed through hundreds of invisible threads created by the domain itself. Even the awakened were letting themselves go with the flow—probably aware of the consequences if they didn’t.
“This place has changed,” Euryale said.
There was a time when she had left Nerosal—and Dallion—to focus on her hunter training at Wetie’s provincial capital. Now there was no hint of what had happened to the hunting den or its occupants. There was a time when Dallion believed them to have scattered to other countries and provinces, but the likelihood seemed low.
“Cocoon of the chrysalis,” Dallion said. “At least one might hope.”
A blond overseer emerged from the ground a few steps away. He was probably the only thing that remained elegant and calm just as Dallion remembered him.
“Archduke,” the overseer said with a low bow. The way he did it left it open to interpretation whether he was bowing to Dallion, Euryale, or both. “A pleasure to have you visit again.”
Normally, that would be a lie, but this time Dallion felt sincerity stream from within.
“You seem a bit late,” Dallion said. “A bit longer and we’d have reached the second platform.”
“We expected you would.” The blond agreed. “Since you didn’t, I came to officially welcome you to the city.”
This, in contrast, was a lie. Even at his current level, Dallion knew the importance of etiquette. Archdukes, even weak ones, were petty and could start a losing battle just to prevent losing face. It would have been easy to land directly on the top city platform and proceed to the archduke’s palace. However, the pair had chosen to enter the normal way by walking through the main gate. What was more, Dallion had even placed Dark within his personal realm to avoid displaying overt hostility. At the end of the day, he was aiming for a peaceful transfer of power. It would be bad if his first major battle was against a potential ally.
“My mistake. Next time I’ll inform you of my visit.” Dallion paused a bit.
“It would be most appreciated, but there really is no need. As second after the emperor, you have the right to drop by whenever you wish.”
That was only a semi-lie. What the overseer meant to say was that Dallion had the strength to drop by. That much had been apparent even before Dallion and Eury had set foot in the domain. For one thing, the magic barriers that had been so vital during the days of the poison plague were nowhere to be seen. The guards also were virtually non-existent, rushing to open the gates before Dallion could say a word. They were able to feel the power coming from Dallion and his wife all too well and had no intention of giving any pretext for discontent.
“Any reason that the magic veil is gone?” Dallion asked out of curiosity.
“The archduke has had trouble finding a suitable mage,” the overseer explained. Translated, that meant that Archduke Lanitol didn’t trust any mages—coming from the Academy or not. “I’ve had to take on the role, which is only natural. I’m the city’s overseer, after all.”
“We’ll need an audience with the archduke,” Euryale tactfully reminded.
“But of course, my lady. It will be my pleasure to take you to his private chamber.”
This was in stark contrast to all the previous visits. When March had led the two in pursuit of the plague sword, they were only allowed to talk to servants of the archduke’s family. An audience was absolutely out of the question. Now, they were doing the broken ruler a favor by visiting him.
Creating a sphere of reality around them, the overseer slid through the city to the massive pillar holding the upper platforms. From there, they went straight up like a bubble in water all the way to the top structure and further into the archduke’s palace. Rooms passed by one after the other. To Dallion’s surprise, the throne room was also skipped, taking them to a relatively small chamber in which Archduke Lanitol was having dinner.
How the mighty have fallen, Adzorg couldn’t help himself. Dallion had to agree.
The once mighty lion was now a shadow of his former self. His high body trait still maintained a strong façade, but neither it, nor the expensive clothes and rare heirlooms could fool anyone into thinking that things were the same as five years ago.
Sensing he was not alone, the provincial ruler paused briefly, then looked up.
Dallion and Euryale had been placed at the entrance of the room, a few steps away from the table where the archduke was eating. There were no guards or servants present, leaving Dallion to assume that the overseer had been taking on those roles as well.
“Go ahead.” The archduke gestured. “Sit.”
The snakes on Euryale’s head gently moved about as she took the initiative and took her seat facing the man. Dallion paused for a few seconds before joining her. No sooner had they done so than two empty plates appeared in front of them.
“They won’t be staying for dinner,” the archduke said.
The plates immediately disappeared.
“I hear that you’ve taken the east.” Archduke Lanitol said, slicing a thin sliver of meat from the plate in front of him. Even in its cooked state, Dallion could recognize it as wyvern. The meat of most such beasts was considered inedible, but with enough skill and preparation it became a rather unique dish. Dallion himself had never tried it, but knew hunters who made a living selling off the meat to the imperial capital. “And now you’re taking the south.”
“For starters,” Dallion said openly.
The time for pretenses had long passed. Besides, the old noble was in no position to do anything about it. He had already lost the province to Priscord. The only reason she hadn’t taken advantage of it was because she had her sights set on something better.
“So, you feel strong enough to take on the emperor? My grandfather thought the same. A single night was all it took to change his mind. No one talks about what happened, but he was never the same afterwards.” The archduke took a bite of the wyvern meat, then left his fork on the plate. “Some claim that it was a prison item placed by one of the imperial agents. Likely it was, but that’s not what broke him.” He looked Dallion in the eyes. “It was the realization that he had reached his peak without having the strength to defeat the ruler. If he was strong, a prison item wouldn’t have stopped him. Are you strong enough, boy?”
“Not yet,” Dallion replied without blinking. “But I will be. I want your world item collection.”
“You’ve come to see me just for that?” The archduke’s face twisted in anger. Spikes emerged from the floor, extending directly towards Dallion’s neck.
“You already know the rest.” Dallion remained perfectly calm. Even if the archduke seriously wanted to harm him, the method wouldn’t have worked. With his speed, he’d be able to move away before they broke his skin. “And since you’re eating alone, I doubt you particularly care.”
“If any of the vultures in my family were half worth a damn, I’d have given them the throne and the title.” The spikes remained as they were. “None of them made a move, waiting for me to die before they start squabbling for what’s left.”
“Why are you so sure that they didn’t?” Dallion leaned forward.
There was an intense moment of mutual staring, after which Archduke Lanitol’s frown deepened.
“Falkner,” he said. “You made a deal with Falkner.”
“Is there anyone more suitable?”
“For you, no. For me…” there was a long pause. “Maybe not. My children are idiots. At least that crazy mage had the guts to go for the throne, even if he was using Azures to do it. This lot, they have neither the strength, nor the guts.”
Nor the brains, Dallion thought. Maybe his time in the imperial capital had made him more cynical, but he would have expected them to have started testing the political waters years ago. No wonder that Priscord had seen this opportunity. As the saying went, passiveness was an early sign of weakness.
“How long do I have?” The archduke grasped the situation.
“I’ll leave that to you, provided you give me your territory.”
“There’s a fine line between strength and overconfidence.”
“True, but that’s something for me to worry about. I already own half the province. No matter what I’ll do, imperial troops will pour into here. This way, the entire province might be seen as not worth saving.”
You’re hurting his pride, Adzorg warned.
Beggars are not choosers, Dallion replied. Lanitol isn’t an idiot. My guess is that he’s been waiting for this to happen ever since the failed coup against him.
That doesn’t mean you should rub it in.
“It doesn’t have to be public,” Dallion added.
“That’s your concession?”
“Yes.” Euryale joined in the conversation. “Dal’s an empath, so I’ll spell out your choices. Either you get on with this, or I’ll take the city by force and trust me, I can get the top two platforms before anyone figures out what’s going on.”
​
LANITOL has been added to your domain.
The CITY is Level 14
​
ARLERA has been added to your domain.
The CITY is Level 10
​
GORBOM has been added to your domain.
The CITY is Level 10
​
Three rectangles flashed in front of Dallion. They were followed by a series of others of lesser settlements: towns, villages, and even a few outposts. With this action, the province was effectively part of his domain. Yet, despite the territorial gains, Dallion’s awakened level didn’t increase. As he suspected, it was going to take a bit more to achieve that goal.
Leaving Euryale to keep Lanitol company, Dallion used his domain ruler ability to go directly to the old noble’s treasury. The place was massive, built beneath the palace. There were enough guards and artifacts to give anyone a hard time getting through. None of those had an effect on the owner, however.
Choosing to save time, Dallion made sure there were no guards within the vault structure itself, then ripped it out of the real world, placing it into the training stiletto his old Icepicker instructor had given him.
​
TREASURE VAULT has been removed from your domain.
​
TREASURE VAULT has been added to TRAINING STILETTO
​
Once that was done, there was time to go through the whole trove of treasures without wasting a moment.
The space was filled with thousands of valuable artifacts excavated from the Nerosal ruins. A great majority weren’t even leveled up. In better times, awakened guilds would have a field day exploring and leveling up every single one of them. Right now, though, Dallion was only there for the aura swords and, surely enough, he soon found them.
The old man had understated the size of his collection. Based on the way he behaved, one could be led to believe that he had half a dozen at most. In truth, there were dozens. Most were covered in black rust and mold, with some being in such a bad condition that they were only held together by the stand they were placed on.
Regardless of condition, Dallion went through every last one, purging all cracklings and rustlings within. With his current powers, such a feat was no more difficult than stretching. Sadly, the gains were a lot less plentiful than he had hoped. Of the fifty-seven aura swords, forty-nine were completely deprived of life. In five more, the dryads had gone entirely feral to the point that even the guardians weren’t able to do anything about it. Just in the remaining three, the populations were comparable to the dryads he had already freed, although their awakened levels were considerably less.
Even when Dallion brought them into the real world along with the minotaurs—that also were an almost permanent presence in many of the aura swords—he had only managed to double his existing forces, increasing his awakening level to a hundred and twenty-nine.
These had gained him the western forests and the southern part of the Tamin empire, but the real fallen south, not to mention the forbidden north, remained out of reach.
A few hours later, the capital of Jio Province was turned to glass by fire from the sky. The end-game battle had begun.
Next

<< First < Back
My ears perked up at the shifting of branches outside of my view. A low growl echoed through the dense foliage that surrounded me. Who was there? What was there?
I had been wandering this forest for what felt like days, but in reality, was only a handful of hours. I was searching for anything, anywhere that could help me on my new journey. Minutes earlier, a hunger and thirst had gnawed at my insides, reminding me I no longer had the soul power to simply ignore hunger and thirst. I had chuckled to myself, recalling the moments my soul shattered and a singular piece ejected into this dimension, continuing my existence, but at a cost of most of my soul.
I instinctually willed power into my hand, shaping it into a sword, before sighing when was warned of using too much before I had finished the hilt.
SP: 14
Soul stage: Shattered
Soul power gain multi: 0.01X
I couldn’t risk losing the final shreds of soul power I had left. With a grimace, I stopped making the sword, willing the power back into my soul, and taking quick glances at my surroundings. Even without my supernatural abilities, I was still a talented fighter.
Is what I would have said if the creature charging at me wasn’t a wolf or boar shaped thing twice my height.
Diving for cover and out of the path of the creature, I booked it. Screw hunting, there was no way in hell I was taking down this freak of nature. Sprinting through the trees, I failed to account for the fact that the gigantic wolf-boar was, in fact, faster than me.
Battle instincts hadn’t disappeared with the rest of my soul, however, as I flattened myself again when the wolf was upon me. I was about to scramble to my feet again when I heard something yell behind me.
The language was unrecognisable, but I stayed down when I saw a flash of light from where the voice originated. A searing hot ball of flame flew over my head, nailing the wolf in the face, stunning it briefly. I looked up to see a man, hands coated in a bright purple light, chanting something. He pushed them forwards, bombarding the creature with a flurry of purple bolts.
The animal screams in agony before crumpling, and the man lands, breathing heavily. He turns to me, grinning and spoke in a language I could not interpret. Right. Isekai worlds, different languages. Duh.
Upon noticing my blank face, he stared expectantly.
I instinctively reached towards a universal translator skill I once had, before realising in that space was just… emptiness. I let out a sigh. Power loss was a steep price to pay for survival.
“Um… do you speak English?” I stuttered out.
The man returned my blank stare.
“Well, I guess that’s a no.” I picked myself off the ground and dusted myself off, checking for any cuts and major damage. A couple of bruises, throbbed, a painful reminder of my loss of healing abilities. When I turned my attention back to the man, he had begun a string of gestures.
First, he pointed to me, then made a mouth opening and mimed putting something in. I supposed it had been an offer of food. Odd, but I nodded in response. I suppose I shouldn’t question the culture of the world, and this man was offering me a free meal, which I wasn’t in the mood to turn down.
He turned, gesturing me to follow, which I did. He lead me back to a small cabin, deeper into the woods and lead me inside. It was quaint, like what someone would expect an abode in the middle of the forest to look like. A brick fireplace, a small bed, a bookshelf, it emanated the sense of rustic comfort.
He picked a book from the bookshelves, flipping it open to an empty page and leaving it on the table with what looked like a writing utensil. Then, he made more gestures. He pointed to me and wrote onto the book. A crude representation of a person, an arrow, and a chair.
Was he asking me to attack a chair with an arrow…?
Wait he wasn’t done. He added an extra symbol that showed the person sitting onto the chair. I mentally facepalmed. So much for universal imagery. I took a seat and pondered the exchange. Even though it seemed like images and their representations were universal, it became very apparent that even the simplest gestures could be interpreted incorrectly.
He put the book and the utensil down and went to the small kitchen area, which held a steaming pot. An aroma of a freshly made stew lingered in the air. Stereotypical, but beggars can’t be choosers.
While waiting for the man to finish making the food, I turned my attention to the fragmented state of my soul.
SP: 15
Soul stage: Shattered
Soul power gain multi: 0.01X
In the 10 minutes we had spent walking, my soul had accumulated a whole extra point of soul power. I groaned at the painfully slow speed and mulled over my options. Previously, I had upgraded my generation speed with my soul power. Spending soul power to make more soul power, I had likened it to an idle game. Alternatively, entering higher soul stages would provide a boost in soul power and reduce skill costs.
I tried upgrading my soul generation capacity first. I focused my meagre power inwards to expanding my soul, coaxing it to grow. It was… way easier than normal, which made sense I suppose, due to the small state of my soul. Soul power condensed and coagulated around my soul, making it bigger, stronger, giving it more capacity and power. Sure enough, when I checked my status…
Soul power gain multi: 0.02X
Doubled. Not bad, but still pitifully weak. I tried the next strategy. Soul stages were entered and exited based on user willpower, which I fortunately had a lot of training with. Even if my soul was lost, my mind wasn’t. I called upon the will that would have easily allowed me to enter soul stage 1 and…
Warning, soul cannot handle excess soul power.
A sharp pain pulled me out of entering the soul stage. I had apparently reached the willpower requirement, but my shattered soul couldn’t handle the influx of energy. I sighed, stuck as a shattered soul until I could find some way to repair it.
Fortunately, my downed spirit was cheered by the presence of the fresh soup placed in front of me. I gave the man a smile, which he returned before digging in. Despite the mouth watering aroma, a sliver of doubt remained. What if the food was unsanitary, or potentially poisonous? But the battle for hunger eventually won over, and I scooped spoonfuls of the ambrosia into my mouth.
After our meal, the man pulled the book to him, in which he drew a house and a question mark next to it. I took a gamble and guessed he was inquiring about my home. For all intents and purposes, I was homeless, which I illustrated by drawing a stick figure walking away from a home with a cross through it.
The man had a look of understanding, before getting up and rummaging through his cupboards, eventually withdrawing a roll of some sort of soft fabrics. He handed them to me, started drawing again. Drawing a sun half obscured by a line, most likely a horizon, followed by a house with an arrow pointing towards it. He emphasised his point by pointing towards me and pointing down towards his feet. He wanted me to… stay?
I hesitated. I had far overstayed my welcome, but then where else would I stay? This kind stranger offered a roof over my head when I had none, so I wouldn’t turn down his generosity. I nodded and looked for a place to lay down the linen… mattress… thing.
***
Stretching and yawning, I winced as the remnants of back pain and exhaustion faded. Blinking away the haze of sleep, I gathered myself. Memories of yesterday flooded in, and I sighed. Still stuck in this Isekai world, great. Checking my interface, I noticed I had accumulated a bit of SP to work with.
SP: 158
Soul stage: Shattered
Soul power gain: 0.02X
First things first, I would try repair my soul as much as possible. Focusing inwards once more and directing energy towards my soul, I felt it expand much more readily than yesterday. Newly formed solid structures held much of the power together as it coagulated into one. I exhaled and checked my status again.
SP: 58
Soul stage: Foundation
Soul power gain: 0.2X
Empty talent slots: 1
I smiled, noticing my soul stage had transcended from “shattered”. It still wasn’t in the realm of what I was used to, so it was probably still abysmally weak, but a 10 times increase in soul power was very welcome. Though one unfamiliar feature caught my attention. Talent slots? What the hell were those?
The user expresses a strong desire to understand. Filling talent slot
The question vanished as soon it was arose, but a new addition took its place.
SP: 58
Soul stage: Foundation
Soul power gain: 0.2X
Talents:
Worldly information matrix
A subconscious echo popped into my mind as I read.
Talents were permanent emplacements within one’s soul that greatly boosts one specific aspect about the person. Whether it be mana regeneration, or a group of or even just one spell, it will strengthen that aspect significantly. Talent slots are unlocked upon the growth of one’s soul.
How the hell did I know that?
Before I could ponder any longer, shuffling was heard next to me, and the man sat up and stretched.
“Mmm, what’s the time…?” He muttered. His voice was deep, gruff, yet friendly and had an edge of kindness to it.
I looked around for some sort of time implement, and upon finding one, responded, “I don’t know how to read your clocks.” However, the words left my mouth in a language I never knew I could speak. We locked eyes in disbelief, and both made an exclamation of surprise.
“What the… I thought you couldn’t speak our tongue!”
“I didn’t know I could understand your language!” I fumbled over the unfamiliar words in my mouth. But whatever changed, it allowed me to speak this new dialect.
Gathering ourselves after the recent discovery, he sat me at the table as he poured me some form of hot beverage.
“So you can understand me now. Excellent! Now, who are you truly?”
“I am…” I hesitated. I searched my past, urging it to provide me my true identity. I sighed, knowing that my true name was lost to time. Instead I provided the name bestowed upon me by those I protected, by the world I had left behind. “I am Custos. The guardian of Earth.”
“I see. A pleasure to meet you Custos, I am Orion.” He chuckles, “I am no guardian unfortunately, just a humble hermit alone in these woods. It’s not common I get visitors. I have never heard of this ‘Earth’. Would you please enlighten me”
I hesitated once more. These people did not seem to know about interstellar travel, let alone interdimensional. “It’s a land from far, far away.”
He nodded, and sipped from his cup, urging me to do the same. “That explains why you didn’t know our tongue. Speaking of, how did you manage to learn our tongue so quickly? No translation spells around here, I assure you.”
“Apparently I used a talent slot to unlock a-“
The sound of a cup clattering onto the table cut me off. “You used a talent slot for it?! Why?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Are they that valuable?”
The man gave me an exasperated look. “Valuable? They’re priceless! Enhance magic, grant infinite strength, and you chose being bilingual.”
“Ah I see. Is this permanent?”
The man shook his head. “Every human has 5 talent slots. Permanent, unchangeable, and once a talent has been assigned there is no way of removing it.”
I pondered his statement. It seemed to conflict with the information my own talent provided me, but I shook it off, disregarding it for another time.
“Unfortunate,” I said, taking a sip from my own cup. It tasted like a mocha, but less strong. “You mentioned you know spells? Are you some sort of wizard?”
He chuckled, “Not really, the mages are really up there in terms of skill. I’m just someone who wanted a bit of peace and quiet and learned a bit of magic along the way. This book has been my magical bible.” He stood and fetched another book from his bookshelf, opening it in front of me.
The words shuffled and morphed into a language I could understand, courtesy of my talent, as I read through it. It contained a comprehensive list of spells, alongside Orion’s notes and diagrams, scrawled over the pages.
“Interesting.” I murmured, a spark of curiosity igniting within me. “Well, best I take my leave. I’ve far overstayed my welcome.”
“Friend, no need to worry about that. You may stay as long as you like. Especially if you haven’t a place of your own.”
This man kindness bordered on naivety, but at least I didn’t have to worry about dying for now.

​
Villagran, Lauren. El Paso Times; El Paso, Tex.. 06 May 2024: A.1.
​
LEA COUNTY, N.M. – This sliver of southeastern New Mexico dotted with pumpjacks and gas wells helped catapult the U.S. to energy independence five years ago. Immigrant workers, including those here illegally, helped make it happen.
​
That has made for an uncomfortable reality here in this proudly conservative county, where immigration has fueled growth but the politics are deep red and nearly 80% of voters favored Donald Trump in the last election.
​
Now, Trump's twin vows to "drill, baby, drill" and deport unauthorized immigrants are on a collision course in Lea County.
​
Here, fake work papers can be bought for $250 and oil companies employ workers – knowingly or not – who sneaked across America's borders or overstayed a tourist visa. The complicated reality, experts say, is that today's oil and gas economy is carried on the backs of migrant workers.
​
Carlos Díaz, 50, who is Mexican, is an oil and gas safety inspector in Lea County. He has been deported multiple times, including at least twice during Trump's presidency. He has always come back and found an employer willing to hire him.
​
"We're the most important labor force they have," said Díaz, who asked to be identified by the name for which he isn't known locally. "We're Mexican. We're close by. We're easy for the gringos to hire."
​
A USA TODAY investigation found that immigrants – including those without authorization – increasingly do the dangerous and difficult jobs that make fracking for oil and gas possible in the United States.
​
Interviews with more than a dozen current and former unauthorized oilfield workers and their family members, as well as immigration advocates, elected officials, economists, researchers and federal investigators, revealed an oil and gas industry supercharged by demand during the post-pandemic economic recovery. Businesses were unable to find all the help they needed to drill and maintain wells in the Permian Basin, one of the world's most productive oil and gas regions.
​
"Undocumented workers are one of the oil and gas industry's best-kept secrets," said U.S. Rep. Gabe Vasquez, a Democrat who represents southern New Mexico's oil and gas country, despite losing Lea County in the last election. "They are the shadow workforce."
​
Trump has repeatedly argued that sealing the border and deporting unauthorized immigrants is necessary to fight the flow of drugs and reduce crime – and conservative Lea County residents agree. His promise to roll back environmental regulations and red tape is a winning one in a community that lives and dies by the price of a barrel of oil.
​
Even immigrant workers who could end up deported see dollar signs in Trump's promise to energize the industry.
​
"With Trump," Díaz said, "there will definitely be more work in oil – that's what you hear around here."
​
The Permian Basin sprawls over 66 counties in southeastern New Mexico and western Texas.
​
Lea County, and its neighbor Eddy County, accounted for nearly a third of crude oil and natural gas production in the basin last year.
​
Getting all that oil and gas out of the ground requires many hands, said Jonathan Sena, a Republican Lea County commissioner who represents a district where the immigrant population has grown rapidly.
​
There is so much work in Lea County right now that anyone who wants a job could "get enough work for 24 hours a day for the next year," he said.
​
Nationwide, as the oil and gas workforce has grown, the percentage of foreign-born workers in the industry has nearly tripled. More than 14% of nearly 600,000 workers in "mining, quarrying and oil and gas" in 2023 were foreign-born, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, compared with 5% of roughly 520,000 workers in 2003.
​
Sena calls himself a "very conservative Republican" and supports Trump. But in a dog-eat-dog presidential campaign year, he has been struggling with his candidate's rhetoric.
​
He knows immigrant workers, including people here illegally, prop up the industry that is the lifeblood of his community. He also knows them personally, as constituents, members of his evangelical church and neighbors.
​
Where Trump often describes migrants as "criminals," Sena said he knows "phenomenal workers."
​
"We see good people and people who are helping the economy do well," he said. "We don't have enough workers in our community."
​
A boom-bust cycle in the oil industry
​
In Lea County's largest city – Hobbs, population 40,508 – today's oil boom looks like restaurants filled three times a day with tables of men in work boots, a Starbucks open seven days a week at 5 a.m., big-city traffic, and 23 hotels in a town too small for a Target.
​
But everyone in the county dreads the busts, which – when they hit – hit hard.
​
Restaurants and hotels close or scrape by. Equipment lots fill up with rows of parked oilfield machinery. Workers with citizenship or legal residency wait on unemployment for the global price of oil to climb again. With no access to government benefits, immigrants working illegally sit tight and do what they have to to survive.
​
Now, with the industry going strong, "if there was a mass deportation, it would be profoundly disruptive across the oil patch," said Gabe Collins, energy analyst at Rice University's Baker Institute in Houston.
​
It's not just Lea County or the Permian Basin, he said.
​
A mass deportation could provoke a "systemic disruption" that could ripple across industries and borders.
​
"Think of all the folks who work here and who are wiring money each week to Mexico," Collins said. "Imagine what happens when those flows are cut off. Not only do you have the immediate disruption, but you are actually setting the stage for a larger humanitarian crisis in our hemisphere which will rebound back to the border."
​
It's the lack of economic opportunity that often pushes migrants to leave their home countries, while a strong job market in the U.S. creates an undeniable pull to come here, he said.
​
Hobbs residents know how a workforce shortage can hold back oil and gas development.
​
In 2018, voters approved a $30 million bond to, in part, help fund a new technical program at Hobbs High, the largest high school in New Mexico. Now, the school's more than 3,000 students – many of them the children of immigrants or immigrants themselves – can train to work in the oil and gas industry. The program is open to all students, without regard for their immigration status.
​
Business organizations including the Hobbs Chamber of Commerce and the Hispano Chamber of Commerce and the nonprofit Permian Strategic Partnership, all declined to respond to questions about immigrants in the workforce.
​
Sena is optimistic. If Trump wins a second term, he said, the new administration "is going to have to understand" the reality of a place like Lea County and "the blessings of a healthy, diverse community."
​
"They're not going to deport 15 million people," Sena said. "I don't think they can do that. It's just not practical."
​
The path to U.S. energy independence
​
It has long been a goal of Republican and Democratic administrations alike to rely more on homegrown energy than energy produced elsewhere.
​
Under Trump, in 2019, the U.S. reached its goal of producing as much energy as it consumed for the first time since the 1950s. "Energy" includes both fossil fuels and renewables, such as solar and wind.
​
That an oil and gas boom has continued under the Biden administration, despite tougher environmental regulations, is beside the point for Lea County voters. In a place where pumpjacks bob near backyards and gas wells flare on nearly every road into town, the boom could always be bigger.
​
The region has been "amazingly productive," said Jesse Thompson, a Houston-based senior business economist for the Federal Reserve Bank of Dallas.
​
"The Permian Basin has been the driver for oil and gas production (in the U.S.) for the last several years," Thompson said. "Fracking in the Permian is the reason we're producing so much oil and gas today."
​
Drilling activity has more to do with oil prices than with whoever sits in the White House, Thompson said. The price of a barrel of oil is driven by forces typically beyond a president's control – everything from driving demand during summer vacation season to geopolitical risks like wars and natural disasters.
​
Though immigrants have laid the groundwork for today's production boom, there's a ceiling to what they can do.
​
Unauthorized workers say they generally can't get the higher-skilled jobs that require background checks or advanced certifications.
​
Nor can they work for businesses that use the federal E-Verify system, which can tell an employer in seconds whether a person is authorized to work in the U.S.
​
Brian Owsley, an associate professor of law at the University of North Texas Dallas, has studied the illegal employment of unauthorized workers. The former federal magistrate judge – who used to sentence unlawful border crossers – said he sees a failed system that relies on deportations and razor wire rather than recognizing the magnet created by a strong job market.
​
"Until the people who are doing the hiring – the people reaping lots of benefits using undocumented labor – face serious consequences, they have no incentive to change," he said. "I think the law has to be more onerous for employers."
​
Why can't immigrant workers get a visa?
​
The federal government issues visas for seasonal farmworkers and highly skilled workers like doctors and software developers – but not for low-skill, year-round jobs like those that underpin the oil industry.
​
Neither Trump nor President Joe Biden has proposed expanding work visas for oil and gas.
​
"These jobs are walled off from the legal immigration system," said David Bier, director of immigration studies at the libertarian CATO Institute. "The vast majority of these jobs are year-round positions not requiring a college degree, and there is no work visa for that."
​
In the Permian Basin, the going rate for fake work papers is $250, according to two workers who showed USA TODAY text messages with the offers.
​
Federal investigators back that up. The availability of high-quality printers has made it easier to produce credible false documents, including fake green cards, employment authorization documents and Social Security numbers, according to Homeland Security Investigations spokeswoman Leticia Zamarripa.
​
HSI has arrested more than 600 people in the past five years in New Mexico and West Texas for "possessing fraudulent identity documents," she said, adding that "these types of crimes can be perpetrated by both 'lone-wolf' and more sophisticated and organized transnational criminal organizations."
​
A worker in Lea County, who asked not to be identified, said he is surrounded by others like him working labor-intensive jobs without legal permission. He crossed the U.S.-Mexico border with a tourist visa more than a decade ago and never looked back.
​
"In the hardest jobs, it seems 90% or 99% of the workers are immigrants," the worker said. "I don't know anyone who has a visa for 'el petroleo.' In the dairies, yes. For oil, no."
​
Six-figure salaries in a 'dangerous' industry
​
Pay in the oil patch is legendary, but so are the hardships.
​
It's said that a high school graduate can make six figures. But the health risks of working long hours with heavy machinery, the potential exposure to volatile gases in sometimes unpredictable environments, are serious. So is the personal toll.
​
Crews sometimes are weeks on the road. The work can strain families and end marriages.
​
"They say they earn big, but no, it's the overtime," said Maria Romano, who directs the Lea County office of Somos Un Pueblo Unido, an immigrant advocacy organization in New Mexico. "They leave at 3 or 4 o'clock in the morning and get home at 10 p.m. to get a good check."
​
Romano's own marriage to an oilman – who worked illegally in Lea County – ended years ago, and she remembers how her daughter's friends confessed they thought she was a widow. "My own daughter once asked if her father lived with us, because she never saw him – never, never, never."
​
Last year, New Mexico oil worker José Rodriguez stood near the steps of the U.S. Capitol and described the work he and other unauthorized immigrants do for the industry.
​
"I work for a construction firm that prepares the land where they install the platforms they use to drill for oil," he said during a political rally for immigration reform held by Vasquez, the congressman, and Somos Un Pueblo Unido.
​
"I work in a dangerous industry," he said. "The climate is always against us. We work long hours with heavy machinery. Getting sick isn't an option for someone like me, who doesn't qualify for health insurance ... We keep the economy running and we deserve provisional legal status."
​
Nationwide, 83 workers in oil and gas extraction industries died from occupational injuries and accidents in 2022, according to the latest data from the Bureau of Labor Statistics. Fatalities have risen each of the previous three years.
​
In a joint study of oilfield workers and their family members, University of New Mexico researchers and Somos found the majority of respondents hoped their own children wouldn't work in the industry.
​
The overwhelming answer was "'No.' The work is so hard," Romano said. "The men get old fast."
​
Looking toward the future
​
As voters look toward November, expectations for immigration reform from either party remain low.
​
A bipartisan border security bill – negotiated by three senators, including a Republican, a Democrat and an independent – failed earlier this year after Trump bashed the proposal. With no legislative solution, immigration remains a flashpoint in the presidential campaign.
​
Meanwhile, a huge gap remains in the U.S. economy between open jobs and workers to hire.
​
Even if every unemployed American took one of the 8.8 million jobs the Labor Department lists as available now in any industry nationwide, more than 2 million positions would still be left unfilled.
​
That's why Bier, the CATO analyst, said any immigration plan going forward ought to respond to U.S. labor needs.
​
"A campaign to scare off immigrants at this moment is not going to do anything to increase drilling in the United States," he said. "It's going to have the opposite effect."
​
On a recent Saturday, Carlos Díaz steered a Ford F250 around the back roads of Lea County, tracing the constellations of oil and gas wellheads under a sky heavy with clouds.
​
"Some of us are worried about immigration," he said, thinking about a second Trump presidency.
​
He recalled the first time he got deported during the Trump administration, when he was arrested for driving with a suspended license and was picked up by immigration agents. But he shrugged off the risk. He had made it back so many times before.
​
One of these days, he said, he'll go home for good.
​
He daydreams about retiring in Mexico.
​
"I want to go back to Mexico to live the rest of my life, to live my old age," he said. "But while I can still work, while I'm still strong enough, I'm going to keep working here."
​
Lauren Villagran can be reached at [lvillagran@usatoday.com](mailto:lvillagran@usatoday.com).

Part 1 Part 2
Two years ago, my best friend disappeared from a hotel during the final night of our stay. I’d awoken to find myself alone, the door still locked and bolted from the inside – meaning the only place she could’ve gone was through the small hidden door in our room. When I brought my concerns to the hotel manager and the police, they were unhelpful – insistent that Liz had left of her own volition. The harder I pressed them on it, the more the façade of dismissiveness began to fade away, revealing the malice that lurked just below the surface.
So, when I received my own invitation two years later to the day, I knew I had to go.
And I knew that to truly find out what happened to her, I had to go alone.
On the final night of my stay, I pretended to be asleep as I heard those rusty hinges protest, the door slowly pulled open from the inside. All the confidence and determination I’d felt in the daylight was gone in an instant. In the moments where I wondered if someone would try and pull me out of bed and drag me into the dark – well, it suddenly hit me that the only things I had on me were my phone, less than an ounce of pepper spray, and a tiny keychain knife.
Maybe, I thought wildly – frantically, maybe it would be easy enough to make me disappear inconspicuously, after all. They’d have my credit card – what was stopping them from using it a few towns over, and then throwing my luggage in a ditch?
At the sound of furniture being pushed aside along the carpet, my thoughts became racing, jumbled, as I clutched my little canister to my chest. I had always assumed Liz to be alive when someone took her out of the room and into the tunnel, but what if she hadn’t been? What they’d killed her – what if they did it right here? There had been blood in the small crawlspace, enough had soaked into the carpet that it was still wet by the time I went looking for her.
Although I was in the room with her physically that night, I’m such a heavy sleeper that she may as well have been alone. A sharp pang of guilt crept in to mingle with the terror.
After a moment, the sound of raspy, strained breaths filled the otherwise silent room, growing louder as whoever – or whatever – emerged and crept towards me, closer and closer.
And them they stopped abruptly, seemingly hovering just a few feet away.
I tried to keep my eyes squeezed shut and hoped they’d get just a bit closer – I was so worried that if they knew I was awake, they’d leave before I could find out what happened. My shitty plan had been to hit them with the pepper spray, and then take a picture of the intruder, and I knew I’d probably only get one chance at it. The waiting in those long moments was excruciating, though, as I wondered who or what was in the room with me – I finally couldn’t take it.
My eyes shot open.
I’m not sure what I thought I’d see looming over me in the darkness, but I know who I did not expect to see.
Liz.
She was barefoot, and despite the faint moonlight shining through the sliver between the curtains, her face was mostly obscured by shadows. What I could make out seemed contorted, as if with a strange little smile.
I knew it was her, though. I could feel it – so I didn’t understand at the time why my sense of dread had only intensified since I’d seen her.
I gasped, and she must’ve been as startled as I was, because she took off running – her gait awkward and clumsy. I had barely stumbled out of bed by the time she’d already ducked through the door, past the false wall, and was crawling through the unlit passageway. She moved so lithely, so comfortably – as if she belonged to the darkness more than she ever had to the light.
I hissed her name, trying to get her to stop, but she just kept going.
I tried to fight the flood of nagging thoughts – if she’d truly been okay all this time, why hadn’t she left and contacted her fiancé Jarrod, or her family, or friends? Why was she creeping around in the darkness behind the walls of this awful place, alone?
But at the time, the only meaningful thought I could really focus on – almost overwhelming in its insistence – was how I couldn’t lose her again.
While I was fumbling for my phone, I realized that Liz didn’t have any source of light with her. She’d entered the tunnel the same way she’d likely had all those years ago.
In utter blackness.
As I followed her, I finally realized what the smell had been in my room, that mixed with the bleach, had been almost too faint to detect. But there in that tight space, just feet behind her, I recognized it.
Earthiness.
Death.
I could tell that something was very wrong, but we were so close to the exit, and I was too focused on getting her out of there. All I wanted was to walk out that door and never come back – not for my purse, my shoes – anything – because I had a very strong suspicion that if I did, neither of us would ever leave that hotel again.
As we reached the end of the cramped passageway and stepped into the familiar back room, I nearly cried in relief. We were only two flights of stairs above the exit, we were actually going to make it out. Both of us.
But she didn’t go down, instead, she began to go up.
“Liz!”
I pleaded for her to come back, told her I knew where the exit was, but she continued on – her back to me – as if she hadn’t heard me. I pulled at her in desperation, her face unreadable – obscured by her dark hair – but she shook me off with strength I didn’t know she possessed. I couldn’t lose her to that place again, so realizing she wasn’t going to stop, I reluctantly followed – thinking she must have known something I didn’t, a better way out. She’d been the one holed up in the place after all. It was the only thing that made any sense. She’d slowed her pace to allow me to catch up, no longer fleeing she was now leading.
I’d been occasionally pausing to shine my flashlight down below us, my sense of fear growing as the exit became further and further away, until it was eventually swallowed up by the darkness entirely.
After what felt to my tired legs like a lifetime, she stopped, and began to enter another crawlspace – heading back deeper into the hotel.
I froze, the already intense sense of wrongness overwhelmed me at the thought of going in. Her back still to me, she gestured for me to follow.
I realized then that everything was going to be okay.
I had found her. I knew that following her was the right thing to do. A wave of calmness washed over me and drowned out the pang of terror I’d felt at the idea of seeing what was on the other side of that tight, dark space.
So, I took a deep breath.
And, I found out what was on the 7th floor.
I instantly felt much safer than I had anywhere else in that god forsaken place as we stepped into the immaculate room that the crawlspace opened into. This was a safe place. A good place, even.
I was suddenly very confident that we were going the right way.
I followed her clumsy, wavering form down a hallway leading to a massive ballroom. Art deco details, the chandelier, it was beautiful – that much was obvious, even in the dark. I felt an odd sense of excitement at the thought of approaching it, nearly giddy at the sight of the elegant golden elevator at the end.
The exit. Finally.
My heart pounded and I froze for a moment when I heard a door slam shut somewhere behind me, but no matter how hard I tried to hold on to that concern, that intense feeling of alarm, I couldn’t. It was quickly slipping through my fingers, and although the unease was not quite gone, it was beyond my reach.
Everything was fine.
She dropped onto her hands and knees and began to crawl as we approached the elevator. Her hair still cast a shadow over her face, but I could make out the white of her smile as she turned to look at me over her shoulder and disappeared into it. I knew I was where I needed to be. I was ready.
I was only a few feet behind her when I tripped and fell to the side, hitting my face on something in the process.
I felt around to see what I had tripped over – it was a single shoe, the canvas stiff with long-dried blood, portions of its prior owner still inside. When I looked up from it with a squeal of shocked disgust, I realized that the entire room had changed – the air carried a hint of old things, mildew, despair. The chandelier hung askew at an odd angle, ruined, rendered dark and useless by decades of neglect. Glass from shattered and now boarded up windows littered the warped and stained wooden floor, and the dated wallpaper had mostly peeled away. A sense of longing, and ruin, radiated through the huge room. Something else. Regret? Fear?
I shivered as my beam illuminated what I had fallen into – a pile of disintegrating suitcases.
Torn clothes and other discarded belongings were strewn about messily. I looked up to see that the space that had minutes before seemed to house the bright, golden elevator was actually empty – and likely had been for decades. With a new sense of horrified clarity, I realized that my clumsiness had spared me from stepping into the open shaft. It had to have been the one that had been walled up on every other floor – that beautiful elevator was long gone, leaving only a few feet of damaged flooring between me and the 7 story drop below.
Maybe if I had been paying more attention, I would’ve noticed the sounds sooner, the familiar, earthy-rot smell on the stale air echoing from within it.
But I was too focused on something else. Something white – bright in my phone light – and the torn shirt sheathing it.
I told myself it couldn’t be Liz. That the pitiful remains of fabric that settled into the spaces where there had once been skin couldn’t be the Melvin’s shirt she bought at the concert we went to years before our stay.
The one she always wore to bed.
The shirt – the remains within it – those could have belonged to anyone because Liz was here with me. She was fine.
The jagged screech of something sharp on metal snapped me out of it – the sound was soon drowned out by a chorus of awful, ragged breaths.
I shined my flashlight up to see her slowly climbing up from the dark gaping pit of the shaft. Her eyes reflected light back at me, like an animals’ – like a predator. Something that thrived in the darkness and could see far better in the lightless space than I could ever hope to.
As we stared at each other – as I saw her face fully illuminated for the first time, I realized how wrong it all was.
I was finally forced to admit what a part of me had already realized: that what I’d followed up there wasn’t Liz.
I couldn’t understand how I hadn’t seen it before – how I could’ve mistaken that thing for my best friend.
For a brief, fleeting moment, I thought the not-Liz was the most terrible thing I would ever see in my life – until I noticed more of them crawling up the shaft behind her. Many were utterly unlike anything I’d seen before – moving towards me on thin, sallow-fleshed limbs. A few of them, though – like the once I’d mistaken for Liz – if it weren’t for the perfectly round eyes, they could’ve passed for human. Maybe they even were, once.
I was suddenly very keenly aware of the door I had heard open and close behind me in the hallway moments before.
True fear, I’ve since learned, is seeing something you can barely comprehend – much less hope to outrun – standing between you and the only exit.
I realized then that I’d lost my pepper spray at some point. So, I did the first thing I could think of – I shined my phone flashlight towards it, hoping that something so pale, that seemed so accustomed to the dark, that it wouldn’t be able to handle the bright light.
All I managed to do was get a clearer view of the too-long limbs and those awful eyes as it continued towards me, unfazed.
With the haze I’d been trapped in earlier lifted, I gagged at the reek of old decay that permeated throughout the hallway and had been taken up by the carpet and rotting wallpaper. Unlike on the 3rd floor, no one had bothered to try and mask the smell with a splash of bleach.
Some doors had long fallen off their hinges, laying splintered and forming additional obstacles. I tried to unsuccessfully dodge the thing between me and the exit, but it managed to grab me with its jaws, leaving a deep gash in my leg as it tried to pull me to the ground. As stabbed at it with my little knife, barely managing to break the skin, I realized that was the end. I truly was never going to leave that place.
And then, it suddenly released me, as if pulled away by something unseen, giving me an opportunity to limp towards the end of the hall.
I didn’t look back as I made it to the room we’d entered through – 747 crudely painted on the door. This time around, I saw it was filled with the remains of decaying furniture, along with other things I’d rather forget. I was relieved to shove myself back into the tight, lightless passageway, but not as much as I was when I stepped out of it.
I was almost to the exit when I heard a faint wheezing breath above me. I made the mistake of looking up, at the figures staring down at me from the shadowy stairwell. Mixed in amongst those alien forms, were some that seemed almost human – including the one I’d mistaken for Liz. There was another familiar face wearing his usual predator’s grin, standing between them and I – almost as if holding them back.
Helping me escape.
The wrongness of it confused me but I moved as fast as my tired, bleeding legs could carry me, the feel of those awful, round eyes trained on my back was an excellent motivator.
I stumbled out the back exit, but didn’t feel safe until the city skyline was no longer visible in my rearview mirror.
I did make it home, but I wish I had a better update to give.
I still wonder who Liz thought she had seen in our room that night, who it could’ve been she would have followed so blindly. So willingly.
I try not to think about what must have come next. It’s too painful.
I haven’t been able to sleep much. I dream of the hotel, see those things staring at me from the shadowy stairwell.
Another thing that’s been keeping me awake since I’ve been back home have been the non-stop emails I’ve received, flooding my inbox, reminding me of an ‘upcoming stay’ – one I never booked – counting down the days until I ‘check in’. There is no checkout date listed.
There’s something else, too. Something that scares me far more.
I barely recognize myself now. At first, the differences were subtle enough that I could cling to denial, but it’s become painfully obvious that I lose a bit more of myself each day – and not just in terms of the features reflected at me in the mirror, either.
I realize what this new invitation means – the check in date. It’s the date in which I can choose to either return to the hotel as the newest permanent resident or stay here and become a danger to those around me.
I’ve decided to accept it.
My bags are packed, this time with something far more potent than pepper spray. I plan to arrive early – ‘check in’ while I’m still in control. If I can help it, I’ll be the last guest that is ever invited to room 347.
It’s sort of funny in a way – in those frantic moments in the cramped darkness, when I’d wildly feared I’d never leave that hotel – I was right, albeit in a way I never could’ve imagined.
Other than this post, I haven’t told anyone else where I am going. If I am unsuccessful, I don’t want anyone to find me – I have a sick feeling of what will happen to them if they do.
If I'm successful, there will not be any more invitations to the hotel extended. There won’t be a hotel at all.
If I fail, well… If you do receive an email inviting you to stay, I hope that you ignore it – that you will not find yourself in room 347.
If I fail, I hope that you and I will not meet in that dark, cramped space in the middle of the night.
If I fail, I hope that you will not learn what I have, the hard way – that it’s not uncommon for people to visit that place and never leave.
JFR

Part 1 Part 2
Two years ago, my best friend disappeared from a hotel during the final night of our stay. I’d awoken to find myself alone, the door still locked and bolted from the inside – meaning the only place she could’ve gone was through the small hidden door in our room. When I brought my concerns to the hotel manager and the police, they were unhelpful – insistent that Liz had left of her own volition. The harder I pressed them on it, the more the façade of dismissiveness began to fade away, revealing the malice that lurked just below the surface.
So, when I received my own invitation two years later to the day, I knew I had to go.
And I knew that to truly find out what happened to her, I had to go alone.
On the final night of my stay, I pretended to be asleep as I heard those rusty hinges protest, the door slowly pulled open from the inside. All the confidence and determination I’d felt in the daylight was gone in an instant. In the moments where I wondered if someone would try and pull me out of bed and drag me into the dark – well, it suddenly hit me that the only things I had on me were my phone, less than an ounce of pepper spray, and a tiny keychain knife.
Maybe, I thought wildly – frantically, maybe it would be easy enough to make me disappear inconspicuously, after all. They’d have my credit card – what was stopping them from using it a few towns over, and then throwing my luggage in a ditch?
At the sound of furniture being pushed aside along the carpet, my thoughts became racing, jumbled, as I clutched my little canister to my chest. I had always assumed Liz to be alive when someone took her out of the room and into the tunnel, but what if she hadn’t been? What they’d killed her – what if they did it right here? There had been blood in the small crawlspace, enough had soaked into the carpet that it was still wet by the time I went looking for her.
Although I was in the room with her physically that night, I’m such a heavy sleeper that she may as well have been alone. A sharp pang of guilt crept in to mingle with the terror.
After a moment, the sound of raspy, strained breaths filled the otherwise silent room, growing louder as whoever – or whatever – emerged and crept towards me, closer and closer.
And them they stopped abruptly, seemingly hovering just a few feet away.
I tried to keep my eyes squeezed shut and hoped they’d get just a bit closer – I was so worried that if they knew I was awake, they’d leave before I could find out what happened. My shitty plan had been to hit them with the pepper spray, and then take a picture of the intruder, and I knew I’d probably only get one chance at it. The waiting in those long moments was excruciating, though, as I wondered who or what was in the room with me – I finally couldn’t take it.
My eyes shot open.
I’m not sure what I thought I’d see looming over me in the darkness, but I know who I did not expect to see.
Liz.
She was barefoot, and despite the faint moonlight shining through the sliver between the curtains, her face was mostly obscured by shadows. What I could make out seemed contorted, as if with a strange little smile.
I knew it was her, though. I could feel it – so I didn’t understand at the time why my sense of dread had only intensified since I’d seen her.
I gasped, and she must’ve been as startled as I was, because she took off running – her gait awkward and clumsy. I had barely stumbled out of bed by the time she’d already ducked through the door, past the false wall, and was crawling through the unlit passageway. She moved so lithely, so comfortably – as if she belonged to the darkness more than she ever had to the light.
I hissed her name, trying to get her to stop, but she just kept going.
I tried to fight the flood of nagging thoughts – if she’d truly been okay all this time, why hadn’t she left and contacted her fiancé Jarrod, or her family, or friends? Why was she creeping around in the darkness behind the walls of this awful place, alone?
But at the time, the only meaningful thought I could really focus on – almost overwhelming in its insistence – was how I couldn’t lose her again.
While I was fumbling for my phone, I realized that Liz didn’t have any source of light with her. She’d entered the tunnel the same way she’d likely had all those years ago.
In utter blackness.
As I followed her, I finally realized what the smell had been in my room, that mixed with the bleach, had been almost too faint to detect. But there in that tight space, just feet behind her, I recognized it.
Earthiness.
Death.
I could tell that something was very wrong, but we were so close to the exit, and I was too focused on getting her out of there. All I wanted was to walk out that door and never come back – not for my purse, my shoes – anything – because I had a very strong suspicion that if I did, neither of us would ever leave that hotel again.
As we reached the end of the cramped passageway and stepped into the familiar back room, I nearly cried in relief. We were only two flights of stairs above the exit, we were actually going to make it out. Both of us.
But she didn’t go down, instead, she began to go up.
“Liz!”
I pleaded for her to come back, told her I knew where the exit was, but she continued on – her back to me – as if she hadn’t heard me. I pulled at her in desperation, her face unreadable – obscured by her dark hair – but she shook me off with strength I didn’t know she possessed. I couldn’t lose her to that place again, so realizing she wasn’t going to stop, I reluctantly followed – thinking she must have known something I didn’t, a better way out. She’d been the one holed up in the place after all. It was the only thing that made any sense. She’d slowed her pace to allow me to catch up, no longer fleeing she was now leading.
I’d been occasionally pausing to shine my flashlight down below us, my sense of fear growing as the exit became further and further away, until it was eventually swallowed up by the darkness entirely.
After what felt to my tired legs like a lifetime, she stopped, and began to enter another crawlspace – heading back deeper into the hotel.
I froze, the already intense sense of wrongness overwhelmed me at the thought of going in. Her back still to me, she gestured for me to follow.
I realized then that everything was going to be okay.
I had found her. I knew that following her was the right thing to do. A wave of calmness washed over me and drowned out the pang of terror I’d felt at the idea of seeing what was on the other side of that tight, dark space.
So, I took a deep breath.
And, I found out what was on the 7th floor.
I instantly felt much safer than I had anywhere else in that god forsaken place as we stepped into the immaculate room that the crawlspace opened into. This was a safe place. A good place, even.
I was suddenly very confident that we were going the right way.
I followed her clumsy, wavering form down a hallway leading to a massive ballroom. Art deco details, the chandelier, it was beautiful – that much was obvious, even in the dark. I felt an odd sense of excitement at the thought of approaching it, nearly giddy at the sight of the elegant golden elevator at the end.
The exit. Finally.
My heart pounded and I froze for a moment when I heard a door slam shut somewhere behind me, but no matter how hard I tried to hold on to that concern, that intense feeling of alarm, I couldn’t. It was quickly slipping through my fingers, and although the unease was not quite gone, it was beyond my reach.
Everything was fine.
She dropped onto her hands and knees and began to crawl as we approached the elevator. Her hair still cast a shadow over her face, but I could make out the white of her smile as she turned to look at me over her shoulder and disappeared into it. I knew I was where I needed to be. I was ready.
I was only a few feet behind her when I tripped and fell to the side, hitting my face on something in the process.
I felt around to see what I had tripped over – it was a single shoe, the canvas stiff with long-dried blood, portions of its prior owner still inside. When I looked up from it with a squeal of shocked disgust, I realized that the entire room had changed – the air carried a hint of old things, mildew, despair. The chandelier hung askew at an odd angle, ruined, rendered dark and useless by decades of neglect. Glass from shattered and now boarded up windows littered the warped and stained wooden floor, and the dated wallpaper had mostly peeled away. A sense of longing, and ruin, radiated through the huge room. Something else. Regret? Fear?
I shivered as my beam illuminated what I had fallen into – a pile of disintegrating suitcases.
Torn clothes and other discarded belongings were strewn about messily. I looked up to see that the space that had minutes before seemed to house the bright, golden elevator was actually empty – and likely had been for decades. With a new sense of horrified clarity, I realized that my clumsiness had spared me from stepping into the open shaft. It had to have been the one that had been walled up on every other floor – that beautiful elevator was long gone, leaving only a few feet of damaged flooring between me and the 7 story drop below.
Maybe if I had been paying more attention, I would’ve noticed the sounds sooner, the familiar, earthy-rot smell on the stale air echoing from within it.
But I was too focused on something else. Something white – bright in my phone light – and the torn shirt sheathing it.
I told myself it couldn’t be Liz. That the pitiful remains of fabric that settled into the spaces where there had once been skin couldn’t be the Melvin’s shirt she bought at the concert we went to years before our stay.
The one she always wore to bed.
The shirt – the remains within it – those could have belonged to anyone because Liz was here with me. She was fine.
The jagged screech of something sharp on metal snapped me out of it – the sound was soon drowned out by a chorus of awful, ragged breaths.
I shined my flashlight up to see her slowly climbing up from the dark gaping pit of the shaft. Her eyes reflected light back at me, like an animals’ – like a predator. Something that thrived in the darkness and could see far better in the lightless space than I could ever hope to.
As we stared at each other – as I saw her face fully illuminated for the first time, I realized how wrong it all was.
I was finally forced to admit what a part of me had already realized: that what I’d followed up there wasn’t Liz.
I couldn’t understand how I hadn’t seen it before – how I could’ve mistaken that thing for my best friend.
For a brief, fleeting moment, I thought the not-Liz was the most terrible thing I would ever see in my life – until I noticed more of them crawling up the shaft behind her. Many were utterly unlike anything I’d seen before – moving towards me on thin, sallow-fleshed limbs. A few of them, though – like the once I’d mistaken for Liz – if it weren’t for the perfectly round eyes, they could’ve passed for human. Maybe they even were, once.
I was suddenly very keenly aware of the door I had heard open and close behind me in the hallway moments before.
True fear, I’ve since learned, is seeing something you can barely comprehend – much less hope to outrun – standing between you and the only exit.
I realized then that I’d lost my pepper spray at some point. So, I did the first thing I could think of – I shined my phone flashlight towards it, hoping that something so pale, that seemed so accustomed to the dark, that it wouldn’t be able to handle the bright light.
All I managed to do was get a clearer view of the too-long limbs and those awful eyes as it continued towards me, unfazed.
With the haze I’d been trapped in earlier lifted, I gagged at the reek of old decay that permeated throughout the hallway and had been taken up by the carpet and rotting wallpaper. Unlike on the 3rd floor, no one had bothered to try and mask the smell with a splash of bleach.
Some doors had long fallen off their hinges, laying splintered and forming additional obstacles. I tried to unsuccessfully dodge the thing between me and the exit, but it managed to grab me with its jaws, leaving a deep gash in my leg as it tried to pull me to the ground. As stabbed at it with my little knife, barely managing to break the skin, I realized that was the end. I truly was never going to leave that place.
And then, it suddenly released me, as if pulled away by something unseen, giving me an opportunity to limp towards the end of the hall.
I didn’t look back as I made it to the room we’d entered through – 747 crudely painted on the door. This time around, I saw it was filled with the remains of decaying furniture, along with other things I’d rather forget. I was relieved to shove myself back into the tight, lightless passageway, but not as much as I was when I stepped out of it.
I was almost to the exit when I heard a faint wheezing breath above me. I made the mistake of looking up, at the figures staring down at me from the shadowy stairwell. Mixed in amongst those alien forms, were some that seemed almost human – including the one I’d mistaken for Liz. There was another familiar face wearing his usual predator’s grin, standing between them and I – almost as if holding them back.
Helping me escape.
The wrongness of it confused me but I moved as fast as my tired, bleeding legs could carry me, the feel of those awful, round eyes trained on my back was an excellent motivator.
I stumbled out the back exit, but didn’t feel safe until the city skyline was no longer visible in my rearview mirror.
I did make it home, but I wish I had a better update to give.
I still wonder who Liz thought she had seen in our room that night, who it could’ve been she would have followed so blindly. So willingly.
I try not to think about what must have come next. It’s too painful.
I haven’t been able to sleep much. I dream of the hotel, see those things staring at me from the shadowy stairwell.
Another thing that’s been keeping me awake since I’ve been back home have been the non-stop emails I’ve received, flooding my inbox, reminding me of an ‘upcoming stay’ – one I never booked – counting down the days until I ‘check in’. There is no checkout date listed.
There’s something else, too. Something that scares me far more.
I barely recognize myself now. At first, the differences were subtle enough that I could cling to denial, but it’s become painfully obvious that I lose a bit more of myself each day – and not just in terms of the features reflected at me in the mirror, either.
I realize what this new invitation means – the check in date. It’s the date in which I can choose to either return to the hotel as the newest permanent resident or stay here and become a danger to those around me.
I’ve decided to accept it.
My bags are packed, this time with something far more potent than pepper spray. I plan to arrive early – ‘check in’ while I’m still in control. If I can help it, I’ll be the last guest that is ever invited to room 347.
It’s sort of funny in a way – in those frantic moments in the cramped darkness, when I’d wildly feared I’d never leave that hotel – I was right, albeit in a way I never could’ve imagined.
Other than this post, I haven’t told anyone else where I am going. If I am unsuccessful, I don’t want anyone to find me – I have a sick feeling of what will happen to them if they do.
If I'm successful, there will not be any more invitations to the hotel extended. There won’t be a hotel at all.
If I fail, well… If you do receive an email inviting you to stay, I hope that you ignore it – that you will not find yourself in room 347.
If I fail, I hope that you and I will not meet in that dark, cramped space in the middle of the night.
If I fail, I hope that you will not learn what I have, the hard way – that it’s not uncommon for people to visit that place and never leave.

Ouch! That really hurt. It still hurts. How dare you, I'm going to complain to this place's manager.
I took a moment to try and stand, but with the hardened glue keeping my insides "inside," and my torso immobile, I fell back to another jolt of pain. Youza did that hurt. I've never been struck by lightning, but I imagine this is what it feels like, minus the smell of charred flesh. Speaking of charred flesh, I was running on empty thanks to that thing. It treated my body like his personal milkshake. I would hope he chokes on it, but i had already taken it upon myself to see to it that he never chokes on anything ever again. That wasn't the big problem. The big problem was that I could expand my lungs but couldn't get a full breath. My lungs were filling, probably with blood, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. It got so bad that I fell unconscious. The last thing I heard was Ted, before all faded to black.
"Great, I'll have to find another pedestrian to carry me home." A heavy emphasis was placed on the word "pedestrian."
Gee, thanks a lot, Ted.
I'm sensing that I have gained audience attention and maximum sympathy, so now that you're wondering how I survived this, it would be an excellent time to talk about my time on Earth.
Yeah, "Straight out of the corn stalks" they say. Good ole Midwest, not quite city, not quite country. The confused middle child between the cesspool of Chicago and the grand open Ohio land. I was an Indiana boy. Eh, that's all generalizations of course.
When I was a kid, asked what I wanted to be when I grow up, I hit the buzzer before anyone else and shouted at the top of my lungs "astronaut please!" It was all the rage at the time, dreaming of space. It was the new "in" thing. Plans were underway to colonize Mars, well, after the first couple of attempts failed spectacularly. Eventually, that one too failed. It was almost like we evolved for Earth, and anything else was a poor substitute for the real thing.
But human beings are adaptable, but even more so, stubborn. We tried and tried, but stubbornness only gets you so far. Stubborn as we are, you run out of money eventually. Then the space craze died, and trains were the "new thing." There was even a political party trying to outlaw airplanes. Flying was boring now, and I was left wondering if I would ever achieve my dream. I was born too early I guess. Maybe given a few hundred years on ice, I could fly past this boring old solar system.
Of course, if someone had told me I would end up lost on an interstellar sidewalk, where monsters live and want to eat me, and how no one wants to pick up this hitchhiker, I might have developed a sudden interest in trains.
It seemed at this point, pain was the only thing that could wake me, and there was plenty of it, though hunger was in the running for most pressing concern.
"Urgh. Did anyone catch that license pla-" I grumbled, then stopped, leaving my jaw hanging stupidly.
When I opened my eyes, I realized something was moved. Something very important to my survival was now gone. My heart threw itself against the iron bars of my chest. It was like a madman bloodying his nose against his prison cell. The alien that put me here was gone. It was gone, and could be anywhere. Who's to say it isn't already in my mind again, sucking out the rest of my organs, leaving me none the wiser.
I don't appreciate not knowing where he is after doing this to me. Whatever it was, it was mine! I killed it. I'll complain to the manager of this place for moving my things around if I don't get it back; I need my things back where I can see them.
If it was gone, I couldn't trust anything I see or hear. I don't want it hacking my mind again. I had to move, whether my body permitted it or not. With another bout of excruciating pain, I managed to get to my feet, the carved walls crumbling between my fingers as I leaned heavily against them. Needless to say, my body would prefer to stay put, but I don't think I could handle another fight with that thing. If it was recovering like I was, I couldn't take the risk that it recovers faster.
"Oh good, we're moving again, great news," Ted said. "I heard something scurrying around, but I scared it off. You're welcome, by the way."
He went on and on about how he needed a better pedestrian and how he was doing me a favor for protecting me. I wish I could interrupt. If I could fire back, I would have, but lungs full of blood make everything more difficult. It turns out, you need those spaces full of air. Maybe that's why I'm talking to an egg now. I might have developed some permanent brain trauma, as well as a major respiratory issue, or would that be a catch 22? I am aware of myself enough to know that I've gone insane; therefore, I can't be insane. I believe that's what a catch 22 is, but I have no internet here, so you'll just have to take my word for it.
After a while, Ted reached the limit of his creativity and was forced into silent contemplation.
"What? No witty comeback? No verbal sparring? Oh, this must be serious. What's happening?" Ted asked.
"Ted, I don't think I'm going to make it." I braced myself against a wall, knocking a layer of dust off, and coughed up another impressive blood clot. My whole mouth tasted like pennies.
"Maybe you should sit down," Ted advised.
"Why, Ted?" I winced. "If I didn't know any better-" another cough "-I'd say you care about me."
"Of course not. You're just a pair of legs. I need you at tip-tap shape."
"It's tip-top."
"Right. I knew that. I didn't need you to correct me. I am mastering your language faster than one of your own could. But you should sit regardless."
"Can't." My voice was losing volume fast. "It could come back."
"Not if you shot it with my gun it can't. You didn't miss, did you?"
This is where I collapsed again. I felt a pat on the back was in order. I had made it a whopping 25 feet before falling back to the ground.
"It's really hard to breathe," I gasped out.
By this point, my eyes were welling up. I wasn't crying, but that's what happens when you're losing the fight for consciousness. And it was a fight I lost. I am not above crying, though. If I had the energy, I probably would. Still though, 25 feet. It's probably a record for people in critical condition like me.
Sorry, i just have to mention, would you believe it if I told you Australia would have been the first to explore this thing? No kidding. Australia of all countries got their act together quicker than anyone else and launched a manned probe. Well, it got shot down, but that's another story. They got all sorts of blown up for retaliating against Russia, and now, well now the whole world is playing a giant game of Risk, and no small country wins that game, especially when "mutually assured distruction" was discovered to be ironically hopeful. Who else has lost since I left home?
There was a movie I saw when I was young called "WarGames." Some smart kid hacked a government computer thinking it was a gaming site or something. The problem is, the game he wanted to play was called "Global Thermonuclear War." The idea was, there is no winner when nukes are used. Unfortunately, the idea of "mutually assured destruction" is as fictional an idea as the movie itself. Oh sure, I hear you argue, but listen. Would you risk your own life because some other country got blown to smithereens? Probably not unless you're crazy, but the idea that it would happen was necessary to keep a fine layer of dust on those weapons.
I wonder if that's what happened to my country. I suppose I may never know, but something did happen. I always thought "There's a gun behind every blade of grass." Every man and woman had a lead pencil in their homes in the form of 9mm or 5.56, with which they wrote "don't fuck with me" along their property lines. That had apparently failed. Someday, I would like to know how.
Sorry, I get distracted. You probably want to hear what happened next. When I next opened my eyes, I suddenly felt a sort of kinship with the cripple in the Biblical Parable of the Good Samaritan. Something wholly and totally incomprehensible, with legs that appeared only when they were needed, then disappeared back into the body as it moved forward, just walked on by without a second glance. Maybe I misread the mood, but even without eyes or a face, it gave off serious "if you saw something, no you didn't," vibes.
Whatever I was in the middle of, it wanted no part of it. It knew where it wanted to go, and all I could do was watch it until it was completely gone. I'd say "thanks" in my most sarcastic of tones if I could bring myself to utter a single word.
I was dying, and he or it didn't care. If only it didn't hurt so bad, I would accept it gracefully. I would welcome it like an old friend. It did hurt, though. I wanted to scream. I wanted to claw at it, I wanted to grasp my still-beating heart, through the hole in my chest and squeeze until the pain stopped, but I couldn't.
I couldn't because I couldn't imagine touching it. It felt unsanitary, and my hands were grimy. I know, an odd reason to not just end it all, but it was my reason, and I'll ask you not to judge me for it. Maybe it was the blood loss. Maybe I wasn't thinking right. You can't really blame me.
My stomach loudly reminded me of my second biggest problem, hunger. If I root around beside me, I could probably find some small worm-like creatures to feast on. It wasn't much, but it filled a void. Tasted terrible too. Have you ever flipped over a rock and had a strong smell punch you in the face for the effort? That's about how it tasted, but at least they were carbon-based. That's not to say I could digest them, and I was taking a bet on them not carrying some poisonous self-defense. I was eating proteins that evolved countless light-years away from Earth. Nothing unusual by now, I suppose.
My mind refocused on the bigger problem, the monster. I tried to claw my way to another 25 feet but found myself unable.
"Stop squirming," Ted said.
Wordlessly, I looked around.
"I feel you moving. Stop it."
"Feel me moving?" I thought.
"Yes, 'feel you moving.' I'm in here now." The sound came from my own head. "I've been working on your mangled corpse because you can't. Some sort of pain response keeping you from doing it yourself; luckily, I can turn that off."
"Good. Turn it off," I suggested in my own head.
"No."
"No?" I asked incredulously.
"Yes."
"Yes? Then do it."
"No, yes." He responded.
"I'm confused." I would throw up my hands in frustration, but I was now quite immobile.
Ted paused and spoke very carefully. "Listen, you feel pain right?"
I didn't dignify that question with an answer.
"I only turn it off when I need to work on you, but you need it to keep you still."
"Work on me?" I thought. "And how are you inside my head, by the way? That's a huge invasion of privacy. I have a lot of personal pictures saved in there." It's a lot easier to crack wise when you don't have to say it out loud.
"Yes. I can fix you, but I need you to go back to sleep."
"Right, good luck with that-" then I was out.
Man, I do not appreciate being flipped on and off like a light switch. Speaking of, I would kill for a light switch in this place. Periodically, I will find bioluminescent life, probably placed here by previous explorers. The forethought to introduce self-replicating light sources suggests whoever put them here planned on coming back. Now I use them to stumble across monsters. Unfortunately, I have seen nothing maintaining those things. I can only assume they are long gone or dead. We all stand on the corpses of the explorers before us. Me; with all of Ted's gear and these light sources, and Ted; with me, a slowly dying vehicle he can now apparently steer to do whatever he wants.
Speaking of, have you ever been choked out? I haven't either, but I have been subjected to high G training. It's the same basic concept. A good choke doesn't block the air, but the blood to the brain. It's the same with high G. Blood leaves the brain, but can't go back up. It's much quicker than an air choke; you don't panic that way, and when you wake up, you wake up without having dreamt. It's like a sliver of time was just removed from you, and now you're laying on the ground with an intense feeling that you're late for something. That is how I felt when Ted woke me up.
"Alright, get up you useless bag of bones," came his dry voice.
"God? Is that you?"
"Who is God? No, this is Ted."
When I looked down, I saw that my wounds were still sealed shut with Moe's glue, but more precisely, and I could breathe.
Now with a chest full of air, I asked the biggest question on my mind. "Ted, where's Brad?"
"First God, now Brad. Who is Brad?"
"That's what I'm calling the monster that did this to me. I need to know where it is."
"But why Brad? It's so short."
"Because I never met a Brad I liked, and this thing, I really don't like. Listen, I'm here, no one else is, I get naming privileges. His name is Brad, species Bradidian, planet Bradidimos-Prime."
"I don't know. I'm still waiting on a thank you."
I stood, pain dulled thanks to ted, and continued my lightyears long walk back home.
"Thank you ted.... now get out of my head please."
Next chapter: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/s/5YQ6JPf907

Ouch! That really hurt. It still hurts. How dare you, I'm going to complain to this place's manager.
I took a moment to try and stand, but with the hardened glue keeping my insides "inside," and my torso immobile, I fell back to another jolt of pain. Youza did that hurt. I've never been struck by lightning, but I imagine this is what it feels like, minus the smell of charred flesh. Speaking of charred flesh, I was running on empty thanks to that thing. It treated my body like his personal milkshake. I would hope he chokes on it, but i had already taken it upon myself to see to it that he never chokes on anything ever again. That wasn't the big problem. The big problem was that I could expand my lungs but couldn't get a full breath. My lungs were filling, probably with blood, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. It got so bad that I fell unconscious. The last thing I heard was Ted, before all faded to black.
"Great, I'll have to find another pedestrian to carry me home." A heavy emphasis was placed on the word "pedestrian."
Gee, thanks a lot, Ted.
I'm sensing that I have gained audience attention and maximum sympathy, so now that you're wondering how I survived this, it would be an excellent time to talk about my time on Earth.
Yeah, "Straight out of the corn stalks" they say. Good ole Midwest, not quite city, not quite country. The confused middle child between the cesspool of Chicago and the grand open Ohio land. I was an Indiana boy. Eh, that's all generalizations of course.
When I was a kid, asked what I wanted to be when I grow up, I hit the buzzer before anyone else and shouted at the top of my lungs "astronaut please!" It was all the rage at the time, dreaming of space. It was the new "in" thing. Plans were underway to colonize Mars, well, after the first couple of attempts failed spectacularly. Eventually, that one too failed. It was almost like we evolved for Earth, and anything else was a poor substitute for the real thing.
But human beings are adaptable, but even more so, stubborn. We tried and tried, but stubbornness only gets you so far. Stubborn as we are, you run out of money eventually. Then the space craze died, and trains were the "new thing." There was even a political party trying to outlaw airplanes. Flying was boring now, and I was left wondering if I would ever achieve my dream. I was born too early I guess. Maybe given a few hundred years on ice, I could fly past this boring old solar system.
Of course, if someone had told me I would end up lost on an interstellar sidewalk, where monsters live and want to eat me, and how no one wants to pick up this hitchhiker, I might have developed a sudden interest in trains.
It seemed at this point, pain was the only thing that could wake me, and there was plenty of it, though hunger was in the running for most pressing concern.
"Urgh. Did anyone catch that license pla-" I grumbled, then stopped, leaving my jaw hanging stupidly.
When I opened my eyes, I realized something was moved. Something very important to my survival was now gone. My heart threw itself against the iron bars of my chest. It was like a madman bloodying his nose against his prison cell. The alien that put me here was gone. It was gone, and could be anywhere. Who's to say it isn't already in my mind again, sucking out the rest of my organs, leaving me none the wiser.
I don't appreciate not knowing where he is after doing this to me. Whatever it was, it was mine! I killed it. I'll complain to the manager of this place for moving my things around if I don't get it back; I need my things back where I can see them.
If it was gone, I couldn't trust anything I see or hear. I don't want it hacking my mind again. I had to move, whether my body permitted it or not. With another bout of excruciating pain, I managed to get to my feet, the carved walls crumbling between my fingers as I leaned heavily against them. Needless to say, my body would prefer to stay put, but I don't think I could handle another fight with that thing. If it was recovering like I was, I couldn't take the risk that it recovers faster.
"Oh good, we're moving again, great news," Ted said. "I heard something scurrying around, but I scared it off. You're welcome, by the way."
He went on and on about how he needed a better pedestrian and how he was doing me a favor for protecting me. I wish I could interrupt. If I could fire back, I would have, but lungs full of blood make everything more difficult. It turns out, you need those spaces full of air. Maybe that's why I'm talking to an egg now. I might have developed some permanent brain trauma, as well as a major respiratory issue, or would that be a catch 22? I am aware of myself enough to know that I've gone insane; therefore, I can't be insane. I believe that's what a catch 22 is, but I have no internet here, so you'll just have to take my word for it.
After a while, Ted reached the limit of his creativity and was forced into silent contemplation.
"What? No witty comeback? No verbal sparring? Oh, this must be serious. What's happening?" Ted asked.
"Ted, I don't think I'm going to make it." I braced myself against a wall, knocking a layer of dust off, and coughed up another impressive blood clot. My whole mouth tasted like pennies.
"Maybe you should sit down," Ted advised.
"Why, Ted?" I winced. "If I didn't know any better-" another cough "-I'd say you care about me."
"Of course not. You're just a pair of legs. I need you at tip-tap shape."
"It's tip-top."
"Right. I knew that. I didn't need you to correct me. I am mastering your language faster than one of your own could. But you should sit regardless."
"Can't." My voice was losing volume fast. "It could come back."
"Not if you shot it with my gun it can't. You didn't miss, did you?"
This is where I collapsed again. I felt a pat on the back was in order. I had made it a whopping 25 feet before falling back to the ground.
"It's really hard to breathe," I gasped out.
By this point, my eyes were welling up. I wasn't crying, but that's what happens when you're losing the fight for consciousness. And it was a fight I lost. I am not above crying, though. If I had the energy, I probably would. Still though, 25 feet. It's probably a record for people in critical condition like me.
Sorry, i just have to mention, would you believe it if I told you Australia would have been the first to explore this thing? No kidding. Australia of all countries got their act together quicker than anyone else and launched a manned probe. Well, it got shot down, but that's another story. They got all sorts of blown up for retaliating against Russia, and now, well now the whole world is playing a giant game of Risk, and no small country wins that game, especially when "mutually assured distruction" was discovered to be ironically hopeful. Who else has lost since I left home?
There was a movie I saw when I was young called "WarGames." Some smart kid hacked a government computer thinking it was a gaming site or something. The problem is, the game he wanted to play was called "Global Thermonuclear War." The idea was, there is no winner when nukes are used. Unfortunately, the idea of "mutually assured destruction" is as fictional an idea as the movie itself. Oh sure, I hear you argue, but listen. Would you risk your own life because some other country got blown to smithereens? Probably not unless you're crazy, but the idea that it would happen was necessary to keep a fine layer of dust on those weapons.
I wonder if that's what happened to my country. I suppose I may never know, but something did happen. I always thought "There's a gun behind every blade of grass." Every man and woman had a lead pencil in their homes in the form of 9mm or 5.56, with which they wrote "don't fuck with me" along their property lines. That had apparently failed. Someday, I would like to know how.
Sorry, I get distracted. You probably want to hear what happened next. When I next opened my eyes, I suddenly felt a sort of kinship with the cripple in the Biblical Parable of the Good Samaritan. Something wholly and totally incomprehensible, with legs that appeared only when they were needed, then disappeared back into the body as it moved forward, just walked on by without a second glance. Maybe I misread the mood, but even without eyes or a face, it gave off serious "if you saw something, no you didn't," vibes.
Whatever I was in the middle of, it wanted no part of it. It knew where it wanted to go, and all I could do was watch it until it was completely gone. I'd say "thanks" in my most sarcastic of tones if I could bring myself to utter a single word.
I was dying, and he or it didn't care. If only it didn't hurt so bad, I would accept it gracefully. I would welcome it like an old friend. It did hurt, though. I wanted to scream. I wanted to claw at it, I wanted to grasp my still-beating heart, through the hole in my chest and squeeze until the pain stopped, but I couldn't.
I couldn't because I couldn't imagine touching it. It felt unsanitary, and my hands were grimy. I know, an odd reason to not just end it all, but it was my reason, and I'll ask you not to judge me for it. Maybe it was the blood loss. Maybe I wasn't thinking right. You can't really blame me.
My stomach loudly reminded me of my second biggest problem, hunger. If I root around beside me, I could probably find some small worm-like creatures to feast on. It wasn't much, but it filled a void. Tasted terrible too. Have you ever flipped over a rock and had a strong smell punch you in the face for the effort? That's about how it tasted, but at least they were carbon-based. That's not to say I could digest them, and I was taking a bet on them not carrying some poisonous self-defense. I was eating proteins that evolved countless light-years away from Earth. Nothing unusual by now, I suppose.
My mind refocused on the bigger problem, the monster. I tried to claw my way to another 25 feet but found myself unable.
"Stop squirming," Ted said.
Wordlessly, I looked around.
"I feel you moving. Stop it."
"Feel me moving?" I thought.
"Yes, 'feel you moving.' I'm in here now." The sound came from my own head. "I've been working on your mangled corpse because you can't. Some sort of pain response keeping you from doing it yourself; luckily, I can turn that off."
"Good. Turn it off," I suggested in my own head.
"No."
"No?" I asked incredulously.
"Yes."
"Yes? Then do it."
"No, yes." He responded.
"I'm confused." I would throw up my hands in frustration, but I was now quite immobile.
Ted paused and spoke very carefully. "Listen, you feel pain right?"
I didn't dignify that question with an answer.
"I only turn it off when I need to work on you, but you need it to keep you still."
"Work on me?" I thought. "And how are you inside my head, by the way? That's a huge invasion of privacy. I have a lot of personal pictures saved in there." It's a lot easier to crack wise when you don't have to say it out loud.
"Yes. I can fix you, but I need you to go back to sleep."
"Right, good luck with that-" then I was out.
Man, I do not appreciate being flipped on and off like a light switch. Speaking of, I would kill for a light switch in this place. Periodically, I will find bioluminescent life, probably placed here by previous explorers. The forethought to introduce self-replicating light sources suggests whoever put them here planned on coming back. Now I use them to stumble across monsters. Unfortunately, I have seen nothing maintaining those things. I can only assume they are long gone or dead. We all stand on the corpses of the explorers before us. Me; with all of Ted's gear and these light sources, and Ted; with me, a slowly dying vehicle he can now apparently steer to do whatever he wants.
Speaking of, have you ever been choked out? I haven't either, but I have been subjected to high G training. It's the same basic concept. A good choke doesn't block the air, but the blood to the brain. It's the same with high G. Blood leaves the brain, but can't go back up. It's much quicker than an air choke; you don't panic that way, and when you wake up, you wake up without having dreamt. It's like a sliver of time was just removed from you, and now you're laying on the ground with an intense feeling that you're late for something. That is how I felt when Ted woke me up.
"Alright, get up you useless bag of bones," came his dry voice.
"God? Is that you?"
"Who is God? No, this is Ted."
When I looked down, I saw that my wounds were still sealed shut with Moe's glue, but more precisely, and I could breathe.
Now with a chest full of air, I asked the biggest question on my mind. "Ted, where's Brad?"
"First God, now Brad. Who is Brad?"
"That's what I'm calling the monster that did this to me. I need to know where it is."
"But why Brad? It's so short."
"Because I never met a Brad I liked, and this thing, I really don't like. Listen, I'm here, no one else is, I get naming privileges. His name is Brad, species Bradidian, planet Bradidimos-Prime."
"I don't know. I'm still waiting on a thank you."
I stood, pain dulled thanks to ted, and continued my lightyears long walk back home.
"Thank you ted.... now get out of my head please."
Next chapter: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/s/5YQ6JPf907

⚠️ WARNING: MAJOR spoilers for ACOTAR, TOG and CC (the Maasverse) ⚠️

-----------------
PART 1 - YOU ARE HERE
PART 2
PART 3
-----------------
Look. This isn't a new theory.
It's been said over and over again . . .

Ruhn looks just like Rhys. Lorin must be Rhysand's sister. Tamlin somehow saved her . . . she somehow portaled to Midgard.

I've seen the bits and pieces: Daphne and Apollo. The laurel leaves. The meaning of Donnall and Danaan.
But I've also seen the pieces not mentioned. The pieces not connected that could be. And I've yet to find a thread that's weaved them all together.

So come on, friends—jump with me on this crazy CRACKPOT theory train and let's see what we come up with.

And buckle up, buttercups. It's a long one.

​
Credit: AI art via booksnwriting on IG

First things first:

Were Rhys's sister and mother killed?

By all accounts, one would assume so.
After all, their wings were cut off, bodies beheaded, and those heads floated down the river to the closest Illyrian camp.
Now, at first read, one would assume their heads were sent to the camp Rhys was stationed at. However, it appears it was a separate camp, of which we know there are many:

"They put their heads in boxes and sent them down the river—to the nearest camp . . . When I heard, when my father heard . . . We winnowed to the edge of the Spring Court that night."
ACOMAF Ch 45

Many have theorized that Rhys and his father never saw these heads due to the above reference of hearing about the incident, not seeing**.** However, this theory is dispelled in ACOFAS:

I still saw their heads in those baskets, their faces still etched with fear and pain.
ACOFAS Ch 11

Let's walk through the timeline of events:

• Rhys's mother and sister were traveling through the Illyrian wilderness to see Rhys. Rhys was stationed at a war-camp, was supposed to meet them halfway, but was training a new unit and decided to stay (ACOMAF Ch 45).
• Tamlin let slip where this meeting spot was, not knowing Rhys made the decision to stay back. Tamlin, his father, and his brothers arrive and slaughter Rhysand's sister and mother anyway, then float their heads in baskets down to the nearest camp.
• Rhys and his father get wind of what happened; that night, they winnow to the Spring Court.
• Rhys slaughters Tamlin's brothers, Rhys's father slaughters Tamlin's mother and father, Tamlin kills Rhys's father.
• At some point after his father dies and the mantle of High Lord falls upon him, Rhys travels back to the Illyrian wilderness, finds their bodies, and buries them:

“And I know this because I have felt that way every day since my mother and sister were slaughtered and I had to bury them myself, and even retribution didn’t fix it.”
ACOMAF Ch 30

So. We have heads. We have bodies. How could one, or both, of these females have survived?

The fandom-favored theory is that Tamlin, with his shapeshifting powers, managed to switch out the bodies; that two other Fae were killed in their place. Some say only Rhys's sister was saved, others say it was his sister and mother whom Tamlin spared.

SJM likes to recycle material (like, a lot). So let's see if she's ever used the fake head psych-out before:

Celaena reached a gloved hand into the sack and tossed the severed head toward him.
The king leaned forward, examining the mauled face and the jagged cuts in the neck. “I can barely recognize him.”
“I’m afraid severed heads don’t travel well.” She fished in her sack again, pulling out a hand. “Here’s his seal ring.”
COM Ch 2
“I haven’t killed anyone,” she said softly . . . She remained where she was standing, needing the distance between them to get the words out right. “I faked all of their deaths and helped them flee.”
COM Ch 16

Not only has SJM used fake heads in another book, she's also included personal effects as extra proof of that death. In the case of Rhysand's mother and sister, their personal effects are their wings.

Do we ever see those wings? No. No, we do not.

Feyre searches for them:

Pinned in the study, Rhys had said.
But I hadn’t spotted any trace when I’d gone hunting for them upon returning here . . The cellars had yielded nothing, either. No trunks or crates or locked rooms containing those wings.
ACOWAR pg 35

But you guys. I think I know where they are.

Of course, this is hinging on the theory that Tamlin was lying when he said he burned them:

Lucien leaned back in his chair, smiling with feline delight. “Of course we can lie. We find lying to be an art."
ACOTAR Ch 16

Because there is one room, ONE VERY SPECIFIC ROOM, we never see in the Spring Court:

I lay back on the pillows, listening to the steady, efficient sounds of him preparing for bed. He kept his own quarters, deeming it vital for me to have my own space.
. . . I’d yet to visit his bed, though I wondered if our wedding night would change that.
ACOMAF Ch 2

The only other mention we have of Tamlin's bedroom is this:

“How bad was it?” I asked quietly.
“You saw your room. He trashed it, the study, his bedroom . . . "
ACOWAR Ch 6

Can I just say this is a DELICIOUS callback to the original inspiration for the first book? A Court of Thorns and Roses is, after all, a loose retelling of Beauty and the Beast.
​
Source: SJM interview with Wilma Gonzalez via USA Today
Now, Disney did not invent the fairytale of Beauty and the Beast, despite what my partner once incorrectly believed (yes, he also thought classics like The Little Mermaid and Aladdin were Disney-created; yes, I honestly thought he was joking). But it is the first exposure many of us received in regard to this beloved tale, and the movie visuals themselves may just give us the clues we need in regard to Rhysand's sister.
​
Artist: rosiethorns88 on IG
I am OBSESSED with this Beauty and the Beast x ACOTAR artwork by Rosie Thorns. I mean, I've been obsessed with Rosie's work for a long while (IG here) and the many beautiful literature-themed fan art she has produced, but I mean, come on—the stained glass? The Cauldron as the rose? The connection to the animated film melded with the first few books? Genius.
But it's the ROSE itself I want to draw your attention to.
In Disney's 1991 animation, we see the Beast's struggle with his temper, not unlike our Tammy Tam. In the scene set up, after the delightful chorus ensemble of "Be Our Guest," we see Belle tiptoe up to the forbidden west wing where she discovers her captor's room. She sees herself in the shattered mirror, steps around the splintered chairs; watches the curtains move in their tatters . . . and touches the remnants of claws scoring his own self-portrait.
​
Source: Screenshot from Beauty and the Beast, 1991
Now, for those of you who would rather Tamlin not have a redemption arc, I apologize; this post may not be your favorite. But just as I believe the Beast shredded his portrait not out of vanity, not out of a sense of the beauty he once had, I believe Tamlin—after Feyre leaves the Spring Court in ruins—trashes his manor, his bedroom, his court . . . out of pure self-loathing. Out of the hatred he feels for himself, of how far he fell, of who and what he has become.
Our Beasts are flawed, broken, and alone.
And they have no one to blame but themselves.

But what does Belle see as she turns from this? As she turns from the ruined room, the slivered portrait, the evidence of man-turned-beast, both inside and out?

Artist: Jason Kim

The Rose.

The only unbroken, unblemished, living thing in view, kept under a glass cloche. Safe, and protected . . . displayed, even.
But do not mistake this for a reverential act. The rose represents everything the Beast despises about himself: his selfishness, his failure to see beyond himself . . . his inability to save himself.

Just like a certain set of Illyrian wings would remind Tamlin.

Remind him of his selfishness in letting slip vital information that led to two innocent females being slaughtered, two innocent females that were the mother and sister of his friend. Of his failure to save them, of his continued reminder that under his curse, under Amarantha's reign, he cannot save himself, he cannot spare himself or his court from the tragedy of what's happening . . . and that, just as it happened all those years ago, he cannot save the woman he loves.
Bit of a leap, right? Bear with me, I promise this is all going to connect.

Under this Rhys's sister + Tamlin theory, many believe the unnamed Night Court daughter was mated to our Spring Court High Lord.

Is that possible? Heck, is it even plausible?
Well . . .
The other day, I was ruminating on the names Rhys vs Ruhn and their inspired Welsh origins (see here for my post but warning: it has Maasverse spoilers. Oh, and am I a little bothered they have Welsh names when the Night Court itself is geographically located in Scotland based on Prythian's map? Kinda. But I can let it go). I was also perusing various theories on the Ruhn's mother is Rhys's sister debate, and came across a theory that the name Ruhn, in whatever language the Fae of Prythian speak, would translate to Rhys.

i.e. If Ruhn's mother is Rhys's sister, then she named her son after the shortened version of her long-missed brother's name.

Now, do I believe this? I don't know. But I really like the idea of it. I mean, it could work . . . because when Bryce mistook Rhys for Ruhn, Rhys blinked. As if calling him Ruhn was unexpected . . . surprising.

As if maybe . . . he recognized it:

Bryce gasped. “Ruhn?”
The male blinked. His eyes were the same shade of violet blue as Ruhn’s . . . He lifted his gaze to her, stars in his eyes.
HOSAB Ch 78
Rhys blinked, his only sign of surprise.
ACOWAR Ch 70

All this got me thinking . . . what would Rhys's sister's name be?
Because we know Ruhn's mother's name; it's Lorin. And the name Lorin itself is associated with laurel trees, which ties into the mythology of Daphne and Apollo, which is pretty huge within this particular fandom theory, but we're not quite there yet.
​
Artist: Lourdes Saraiva

Now, do I think Lorin is Rhys's sister's REAL name?

No, no I don't.
Because come, on . . . it's not like alternate names are uncommon in the SJM universe:

His eyes shifted to my face. “What’s your name, love?”
Keeping my mind blank and calm, I blurted the first name that came to mind, a village friend of my sisters’ whom I’d never spoken to and whose face I couldn’t recall. “Clare Beddor.”
ACOTAR Ch 26
"Elentiya,” she choked out. “My name is Elentiya.” Her gut tightened.
Thank the gods Rowan didn’t snort at the name. She might have eviscerated him . . . if he mocked the name Nehemia had given her.
HOF Ch 11

See, I did a little more digging. Not just into the name Lorin itself, which is derived from the Latin word Laurentum, meaning from Laurentum, referring to an ancient Roman city and gives one a sense of "sophistication and timelessness" (which, if Rhys's sister were to use a fake name, this fits in perfectly with the strongly Roman and Latin and Eternal City connecting references of CC).

But I looked into WELSH names. Specifically, Welsh names that would flow with the cadence and pattern of Rhys and Ruhn.

Now I'm not the first SJM reader to suss out feminine Welsh names; I've seen Seren associated with Rhys's sister, which, when translated from Welsh, means "star." Perfect for our Night Court daughter and the brother to night incarnate himself, no? A name fit for the daughter of the City of Starlight:

“This is my favorite view in the city,” Rhys said, stopping at the metal railing along the river walkway and gazing toward the artists’ quarter. “It was my sister’s favorite, too. My father used to have to drag her kicking and screaming out of Velaris, she loved it so much.”
ACOMA Ch 29

But I would like to propose a different name. Another Welsh name. A name that may be a perfect pairing, a perfect complement, to her brother's.

Rhosywn.

​
Artist: Unknown
​
Source: Google Translate
According to welshgirlsnames.co.uk, the Celtic girl's name Rhoswen means "rose," specifically "white rose," and also includes the meaning "blessed" and "fair." Other websites label its meaning as "blessed rose."
We're playing with something SJM commonly does with her own spelling, tweaking the placement of letters to make them fit just a little bit differently from their real-world counterparts. So if Rhosyn = rose in Welsh, and Rhoswen = a person's name, then we're settling on Rhosywn for SJM's spelling (I don't know that I love the "w" in it myself, but we're working with what we've got, folks).

What if . . . Rhys's sister was the Beast's rose—Tamlin's rose—all along? What if Feyre wasn't his Belle, his fair one . . . what if Rhosywn was?

Think about it. Simmer on it for a while. Rhysand and Rhosywn.
Rhys and Rhose.
It . . . fits . . . beautifully.
And can't you imagine a younger Rhys being followed around by a little Rhosy (Rosie)?
​
Artist: Unknown (killing me that I can't find the source for this one)

Moving forward, we're going to delve DEEP into a couple of sub-theories:

1. Rhys's sister survived. Rhys's mother did not.
2. This sister is in Midgard, and is Ruhn's mother, Lorin.
3. Tamlin may have faked this sister's death, but he failed to save her.
4. She and Tamlin are mates . . . and Tamlin became one cold-hearted bastard with severe PTSD because of it.

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

Sub-theory 1: Rhys's sister survived

Remember when we referenced the fandom theory that Tamlin shapeshifted someone else's bodies and essentially faked Rhys's sister's death?
To be clear: I do not think Rhys's mother survived. If we tie in the various Rhun's of Welsh history/mythology, there is a slight hint that Rhys and Ruhn are half-brothers (see post where that is mentioned here) but the dots don't connect as well. If anyone is coming back, I think it's his sister vs his mother.
We have a couple of hints regarding this, the first being Lorin's eyes:

Lorin was indeed sitting in the breakfast room . . . She was beautiful, as all Fae were, but there was a gentleness to her face. A sadness to her deep blue eyes—Ruhn's eyes.
HOSAB Bonus Chapter

Coupled with Rhysand's eyes:

Bryce gasped. “Ruhn?”
The male blinked. His eyes were the same shade of violet blue as Ruhn’s. His short hair the same gleaming black . . .
HOSAB Ch 78

Putting two and two together, we can easily surmise that these eyes came from Rhys's father, NOT Rhys's mother. Rhys's mother is full Illyrian after all:

Like their High Lord, the males—warriors—were dark-haired, tan-skinned. But unlike Rhys, their eyes were hazel . . .
ACOMAF Ch 16
I only recognized one of the muscle-bound Illyrians in full armor waiting for us . . . Like Azriel and Cassian, they possessed dark hair and eyes of assorted hazel and brown.
ACOWAR Ch 51

So Lorin, if she is indeed directly related to Rhys, could only be Rhysand's sister, not his mother.

Also, with this characterization—

"And my mother—she was gentle and wild . . ."
". . . my father winnowed in . . . He saw my mother thrashing and fighting like a wildcat . . ."
"My mother was soft and fiery and beloved . . ."
ACOMAF Ch 16

I don't see Rhys's mother doing anything but fighting like hell, fighting to the death, to save her daughter . . . to give her time.
​
Artist: sncinderart on IG (only thing I'd change is trade out the Night Court blue eyes for Illyrian hazel)

Now, again, this next part isn't anything new in the realm of theory speculation, but we have to lay out the logic for Tamlin's shapeshifting abilities:

Note: We're going to move forward with the name Lorin for Rhys's sister because the whole Rhosywn thing is pure, made-up speculation at this point.
Tamlin can shapeshift not only himself, but others:

"Tam can shift us into other shapes if need be . . . When Andras went across the wall, Tam changed him into a wolf so he wouldn’t be spotted as a faerie."
ACOTAR Ch 9

We learn just how thorough Tamlin's shape-shifting ability is through what he passed on to Feyre:

“I thought she only made the wings—nothing else.”
“She shape-shifts. She transforms her entire self into the form she takes. When she grants herself wings, she essentially alters her body at its most intrinsic level. So she was fully Illyrian that night.”
ACOSF Ch 30

So the question we have to answer—CAN Tamlin shape-shift someone so thoroughly, so intrinsically, that even the High Lord of Night would not be able to tell the difference?

In short, yes.
Because his power—Feyre's power—has done it before:

I am Tarquin*. I am summer; I am warmth; I am sea and sky and planted field.*
. . . I felt my own skin shift, felt my bones stretch and change. Until I was him, and it was a set of male hands I now possessed, now pushed against the door. Until the essence of me became what I had tasted in that inner, mental shield of his . . .
ACOMAF Ch 36

The door containing the Book of Breathings, located in the Summer Court, was sealed with a blood-spell, with an imprint of the High Lord's power, the same way the Prison is keyed to Rhys's blood. But Feyre, after physically, on a biological level, shifting into Tarquin, was able to open that door.
But wait! you might say. The book called her on it; the book sniffed out her deceit and sealed Feyre and Amren inside the temple.
Yes, but remember—
It was only after Feyre shifted back into her own body that this happened. After she began using the kernel of Tarquin's gifted power vs Tamlin's full shape-shifting ability. She no longer was Tarquin; she only contained a piece of him, and a tiny piece wasn't enough to trick the book and the imprinted blood-spell and the wards.
We also know from Andras, the sentry-turned-wolf from the first book, that if one is killed while shape-shifted, they remain in their shifted form:

"I killed it . . . I sold its hide at the market today. If I had known it was a faerie, I wouldn’t have touched it.”
“You murdered my friend,” the beast snarled. “Murdered him, skinned his corpse, sold it at the market . . . "
ACOMAF Ch 4

So it stands to reason: Tamlin COULD have shape-shifted someone else into Lorin before his father and brothers begun their killing, essentially helping fake her death, and Rhys would have been none the wiser on seeing their bodies. Not if he FULLY shape-shifted someone else's body to match hers on a biological level. The same way he did with Andras. The same way Feyre did as Tarquin.

Now, if Lorin survived, are the wings Tamlin's father kept her actual wings, or are they shape-shifted wings?
Answer: I don't know, but if I had to pick, my bet is on option #2 below.
OPTION NO 1) They are shape-shifted wings from someone else's body:

And the reason Lorin doesn't have wings in CC is because, like her brother—like Rhysand—she can command and call hers at will.

OPTION NO 2) They are her actual wings:

But sometime between them being cut off and her being beheaded, likely while his fathebrothers were distracted with Rhys's mother, Tamlin switched out her barely-alive body for another's.

​
Artist: paintfaery on IG
-----------------
To keep this crackpot theory going, click HERE for Part 2

~First~
HHH/Herbert’s Hundred Harem
Things had gotten moving rather quickly after that and to make sure there was no misunderstanding about anything Jahlassi had ensured that everyone was followed by a high end stealth drone to record everything into a blackbox for Lady Bazalash to observe later. Herbert was more or less relegated to tour guide on The Dauntless as he showed the team the way down to the labs. The whole time Jahlassi was giving him a furious look when she thought he wasn’t watching and it was spreading to the rest of the group. This is something he’ll need to confront sooner rather than later.
“Alright doctors, you’re able to chemically analyze this substance, but can you date it?” Herbert asks after the basic rundown of the physical components of the metal are gone over again.
“Date it?”
“Well, do remember the galactic timescales we’re operating on. For all we know this is some cultish funeral service spread across all of prosperous space. In that light the amount of Blood Metal becomes less of a concern and it’s more why it’s being used in such a way and why is it all in one place. If it is a more... friendly, or more likely just a less horrible reason it’s all together then it will be over a long period of time. If it was all made at once then the galaxy somehow missed at least one genocide or something was found to make a very dangerous substance much, much easier to produce.”
“Alright that is quite enough of those questions Agent.” Jahlassi says sternly. “The process of refining proper blood metal requires the murder of it’s source. Twisting the Axiom in a person’s body until it is utterly hostile to the person, rendering them down to chemically inert scraps and a single tiny piece of metal. It is a nightmarish way to die that is not swift, not efficient and not pleasant. Using a clone creates a much less potent variant and trying to replicate the pattern of Axiom destruction with donated blood alone also creates the less potent variant. We’re dealing with Pure Blood Metal. Which means that every five milligrams is another murder. Another torturous murder.”
“Thank you for informing me of this ma’am. Doctor’s I still want every sample we can get dated. We need a timeline that this madness was perpetuated in.” Herbert says taking control of things. “Doctor Polido, what amounts are we dealing with?”
“The plating is a centimetre thick. Weighing at seventy eight point five kilograms per metre squared. There is an even one hundred meters squared of this stuff. So far.”
“Good God Damn.” Herbert mutters. “That’s over fifteen billion people.”
“Yes sir.” Doctor Polido agrees. “Fifteen billion seven hundred million. So far.”
“That is an absurd number and bellies belief and practicality. How the hell was something like THAT not noticed!? Unless this nightmare took a thousand years to build, then there’s no way to cover it up. Not even on a planet like Centris. This would have been noticed before now.”
“Not to mention you found this on Galvori Plate. It’s Four Hundred Years old. The very superstructure of the plate is too young to fit in a subtle timeframe.” Doctor Polido adds.
“Be that as it may, gathered subtly over many thousands of years or taken all at once in a slaughter, this metal is a testament to suffering and agony. Deliberately invoked for little gain and with horrible means. The only legal reason to have some is if you’re lawfully investigating the source of one or attempting to turn it in to the relevant authorities.” Jahlassi states.
“No mercy for those ignorant of what it is?” Doctor Polido challenges.
“Allowances can be made for ignorance, but knowingly possessing this is highly illegal.” Jahlassi says before she slithers past Doctor Polido and examines the small sample of Blood metal floating in a zero atmosphere, anti-gravity container. “A cross section of the plating no doubt. Dozens, if not hundreds of deaths for this sliver of metal.”
One of the other investigators, an albino Lopen woman, kneels down until she merely looms over Herbert and doesn’t tower.
“Young one.” She begins.
“I’m thirty.” He notes. It’s petty yes but she’s clearly not taking him seriously despite the seriousness of the investigation.
“Agent Jameson. The chambers in Galvori spire where this happened have an access point in Spire Anmeru correct?”
“Yes.”
“Is it being watched.”
“Of course. The fact that it is was in the report I gave you.” Herbert says.
“Very good. I think our introductions went a little quickly I am...”
“Investigator Elaine Snow. Council Representative in this endeavour and considered one of several trusted neutral parties for council affairs. Your reputation as gleaming white as your coat, barring the small birthmark in your upper left back.” Herbert says and she blinks as he leans back a little to fully lock eyes with her. “I’m fully aware of who you are and what you’re capable of ma’am.”
“I see. Very well researched young agent.” She says and he raises an eyebrow. “Now as to my request.”
“I’ll show you the chambers personally when we’ve finished here to everyone’s satisfaction. I want there to be no debates or questions remaining.”
“Yes these... laboratories and it’s scientists...”
“Is there a problem ma’am?”
“No, this is all up to standards in safety, professionalism and everyone here is...” She hesitates.
“Everyone here is?” Herbert prompts her.
“Nothing to be concerned about. However having our own tools and scientists examine things might be for the better.”
“Ma’am we have offered as such and you all insisted on seeing our results and the sources of our information as soon as possible. Your own examiners and equipment are still being prepared.” He reminds her.
“I know swee... uh...”
“Ma’am, if you’re unable to work with men perhaps you should inform the council that another investigator should be sent? This is quite serious.”
“I have no issue working with men. My own son’s advancement to CEO has more than shown me how capable they can be. The issue is however that despite your rapid advancement, this organization is still rather primitive. Compared to even a modest laboratory this place is underfunded, with a severe lack of fully trained individuals. Your educational standards are...”
“Equal to any other Centris Laboratory. We have rapidly advanced our doctors and researches to the appropriate level. They have undergone the appropriate tests and...” Herbert begins to counter before a gentle claw is placed on his opposite shoulder. The representative of the Centris Defence and Investigation Department is a cybernetic Wimparas named Miya Umberclaw. Her augmented claws have numerous powerful tools implanted into them and at the moment several are active, outright scanning Herbert even as she tries to offer hypocritical comfort.
“Look young one. We’re not dismissing all you’ve accomplished here. You’ve moved like lightning and accomplished an incredible number of things. You’ve moved like lightning and need to understand that we’re here now. We can take care of this...”
“I believe the appropriate term is Matronizing?” Herbert asks as he brushes both Umberclaw and Snow off his shoulders.
“Actually it’s still patronizing with the root word being patron as in a business contract.” Doctor Ivan Grace says as he simply appears in their presence. “I received your orders for the testing of the Blood Metal. It crosses over closely into my own specializing as a cloner. I found... some very confusing data sir and you need to be aware of it.”
“And how did you... why is your Axiom Presence in such a... Why are you...?” Jahlassi asks in confusion at the unusually tall Kohb man.
“For a quick summation, a particularly clone of myself I made decided to attempt to create a Primal Kohb and used me as the main ingredient. While I have been rescued and restored, I am still changed be the events in question. But that is not important for this mess. I’ve dated the Blood Metal and when I got confusing results I expanded my search. What I’ve found is raising further questions.”
“I commend your skill on capturing an audience Doctor Grace. Please share your findings.”
“Of course, first off the age of the metal. I’ve taken samples from each section of the Blood Metal sheeting, no more than one per meter square. Between the one hundred samples only three of them are over a century in age. And only in part. The vast, vast majority of the metal is less than fifty years in age. Averaging between twenty five and forty years old.”
“Excuse me? That... that can’t be right.” Umberclaw protests and Doctor Grace nods.
“It struck me as odd as well. Which led me to test the samples that were incorporated into the unusual patterns. That’s where things got... odder.”
“Odd how?”
“The areas directly marked by the pattern register as being freshly made. As in within the last seventy two hours fresh.” Doctor Grace says before he holds out his left hand and suddenly a small sealed vial with a transparent yellow fluid is suddenly in his hand and an entirely red sliver of metal is on the bottom. Ivan gives it a shake and then holds it up. “The Blood Metal has doubled in size since I inserted it. I haven’t had a chance to test it yet. Not to mention the strange fluid is still confusing us. But we have evidence that whoever made all this has found a mass production method of Blood Metal. Or at least a more subtle way to get more of it when you already have some.”
Miya gently takes the vial and her eyes widen as she reads the information pouring in from her integrated scanners.
“This is... the fluid is being classified as amniotic with eighty five percent certainty.”
“Yes it’s similar, but still quite different, to many formulae used in cloning to support and sustain the end product while it’s being grown. If I used this substance in a cloning tank it would work, but it wouldn’t be as clean or efficient as I would like. Or really any professional cloner would care for. There’s an enormous amount of biological contamination and we can’t fully pin down the source.”
“In what way can it not be narrowed down?” Miya asks.
“Genetic Group to start with, the source is biological is the only sure thing about it, it contains traces of all types of flora and fauna and seems to be less a proper amniotic substitute and more a ‘good enough’ substitute.”
“Good enough?”
“In that it wouldn’t cause immediate irreparable damage, and if used sparingly and for short periods will suffice for... just about anything you want to clone. But it will also be extremely dirty compared to normal universal amniotic substitutes, even the most mass produced and low quality varieties.”
“Okay can you please skip to the part that has you concerned?” Herbert asks and Doctor Grace nods.
“May I have the sample back please?” He asks holding out his hand and Miya passes it to him without a fuss. “Observe.”
He then gently guides Axiom into the fluid with Blood Metal and the whole Laboratory MOVES. He stops and everyone takes stock of things. Weapons are out, pulses are up and no one is comfortable or at ease. No one but Doctor Grace.
“Cognito Hazard.” Herbert growls as he deactivates his grenade and holsters his shotgun.
“Not quite. A side effect. Observe, the sample of Blood Metal has grown, and there is substantially less fluid.” Ivan explains as people store their pistols, knives and in the case of more enthusiastic individuals, cannons.
He allows Miya to take it again and she’s very, very pale. “It’s at a hundred and sixty eight percent it's previous size. We’re down to seventy three percent of the fluid in question.”
“The fluid works with the metal, creating... something. Something that induces a flight or fight response in everyone nearby. But only so long as the fluid is charged with Axiom. The more people nearby the more the metal grows, but the amount of fluid lost is consistent regardless of the growth of the metal.” Ivan explains. “Without my more... unusual Axiom sensitivities I wouldn’t have noticed, but the blood metal is literally being fed off of fear. Or perhaps.”
“The Axiom pattern created by fear.” Jahlassi says. “More torture, pointless fear and possibly pain to make more of it, but non-lethal amounts.”
She takes the vile from Miya and stares into it. “This is a very real problem.”
“If they can set off a big enough effect with the fluid and the metal working in tandem, they can hit entire plates or spires with it. Then how much of the metal will they have?” Elaine asks.
“And what will they do with it?” Miya continues the questions.
“And who have they been torturing to make more? The number of dead people in this madness just dropped through the floor. But... the number of torture victims... or repeat torture victims.” Jahlassi focuses on what matters to her the most.
“To say nothing of what it can be used for, Blood Metal has not been extensively studied, but the very few weapons that incorporated it into the past had it act like a strange combination of Khutha and Trytite. Destroying or ignoring Axiom Defences while simultaneously holding powerful Axiom effects.” Ivan adds his own concerns in.
“And they have so much that just shy of eight thousand kilos of the stuff can be used for flooring of all things.” Herbert’s observation sends a chill down their spines.
~First~ Last Next

First
Author’s Note:
How would you feel about me changing Dr. Anderson to sound British? I’m considering this change to give his character a bit more life and personality. Backstory draft - Dr. Victor Anderson is American-born, but has a British mother. After his time in the military, he pursued a career in archaeology, which had him work with the British Museum and a lot of Brits, resulting in a hybridized accent.
Let me know your thoughts in the comments!
Author’s Note 2:
If you haven't done so already, please create an account to follow and support the story!
Wanna read a HUGE 8300+ word chapter and get a sneak peek at more Manifest Fantasy manga development? Check out the Patreon!
READ 2 WEEKS AHEAD: Chapter 16 is now available for Tier 2 Manifest Fantasy Patrons and higher!
Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/drdoritosmd
Discord: https://discord.gg/wr2xexGJaD
– –
GB-2, Grenden Forest
November 29, 2024
The chamber lit up with a blast of white light – quick, like a flashbang, but silent. Even through his envirosuit’s filters, it was like getting flashed in the face with a high beam. He squinted hard, a bit annoyed. Must be the decontamination thing doing its job, he figured.
After the glare dialed down, Henry blinked away the spots in his vision. The wall melted open and he stepped into the dim corridor, his boots ringing on the metal. The way the door formed suggested nanotech, which would explain why the facility was so well-maintained and sturdy.
The section here was as quiet as the main hallway behind them, aside from some old machine’s soft hum somewhere out of sight. The air was still, almost oppressively so, as if something were lurking just out of sight. Well, as long as there weren’t any grotesque pustules and twisted biomass, he supposed they’d be fine.
Henry turned back to the small window within the chamber and gave a thumbs up. His team followed, each moving through the light.
“Well, ain’t that a kick in the pants,” Ryan muttered as he emerged from the chamber, his voice slightly distorted by his suit’s comm system. “Reckon these Gatebuilders coulda used a dimmer light.”
“Yeah, well, personally I’d take the lightshow over the risk of something crawling up my ass,” Isaac remarked.
Ryan gave a nod. “Touché.”
Ron stepped through, followed by Sera, Kelmithus, and Dr. Anderson. The two scholars were the most enamored by the sight, seemingly oblivious to the unsettling atmosphere. Hell, they were probably even excited by it.
The corridor led into a hallway with two ‘windowed' rooms on either side. Henry had seen enough of such setups to recognize them as laboratories, even if he couldn’t identify a single piece of equipment.
Dr. Anderson walked up to one of the windows, face plastered on the invisible field that separated the room from the hallway. “The technology here is incredible. To have remained undisturbed and operational for so long…”
“No signs of Baranthurian interference either,” Henry added, noting the fact that the various rooms hadn’t been stripped bare. “They must not have breached this section.”
Kelmithus summoned a few small orbs of light to illuminate their path. "Indeed. The Baranthurians either lacked the means or chose not to pursue this area."
They pushed deeper until they reached another doorway. The wall here seemed… dead. It gave off the same impression as seeing a pale body, even if the analogy was stretching it for the nanotech walls before him. Henry touched the wall. As expected, it lacked the same malleable feel as the other parts of the Gatebuilder site.
“Captain, here,” Sera announced over the silence, crouching down by the open doorway.
The team huddled around Sera, spotting a thin wisp of white in the corner. Cobwebs, and large ones at that. Not so undisturbed after all, Henry thought, eyeing the delicate threads moving in their wake.
He straightened up as Kelmithus sent some orbs of light through the doorway. The room had a box in the middle, accompanied by a chair and some sort of stand positioned directly in front of the chair. From the looks of it, it was some sort of containment unit or isolation chamber, large enough to accommodate a passenger airliner – or perhaps even the myriad of higher-tiered fauna on Gaerra.
As he peered further, Henry noticed a tube linking the box to the ceiling, likely a vent. Scattered around were desks holding alien tech so advanced he couldn’t even tell what they were. Though, there weren’t many of them. Most of the tables were empty. If he had to guess, the Gatebuilders probably materialized whatever they needed, just like with the walls. An empty panel decorated the wall beside the entrance – an empty weapon rack. Among the relics that were present, he spotted heaps of dust that had probably been important documents at some point, now just whispers of what was.
Henry approached the containment unit, studying it closely. The box was completely sealed, with no visible seams or openings. Whatever the Gatebuilders held in here had zero chance of ever getting out.
Dr. Anderson stepped up to the stand in front of the unit tapping it with his hand. The pedestal reacted, flashing a holographic screen above. “Incredible,” he said, stepping back.
“If only we found one of these when the gateway was unearthed, huh?” Henry remarked.
Dr. Anderson gave a light chuckle. “I can’t imagine it would’ve been any easier to activate it even if we did. We would have been like cavemen trying to figure out how an iPhone works.”
The screen was clean, devoid of clutter and icons aside from a set of lines, which appeared to be a menu. The archaeologist’s brow furrowed, a slight movement that Henry caught through the man’s helmet. Was he… stumped? Kelmithus joined him, beset by the same confusion.
“Any luck, Doc?” Ron asked, moving to stand beside him.
Dr. Anderson shook his head. “There’s just too little information on the Gatebuilders. This is my first time seeing their language. I don’t even know where to begin.”
“Kel?” Henry asked, looking at the archmage.
He, too, shook his head. “Absent one versed in the language, my translation magic finds no purchase.”
Despite the bleak outlook, Dr. Anderson didn’t seem like he was ready to give up. He hovered his finger over the screen and flicked it up. The screen reacted accordingly, scrolling through the menu. Then, he pressed one of the entries. A soft chime echoed through the room and an icon appeared on the display. It was a simple rectangular shape, reminiscent of a battery with a sliver of red at the bottom.
“Well, that’s something we can recognize,” Henry said, pointing at the icon. “Guess that confirms it – this section is lower on power.”
“Oughta be simple enough, right?” Ryan asked.
Isaac inspected the icon on the screen. “Yeah, I dunno about that one. Certainly won’t be like substituting wire for vine. For all we know, these guys could’ve used antimatter or, shit, even zero point energy.”
“Antimatter? Zero point energy? You speak in riddles, Specialist Yen. Though, should fortune favor us, mayhap the solution will be within our grasp, even if the means are yet unknown,” Sera said.
It was optimistic, probably even far-fetched, but there was still a chance. “Yeah, let’s hope all we gotta do is flip a switch…” Henry tilted his head, directing his team to begin the search.
They spread out, searching for clues. The room was relatively barren for its massive size. As they moved further in and away from the containment unit, the presence of cobwebs increased, particularly near a doorway at the far end. Seeing that was the only other door in the room, they gravitated to it.
Henry glanced at Kelmithus, who immediately responded by illuminating the doorway. It led into a room full of the stasis platforms they had identified earlier. The darkness inside seemed to permeate with greater effect. Was it just an optical illusion?
Sera paused, halting her approach a few feet away from the doorway. “I… hear something.”
Ron took up a position beside the ‘frame’, preparing for a breach. “Yeah… I hear it too. The fuck is that? Shit’s giving me the heebie jeebies.”
Henry checked his HUD, confirming that his helmet was picking up the audio. He adjusted the settings to enhance the sound. It was a strange combination of noises, like a brush running along wood, accompanied by a continuous whine of stretching rope and soft, rapid drumbeats.
These were familiar sounds, though he’d only heard them once before. It wasn’t a pleasant experience: he had put on a helmet prior to a training session only to hear strange scratching and tapping. Only when a spider crawled along his visor did he realize where the sounds originated from.
Here, the sounds were amplified, audible enough to be registered by Sera. The scratching noises – stridulating, as it was apparently called – were like a sinister whisper, promising something far worse than the average creepy crawly. He’d seen his fair share of oversized bugs in Gaerra, but hadn’t yet come across ones large enough to be deemed monsters and granted their own tier. If the size of the cobwebs were any indication, whatever created them was no ordinary spider.
Henry looked back into the room, then turned to his team. He signaled for Isaac and Ryan to stack up on either side of the doorway, their shotguns at the ready. Sera and Ron took up positions behind them, while Kelmithus and Dr. Anderson stayed back, prepared to provide support if needed.
Henry held up three fingers, counting down silently. Three, two, one. On the signal, Isaac and Ryan breached the room. Isaac went left while Ryan went right, their weapons sweeping the corners and potential hiding spots as they cleared the immediate area.
“Clear left,” Isaac reported.
“Clear right,” Ryan confirmed.
Henry and the rest of the team entered the room, following behind Isaac and Ryan. The corners in the ceiling and the blind spots behind the few desks scattered around were clear, but full of webbing, The stasis chamber was cavernous, rows upon rows of platforms stretching out into the darkness. Some of the pods had near-transparent fields around them, giving off a faint glow that cast eerie shadows on the walls.
“Owens, take point. Sera, cover our six. Kel, lights,” Henry ordered in a low voice.
As more orbs of light brightened their surroundings, they moved deeper into the chamber. The tapping and stridulating from earlier ceased, giving way to an eerie silence. As they progressed, Henry felt a growing sense of unease. The sheer number of creatures contained within the fields was staggering. Hundreds, maybe more, all from different regions.
Some were familiar, like the monsters he’d encountered and learned about in preparation for the Tier 5 test – likely distant ancestors of dradaks and rillifanes. Others, less so. They looked like they were pulled right out of a horror film or dystopian universe – clawed, insect-like monsters that seemed poised to swarm en masse, and unsettling aliens whose appendages looked perfectly designed to latch onto a person’s face. Hopefully, the fact that he couldn’t recognize them meant they were extinct.
Sera was drawn to a pod with a snake-like creature within. It had scales that caught the faint light, sharp teeth that looked capable of tearing flesh, and a pair of small, awkward wings. “This bears great resemblance to a fenwyrm. An ancestor, perhaps?”
Dr. Anderson inspected one of the active pods, his face practically pressed against the stasis field as he examined the creature inside. It was a formidable-looking beast, some sort of arthropod with a hardened carapace. “Fascinating,” he muttered, “The Gatebuilders were studying Gaerra’s wildlife. I wonder… did they have magic before coming here, or did they get it after?”
Henry glanced at another pod containing one of the primal fenwyrms. “Kel? What do you think?”
Kelmithus studied a nearby specimen and the stasis field containing it. “A perplexing query, that is. The Gatebuilders’ technologies are so thoroughly imbued with the Aether that discerning the origin of their magical prowess is a formidable task. However, the study of the various beasts herein suggests that magic is, indeed, endemic to our world. Had they brought magic with them, I gather they would have focused their efforts on other pursuits.”
“Research sounds about right. But hey, maybe they just wanted to collect specimens for a zoo,” Ron shrugged.
“A zoo?” Isaac scoffed. “More like a freak show. Look at this thing,” he said, pointing to a pod containing a creature with tentacles sprouting from its back, its maw filled with razor-sharp teeth.
Henry shook his head, scanning the rows of stasis platforms. The deeper they progressed, the more frequently they came across empty units. The power outage had done a number on this place. Some of the platforms were totally dead, their stasis fields – and whatever creatures were inside – long gone. Others flickered on and off, equally empty.
The scene before him made little sense. “Gatebuilder tech so far has been so well-maintained; I doubt decay or erosion could’ve caused this,” Henry noted.
Dr. Anderson nodded. “Agreed. Something must have managed to get inside, cause a cascading effect.”
Suddenly, a buzzing sound echoed through the chamber, like a power line got cut open. Henry whirled around, aiming his shotgun in the direction of the noise. One of the pods had shut down, its stasis field flickering and dying as the creature inside tumbled out onto the floor. It was a small, furry thing, with big eyes and a long tail – almost like a squirrel. It looked up at them and let out a pitiful whimper before scurrying off into the shadows.
“What the hell?” Ron started, scanning the perimeter with his weapon.
The scratching and drumming sounds were getting louder now, bouncing off the walls in an unsettling chorus that set Henry on edge. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, his senses on high alert. Whatever lay ahead probably wasn’t as threatening as a group of insurgents with AKs or a Sentinel Lindwyrm, but it sure as hell topped them in terms of creepiness.
“Let’s fall back to the containment unit room,” Henry ordered.
They retraced their steps quickly and without incident. The sounds faded behind them, but the unease they left in their wake remained. Once they reached the relative safety of the containment unit room, Henry took up a position near the entrance. “Yen, get the Black Hornet in the air. We need to know what we’re dealing with.”
Isaac wasted no time as he prepped the nano drone for launch. Hopefully, the profile of the small helicopter drone would be enough to allow it to sneak through undetected. The device powered up, rotors spinning as it lifted from Isaac’s palm. With deft taps on his wrist control, Isaac directed the Black Hornet through the doorway into the stasis chamber.
Henry watched the drone feed’s camera feed on his HUD, jaw clenched tight as the device navigated the rows of stasis pods. The thermal imaging revealed little. The stasis platforms seemed to produce no excess heat, as if neither the machinery nor the creatures suspended within the fields existed.
Suddenly, the feed focused on a large, shape crouched over a smaller heat signature. As the drone drew closer, the details became clearer – it was an arachnid figure, akin to a very large spider and easily the size of a desk, feasting on the remains of the furry creature they had seen earlier.
Henry noted the creature’s size and behavior, calculating the potential threat it posed to the team. Observing the creature’s aggressive dismantling of the pray and the apparent liquefaction associated with its feeding, Henry suspected it might employ ambush tactics, akin to terrestrial trapdoor spiders. In fact, it looked familiar… almost like a –
“Spiranid,” Sera muttered, finishing Henry’s thoughts. “Though, I can’t say I’ve ever seen a Spiranid that looks quite like this.”
“This appears to be a primal form of Spiranid, potentially a precursor to the species we’re familiar with today,” Dr. Anderson pointed out. “I’m not as well versed as Dr. Perdue, but the segmentation of the abdomen and structure of its mandibles don’t match Spiranid documentation from the Adventurer’s Guild.”
“Wonder how different these ones are…” Ron said.
The drone continued its sweep, revealing two more stasis chambers ahead. Each room was crawling with more of the spiders, cocoons of their unfortunate victims tucked away in the corners. The smallest were the size of stools, while the largest were as big as couches. Henry counted at least ten in each room, noting their general positions.
As the drone pressed on, it entered a larger area, one devoid of stasis platforms. In the center of the room, the camera picked up a large, webbed-up structure that looked like it could be a power unit. Surrounding it were several large, pulsating masses that could only be eggs, visible even in the low light.
Henry brought his hand up, expanding the feed with his fingers. If that was the power source for this section of the facility, then those eggs were a problem. Clearing those eggs was crucial before even thinking about restoring power.
Just as he was about to give the order to recall the drone, the feed suddenly cut out. The last image seared into Henry’s mind – a massive, segmented leg filling the screen. “Damn,” he muttered, tightening his grip on his shotgun. “We’ve got a big one in there. Could be damn near the size of a truck, at least.”
“At least we got a map of the area,” Isaac said, uploading a basic layout of the rooms to their HUDs.
Henry glanced at the map at the top left of his heads-up display, which showed the rooms ahead and blue dots representing his team. “Alright, listen up. Stasis chambers first. Yen, get a new drone up. Owens, Hayes – flank security. Sera, Kelmithus, with me. Power room is the OBJ once we’ve cleared out the rooms. Sera, focus on the smaller targets. Leave the larger targets for our guns. We’ll try to minimize collateral damage as best we can. Kelmithus, focus on shielding and temperature: if these are anything like the spiders back home, extreme cold should slow them down a bit. Think you can manage that?”
Kelmithus nodded. “It shall be as the Lindwyrm’s magic. How great a chill must I summon?”
Henry gave it some thought. Their envirosuits were rated for extreme conditions, from the freezing Arctic to the void of space. The Gatebuilders’ technology could probably handle it as well. He figured Kelmithus could go all out. “As cold as possible, as quickly as possible. We’ll build up our tactical advantage; we push in after the temperature drops below freezing.”
“Once we reach the power room, our priority will be to neutralize the suspected queen and clear out the eggs. Expect CQB. Use the environment, maintain spacing, watch crossfire. Doc, identify any manual controls or interfaces. We’ll breach the rooms with flashbangs; no frags. Check your gear and we’ll head in.”
Everyone gave nods or thumbs up, signaling their readiness.
Henry raised his shotgun. “Let’s go.”
The archmage took a deep breath, focusing his energy as he approached the doorway. Henry watched as Kelmithus raised his staff, a faint blue glow emanating from its orb. The air around them began to cool rapidly, evident from a thin layer of frost that formed on the metal surfaces. As the temperature dropped, the corresponding icon on his HUD declined, finally plummeting below 30 Fahrenheit.
Kelmithus lowered his staff, the blue glow fading. “It is done,” he announced.
Henry signaled to Ron and Ryan, who were already stacked up on either side of the door. They acknowledged with sharp nods, waiting for the countdown. He held up three fingers, counting down silently. Three, two, one…
As Henry’s pinky went down, Ron and Ryan pushed through, their weapons sweeping the corners and potential hiding spots as they cleared the immediate area. Henry and the rest of the team entered the chamber. The spider’s must’ve retreated into the depths of the room, hoping to get away from the freezing temperatures as best they could. He noticed a glint of webbing tucked away in the far reaches of the room, near a light source.
“Sera, take point. Kel, lights,” Henry ordered with a hushed tone.
More orbs of light brightened the chamber. The soft tapping and stridulating from earlier had ceased, leaving an eerie silence. The stasis fields didn’t seem to be affected by the chill, their surfaces unblemished by frost, or any other indication of the freezing temperatures. They didn’t radiate heat, but he wondered if the Spiranids would’ve gravitated to them anyway, due to the faint light they gave.
Suddenly, a dark shape lunged from behind one of the active stasis fields, skittering towards them with alarming speed. Sera reacted instinctively, cleaving the dog-sized spider in two with almost no effort. The creature didn’t even have time to cry out, silenced by the sheer speed of its death.
Then, more jumped at them. “Contact!” Henry called out, already moving to acquire a target rushing at them from the right side.
He reacted instinctively, his shotgun snapping up as he squeezed the trigger. The blast echoed in the confined space, the buckshot tearing into the Spiranid’s carapace. It let out a high-pitched shriek, ichor splattering the ground as it thrashed. Henry blasted it again, following up in quick succession.
Sera whirled to her left, a blast of wind magic sending a pair of smaller Spiranids crashing into the wall. They twitched and went limp, their exoskeletons cracked. It seemed the stool-sized ones were fragile; he guessed that a basic stomp would be enough to neutralize them. The larger ones, however, seemed to soak damage much better than their miniature counterparts.
More Spiranids emerged from the shadows, scuttling along the walls and ceiling. Henry heard more weapons fire – powerful shotgun blasts, the dull cracks of an M7, and even the sound of someone’s M18. It was apparently Kelmithus, taking shots at a Spiranid that he’d impaled with an icicle.
The sight of an archmage in an envirosuit – wielding a staff in one hand and a gun in the other – was certainly a sight to behold. If he had to sum it up in one word, he’d say it was unreal. Maybe even badass. As unique as the scene was, he was sure he’d probably see more of it in the future. He kept the surprise in the back of his mind as he took down another Spiranid, this one the size of a desk and managing to eat a shot directly to the face.
A quick burst from Ron’s M7 took it down. That was the last one, for now. Henry signaled his team to move forward, reloading as they used the stasis fields for cover. He could hear the skittering of more Spiranids ahead, their shapes darting between platforms near the entrance to the next room. He held up a fist, signaling his team to hold position.
“Yen, Hayes, flank left,” he whispered into his comm. “Owens, with me. Everyone else, cover us.”
The arrows on his HUD spread out as his team moved to comply. Henry and Ron advanced slowly, their weapons trained on the gaps between the stasis units. The skittering grew louder. He didn’t know if spiders were capable of emotion, but if they were, the sounds now suggested they must’ve been completely pissed off.
As they reached the end of the row, Henry prepared a countdown. On one, he and Ron swung around the corner, weapons at the ready.
Four large Spiranids crouched behind the stasis platforms. Their glowing red eyes gave the impression of rage, mandibles clicking like a bunch of angry crickets on steroids. Yeah, they were definitely pissed off. Henry didn’t hesitate. He aimed at the nearest one and squeezed the trigger, the shotgun bucking in his hands as the buckshot tore into the creature’s carapace.
Ron fired simultaneously, hitting the closest target with a burst before quickly transitioning to the next. The monstrous spiders shrieked, their exoskeletons shattering under the onslaught of lead. Ichor splattered the walls and slid off the active stasis fields, pooling in sickly green puddles.
But one of them, larger than the others, didn’t want to go down easy. It lunged forward, faster than something that size had any right to move. It slammed into Ron, sending him sprawling. The creature then set its sights on Henry, its mandibles looking like it could crush the envirosuit plating. Henry brought his shotgun to bear on the Spiranid’s head and fired.
The creature reeled back, its face pockmarked with small holes from the pellets that struck it. Yet, it didn’t seem to be enough. Before he could get a second shot off, a blast of frigid air engulfed the creature. It screeched, its movements slowing as frost coated its exoskeleton. Sera stepped forward, her hand outstretched as the glow of magic faded from her gloved fingers.
Henry took the opening. He stepped in close, pressing the barrel of his Benelli M4 against the Spiranid’s frozen head and pulled the trigger. The blast shattered its carapace like a hammer through ice, fragments of frozen chitin tinkling to the floor. The Spiranid slumped over, its legs twitching in its final moments.
“Clear?” Henry called out, scanning the room.
“Clear,” came the response from Isaac and Ryan, who had circled around to the other side.
Henry helped Ron to his feet, checking him over for injuries. Thankfully, his envirosuit only appeared to have minor scratches – nothing that breached inside. “You good?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Ron grunted, rolling his shoulder. “Tough bastard caught me by surprise. Feel like a damn pinata today.”
“What doesn’t kill ya, am I right?” Henry remarked, suppressing a smile as Ron gave an annoyed sigh. He clapped Ron on the shoulder before turning to face the battlefield.
The floor was littered with Spiranid corpses, their ichor pooling on the metal. It was quite a mess; hopefully the collection personnel wouldn’t mind. The various parts here should be more than enough to satisfy Dr. Perdue for a while.
“Alright,” Henry called out. “Let’s keep moving. We’ve got more rooms to clear.”
As they regrouped, Henry checked his Holding Bag to keep track of his ammo expenditure. He still had enough to clear out a dozen more rooms if he needed to, thanks to the Holding Bag’s capacity. The standard buckshot worked well against the Spiranids, but sometimes he’d need to shoot two, maybe three times to take down one of the bigger ones. The white phosphorus ammo would definitely perform better, but these were hard to come by. After all, this ammo wasn’t supposed to exist or be in use anymore. He guessed he’d rather save them for the upcoming ‘ boss fight.’
Kelmithus had already moved toward the next chamber, staff glowing with an icy power. The team took up positions, ready to breach as soon as the temperature dropped.
The process was repeated, the cold slowing the Spiranids’ reactions as Henry and his team stormed the room. They moved from chamber to chamber, the routine becoming almost mechanical. Kelmithus would cool the room, they would breach, and the Spiranids would fall under a hail of lead and magic.
By the time they reached the final chamber, Henry’s stomach was growling from the constant effort – and he really needed to take a piss. The job was almost done. The stasis chambers were clear, the immediate threat neutralized.
As the team took a moment to catch their breath and regroup, Henry noticed Sera approaching him. She had a pensive look on her face, as if wrestling with a thought. “Captain, might I have a word?” she asked.
Henry turned to her, his brow furrowed slightly in concern. “Of course, Sera. What’s up?”
Sera hesitated for a moment, seeming to choose her words carefully. “Fighting alongside your party… ‘tis a far cry from what I’m accustomed to. Your coordination is impressive.”
Henry nodded. “Standard procedure for us. Having magic on our side though, it’s taken things to a whole new level. Those ice blasts? Damn handy.”
“You mentioned that the ‘offer’s always open’. Being with you –” she cleared her throat, “Fighting alongside you all... ‘Tis given me pause… about your offer.”
Henry raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Thought you weren’t really interested in joining up.”
“I have dabbled,” she admitted, “Yet beholding what we may accomplish jointly… it compels me to rethink.”
Sure, Sera knew how to fight, but she wasn’t a soldier. Henry regarded her carefully. “It’s a big decision. We operate differently than Adventurers. More structure, more rules.”
Sera scoffed. “Rules, I can abide. ‘Tis just…” She hesitated, looking away for a moment. Joining your team, ‘twould change things. For me.”
Henry nodded. “Yeah, it would. But y’know, you’d still be you. Your skills, your magic… that doesn’t change. You’d just be applying them in a new way.”
Sera looked up at him, her eyes telling him all of her concerns without the sound of a single word. It was obvious – she had been a solo adventurer for so long, and joining Alpha Team was a huge shift. However, Henry could also see that her time with them was probably the most exciting experience she’d had in a while, perhaps ever.
Sera’s eyes then grew determined. “I… I have decided. Seldom have I bound my lot with that of others. I oft find Adventurers distrustful, but I see now that it was a mistake to see you as I did others. Might I join your party? Would you accept me into Alpha Team?”
Henry offered a smile. “Sera, you’re one hell of a fighter and a valuable asset to any team. I’d be honored to have you join us, but it’s not entirely my decision to make.”
Sera tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I am the leader of Alpha Team, but I still need to answer to my superiors back at Armstrong,” Henry explained. “Specifically, General Harding. Yeah, we’re a Party of Adventurers, but above that, we’re a military unit. So, the General’s the one who gives the final approval on any new members.”
Sera nodded. “I understand. And when might we seek his approval?”
“After we finish this mission and return to base,” Henry said. “I’ll vouch for you, and I’m sure the General will see the value in having you on the team. For now though, we’ve got other matters to focus on.”
“Right. The secrets of the Gatebuilders await.”
With a nod, Henry turned back to the others. “Alright, let’s get this done. We’ll sort out the rest later.”
As they rejoined the team, Henry noticed Isaac on his wrist controls, monitoring his HUD while tapping away.
“What’s our status?” he asked.
Isaac glanced up, sharing a live feed to Henry’s HUD. “See for yourself. Looks grim, Captain. Almost twenty hostiles, and…” He paused, “Think there’s another contact by that central obelisk. Bringing the drone around to get a better visual.”
The power room was expansive, centered around what appeared to be the main… generator? Encircling it were several pulsating masses resembling eggs. Shadowed corners revealed distinct Spiranid silhouettes, with one form dominating the others in size.
Just as the Spiranid Queen came into view, a string of white darted toward the display, the feed jostling as the drone was caught in what appeared to be a web. The Queen approached the camera, giving a menacing chitter as it crushed the drone under one of its legs.
Henry crossed his arms as the feed went dark. “Damn, that shit’s big,” he muttered. Turning to his team, he started his briefing, “Alright, we’ve got visual confirmation on a Spiranid Queen in there, plus about 20 smaller Spiranids. Hayes, switch to Whiskey Pete. Everyone else, check your gear, standby for breach.”
Ryan gave an amused grunt. “Been waitin’ for a chance to break out these beauties,” he murmured, sliding the white phosphorous-tipped shells into his shotgun.
Henry turned to Ron. “Owens, you’re on point with the Gustaf. On breach, engage the Queen. Prioritize the cephalothorax.” Catching Ron’s confused expression through his visor, Henry continued, “Uh, the head and neck area. Hopefully, we neutralize it quickly.”
Ron nodded, pulling a launcher out of his Holding Bag. “Solid copy.”
Henry addressed the rest of his team. “Everyone else, focus on the smaller Spiranids. Nades and suppressive fire the moment we step in. Watch your angles, control your bursts. Keep them away from the central unit; we don’t wanna accidentally make a reactor go critical. Kel, you’ve been throwing out a lot of magic. You good to chill the room ahead?”
Kelmithus gripped his staff. “Fear not, Captain. I yet have abundant reserves of mana.”
“Solid,” Henry acknowledged. “Sera, you’re our wildcard. Move smart, watch crossfire, and stay vocal.”
Sera unsheathed her sword. “Understood, Captain.”
Henry checked his Benelli M4 one last time. “Alright, stack up. Kel, work your magic. Breach on my mark.”
Henry watched the temperature drop, the warm colors on infrared giving way to the chilling blues. They were so close to finally unraveling the mysteries of the Gatebuilders. They’d dealt with the imposing Sentinel Lindwyrm outside; now, only the monstrous arachnid ahead stood in their way. As the room’s temperature dipped below freezing, Henry initiated the countdown. Three, two, one… execute.
-- --
READ 2 WEEKS AHEAD: Chapter 16 is now available for Tier 2 Manifest Fantasy Patrons and higher!
Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/drdoritosmd
Discord: https://discord.gg/wr2xexGJaD
Next

“We need a bigger bed,” I said.
Elincia nestled to my side. Her platinum hair cascaded over her pretty face, and her emerald eyes gleamed in the dim light of the cramped room like those of a cat. Like every morning, my heart skipped a beat, but I did my best to hide my astonishment. I knew Elincia would cling to it and tease me for the rest of the day.
A thin sunbeam crept between the curtains. Hundreds of pages of runic research covered the desk. Alchemic ingredients floated inside glass flasks, piling in the room's corners. Dirty clothes piled in a corner. Elincia was a cleaning maniac, and the mess was a living sign of how tight our schedules were.
“We need a bigger bed,” I repeated.
Elincia chuckled. “I’m too clingy?”
I wrapped my arm around her, pulling her closer. “I mean it. I can barely move with you taking up all of the space.”
She nudged me with her elbow beneath the blankets. “Oh, admit it, you love to have me so close.”
I kissed her forehead. “I love the touch of your cold feet and how your hair gets in my mouth, don’t get me wrong, but I need space for my arm.”
Despite the healing skills and Elincia’s curative salves, the burns on my arm stabbed like a thousand glass shards. The Healers from the Guard said it would heal, but it would take a while. That’s what I got for overusing Energy Potions. A stack of Mana Toxicity was too dangerous, and the benefits of chugging Energy Potions were too few compared to a High-Grade Healing Potion at the right moment.
“We’ll have Ginz look into crafting a bigger bed,” Elincia giggled as she kissed my cheek. “I’m still going to cling.”
“I can live with that,” I replied, stretching my back.
I wouldn’t change my life for anything else. Despite the previous night's fight, I felt energized. I suspected the System blessed me with a hidden Status every time I woke up to Elincia by my side, but nothing in my Character Sheet suggested that.
“So, you are level forty now,” I said. I eventually had to get up, but for now, I wanted to remain in bed, hugging Elincia and pretending this was a lazy Saturday back on Earth.
“It’s not that big of a deal. Alchemist’s stat growths aren’t very impressive, but at least my mana reserves improved,” Elincia said, playing with my hair. “The problem is my titles. I have done very little research with all the work around the orphanage. By level forty, I should have at least one Unique Recipe under my name.”
“With all the extra hands, I think you’ll have enough time now,” I said.
“I’m afraid it will be the opposite,” Elincia whispered, searching for my lips.
Before we could kiss, someone frantically knocked on the door.
“Miss Elincia! There are weird people in the orphanage!” Shu yelled from the corridor.
The door slammed open, and Shu appeared in the doorway, wearing a cooking pot as a helmet. We had told the kids the night’s commotion was caused by a small group of grave robbers. They believed the story and continued sleeping as if nothing had happened. It was good to know that, at least, they felt safe in the orphanage.
Shu ran inside as fast as her talons allowed her. When she had crossed half the room, she used her wings to rise into the air and dove into the bed, softly landing between us. There, she clung to Elincia with her arms and legs.
Elincia stroked her hair.
“There is a big green one and a scary wolf one. She has fangs and claws, and I think she might want to eat someone,” Shu said with an alarmed expression.
Elincia laughed.
“Those are Risha and Astrid,” she explained, cradling Shu against her chest. Shu extended her wings, making herself comfortable. They were warm. “Risha and Astrid are my friends, like you with Nokti, Virdian, and Ash. They used to live in the orphanage way before you arrived.”
“They don’t have parents?” Shu asked, appalled.
Elincia nodded.
“Well then, I guess they can stay at the orphanage. I better go tell them they are welcome before they decide to leave,” Shu said, climbing down the bed and walking to the door.
“That’s a great idea,” Elincia said.
Shu closed the door behind her a moment later, and Elicia and I were alone again.
“You don’t seem very thrilled about Risha and Astrid staying here,” I said.
“Give me a break,” Elincia replied, hiding her face in the curve of my neck.
We lay there in comfortable silence, the only sound being the distant chatter of the kids in the kitchen. Danger upon the orphanage, but for a moment, the little joy of lazing together was all that mattered. If anything, we deserved it.
The scenes of last night passed quickly before my eyes, yet I didn’t feel a sliver of remorse—I wasn’t even angry. When the thieves cornered me in the alley a few months ago, and Sir Janus killed them, I felt regret and anger. Regret because two people had died. Anger because they had forced me to resort to violence. Now, I felt none. On a rational level, I wished things were different, but on an emotional level, I felt completely detached from the situation. A part of me even felt proud because I was able to protect the orphanage.
I used a lock of Elincia’s hair to tickle her nose. She grunted and shook her head.
“How are you feeling,” I asked.
“I’m not ready to fully forgive Risha and Astrid, but I guess they can stay. It’s what Mister Lowell would’ve wanted. I just need time,” Elincia replied.
“I meant about last night,” I pointed out.
“Oh, that,” Elincia shrugged. “Zealots are known to be strong and unpredictable foes, and Defenders are a strong advanced class. Your combat power is comparable to a level 40, and the shotgun allows me to one-shot any mid-level regardless of their class, as long as I have the element of surprise. I’d say no criminal group in Farcrest can safely attack us now.”
Elincia had a completely different set of worries, but she was right. Most of the city's inhabitants were between level one and twenty-five. Veteran Guardsmen and Sentinels reached around level thirty-five, but that was the peak for most people. To keep progressing, one had to face the dangers of the Farlands. Those who surpassed level forty were the ones who fought against Monster Surges and survived to tell the story.
With our current combat power, only a few foes could touch us.
“How about you? How are you feeling?” Elincia interrupted my train of thought.
“I’m feeling annoying,” I replied, nibbling on Elincia’s ear in the most bothersome way.
I still cared about Elincia and the kids’ well-being. I cared about Risha, Astrid, Ginz, Nasiah, and Captain Kiln, and I even cared for the regular citizens of Farcrest, although in a more diffused and distant way. I wasn’t turning into a cold-blooded murderer any time soon, not even in exchange for all the levels.
“Don’t you have to prepare your team for the tournament?” Elincia said.
Alarms went off in my brain. We had four days until the tournament. It wasn’t long enough to take the girls to the Farlands to level up, and it was barely enough time to teach them anything else. I went over my mental list, trying to come up with a new plan and cursing my bad luck and whoever wanted to sabotage the orphanage.
I kicked the blankets and jumped to my feet. Elincia hissed, trying to remain covered. Winter was coming to an end, but the days were still cold and windy. I wondered if there would be any snow before spring. I put on my training clothes and winter boots using my mana as a third hand. A moment later, I was ready to roll.
“Don’t overdo it!” Elincia said as I left the room.
“I won’t if you promise to get along with your friends!”
Elincia pouted. “They aren’t my friends!”
I blew her a kiss and jogged down the hallway, out of the sleeping quarters, into the corridor, and into the kitchen. I rubbed my hands together to drive away the morning's cold. Inside, Ginz and Risha were sitting near the stove while the little kids fluttered around. Shu and the snake twins were excited about Risha’s presence, and even the youngest ones seemed to accept him. It wasn’t a surprise. Risha was the kind of person who fell on his feet wherever he went.
As soon as I entered the room, Risha and Ginz raised their heads and greeted me.
“You should have woke me up,” I said.
“I prepare breakfast for a whole platoon. I’m used to this. How is your arm doing?” Risha replied with a worried expression, moving to the side to open up space on the bench.”
“Healing skills helped,” I replied, grabbing a bowl of gruel, and adding raisins, nuts, and honey. “What about you? How is it to be back home?”
Risha sighed. “Ash doesn’t like me; he has made it clear, but I don’t understand why. The other kids are okay with me. Nokti and Virdian already invited me to work on the farm.”
I cast an accusatory glance toward the snake twins. They totally wanted Risha’s muscle to boost their potato production. The kids seemed to notice because they scurried out of the kitchen, giggling.
“It’s okay. Ash isn’t very fond of me either,” I said, burying my spoon in the gruel.
“Teeth are for chewing. I thought a Scholar would know.” Risha said, prompting a laugh from the youngest orphans.
“I’m in a hurry. Places to be. People to talk to,” I replied, shoveling another spoonful of gruel into my mouth. It wasn’t bad, but Elincia’s gruel was better. “By the way, do you have any useful skills other than your class?”
Risha blinked repeatedly. My question was a bit out of place in a world where Class was everything. However, he quickly recovered.
“I guess I know my camping stuff. I have lived in the Farlands for the last seven or eight years. I know how to camp safely almost everywhere in any season: summer, winter, forest, mountain, dry, humid,” Risha replied. “Why?”
“Good. First thing in the morning, you’ll teach camping to Elincia’s class. Then, in the afternoons, you’ll help my class spar,” I said, scraping my bowl for one last spoonful of gruel and putting it on the pile of dirty dishes. “Welcome back to the orphanage.”
I swallowed and walked to the door.
“Wait!” Risha stopped me, putting his hand on my shoulder. “I can help the older kids spar, but I’m not a teacher. I don’t know anything about your scholarly things.”
I couldn’t help but notice that Elincia was at least twice as rough as Risha.
Ginz snorted. “You’ll do fine, Risha. I’ll teach you everything there is to know about teaching kids.”
Risha raised an eyebrow. It seemed that the present Ginz clashed with Risha’s mental image of the past Ginz. I couldn’t help but smile. Ginz had changed a lot since arriving at the orphanage; it wasn’t merely his level, fame, or his skills as a Craftsman. He used to be a meek and fearful man, but now he was a dependable friend.
I just had to make sure he didn’t experiment with explosives inside the orphanage.
“Teaching the specifics can be boring, but if you tell them everything is part of a bigger project, they will actually listen to you,” Ginz explained. “Tell them you’ll be camping with them in the groove when spring starts. They will love it.”
Risha opened his mouth to reply but couldn’t find the words. Ginz’s idea was actually very smart. He continued explaining the minutiae of Elincia’s class to Risha, so I seized the opportunity to leave the kitchen and exit the manor.
My class was already in the backyard.
Zaon and Wolf sat in the big stump while Firana and Ilya sparred against Astrid simultaneously. Ilya cast [Entangling Vines], and a root emerged from the ground, shooting at Astrid’s ankle. However, Astrid dodged without breaking a sweat. Her combination of innate agility and boosting skills put her in a completely different speed tier. Firana didn’t give up and used Ilya’s vine in conjunction with her [Windrider] skill to boost herself forward, rapier first. Astrid kicked the blade aside and jumped out of Ilya’s range.
“Good morning,” I greeted, interrupting the fight.
The girls disengaged and rushed to greet me. The older kids already knew the truth about last night’s events. Zaon had run to get Ilya, which alerted Firana that something was happening in the kitchen. She awakened Wolf so she wouldn’t be the only one scolded for being up late. Ultimately, the four ended up in the kitchen.
“How’s your arm doing, Rob?” Firana asked.
“It’s Mister Clarke,” I replied.
“Come on, I’m an adult now. I should be allowed to call you by your name,” Firana complained.
“You are still my student, Miss Aias,” I shot her down, to Ilya’s delight. “My arm is doing well, by the way. Just a bit sore.”
During the night, I discovered an extra functionality for [Awareness]. The skill doesn't only enhance my senses but could also redirect them to a certain extent. It was a blessing considering that the pain grew as the hours passed and the healing magic dissipated, and it was better than Astrid barging into the room every half hour to refresh the healing spell.
Astrid came forward with a worried expression.
“Should I check it?” She said, and before I could answer, she grabbed my arm and washed it with the green light of her healing skill. After a couple of seconds, when the wound became saturated with magic, she let me go.
I thanked her and looked at my students.
“The tournament starts in four days,” I said, examining their reactions. Every teacher knew that faces usually told more than words.
Ilya remained calm, Firana buzzed with excitement, and Wolf seemed happy, although it was hard to tell, considering his natural stoicism. Zaon, however, seemed a bit more concerned than usual.
“Are we discussing strategy?” Firana asked.
“No. I just wanted to let you know I’m very proud of you all,” I said, my words seeming to catch them by surprise. “Regardless of the tournament outcome, I’m very happy with your progress. From the beginning, I knew you had a lot to show, and you have far surpassed my expectations. As a teacher, it’s been a privilege and a pleasure to work with you.”
The four of them remained silent until Firana opened her mouth.
“That means we are your favorite students ever?” She asked.
“No. You are too sassy,” I replied.
“Oh, come on! You are lying!” Firana said.
“He’s lying,” Ilya said.
“Mister Clarke wouldn’t have favorites,” Zaon pointed out.
“Are you messing with me, Twig?” Firana said, putting her arm around Zaon’t neck.
“Enough!” I said, holding back my laughter. I clapped my hands to catch the kid’s attention. “We have little time to refine the last details. Today, we will split the class. The girls will spar with Astrid, and the boys will come with me. Understood?”
Astrid and the kids nodded.
“We don’t need classless scrubs here. Go away!” Firana said, showing Zaon and Wolf her tongue.
“Don’t cry later when your fart powers fail,” Wolf calmly replied.
A vein popped on Firana’s forehead. I sighed. Wolf knew perfectly well how to annoy her, but Firana wasn’t cool-headed enough to notice. I might have to retract my statement about the kid’s progress.
Before a fight could start, I brought the boys to the groove.
“Mister Clarke?” Zaon asked when we were outside eavesdropping range.
“Yes?” I replied, putting my sword on an old fallen tree and adjusting my padded jacket. There was no sign a battle had been fought the night before other than the burned foliage of a handful of trees.
“I’m going to be Classless during the first part of the tournament… and I’m not as strong as Wolf or skillful as Firana,” Zaon started. “I don’t want to make the team lose.”
I nodded.
“I’m aware you will be Classless for another week. But you have a tool none of your teammates have,” I calmly replied. “You are an Elf, Zaon. Look at your Character Sheet.”
Zaon focused his eyes on an invisible point before him.
“Night Vision? Are we fighting at night?” Zaon asked.
“Miss Elincia told me you inherited all three elven traits. Night Vision, Light-Footed, and Keen Senses, Zaon,” I replied with a mischievous smile. “I brought you two here to teach you a secret technique that will allow you to win every match.”
____________
First Prev Next
____________
Discord Royal Road Patreon

PREVIOUS
The curtain sheers billowed with the ocean breeze, and I held down the papers on my desk, indignantly. “Could you close the window?” I asked and Achaicus glanced up.
“You have legs, don’t you?”
“We don’t all have wine glasses to hold the paperwork down,” I retorted bluntly.
I was helping him with the mountains of paperwork left behind by our father. Most of it was construction approvals or assistance requests that he had ignored, and now it was a matter of trying to figure out which projects were still relevant.
“Close the window yourself, I’m busy,” he muttered, but as I was about to argue further there was a knock on the door.
Our cousin, Markos, stood in the doorway. He leant on the door frame as he wiped blood off his hands with a cloth. “Am I interrupting?” he mused.
My brother straightened, “No, what do you need?”
“Has the vanir spoken?” I asked simultaneously and Markos smiled.
“Not yet, it seems he’s quite stubborn. I’m not sure how much information we’ll get from him.”
“Are you certain, have you tried everything?” Achaicus asked, annoyed.
“Everything that won’t kill him,” he responded cheerfully, “So far he’s only provided medical information, did you know that vanir teeth regrow?”
“You pulled his teeth?” I enquired.
“Of course!” Our cousin truly was psychotic.
“And he still said nothing?”
“Nothing of use.”
“Fine,” my brother sighed, “I’ll send word to the vanir. If the boy won’t talk, perhaps he can be used as leverage.”
Markos nodded, “That would be my recommendation as well.”
“Is there anything else to report?”
“Nothing of importance,” he shrugged, turning to go. However, it was as we had just begun to return to the task at hand that he paused, turning back, “Oh, but he did make a request: he wishes to speak with you, Nathaniel.”
I hesitated, surprised, “..Why?”
***
My footsteps echoed off the walls as I made my way down to the holding chambers with mild trepidation. I couldn’t imagine why Mercurissen wanted to talk to me, or what he was planning. Part of me thought not to go at all, but curiosity won out.
I paused when I reached the lower floor. This was where prisoners were kept, and I opened the door into his holding cell cautiously. Twisting the latch and letting it swing inward of its own accord. The room beyond was dark. Light spilled into the space in a neat rectangle and I peered in.
Dried stains dirtied the floor, and I allowed my energy to flare, creating light as I stepped into the room. My boots clacked on the floor and the door closed with a soft click. Mercurissen was curled on the floor at the far wall, and I approached with uncertainty.
He was facing away from me, “You wanted to talk to me,” I stated rather than asked.
“I did…”
“So talk. What do you want?” I ordered, I had no time for nonsense.
“…I want to go home…” he whispered too quietly.
I took a step closer to hear better. However the moment I did, he moved. Struggling to sit up he pressed himself further back into the corner like a caged animal, “Don’t come any closer!”
Mercurissen glared at me with eyes full of resent and uncertainty. Blood trickled from his nose over his lips, and from the corners of his mouth. It dripped slowly off his chin and he clenched his teeth, shrinking back further as I approached, “I said don’t!” he shouted, closing his eyes as I reached for him.
“Relax,” I assured, calmly disregarding his complaints and placing my hand on his head. His hair was soft, although some of it was stiffened with dried blood. Meticulously carved slices left sharp wounds in the boy’s flesh, bruises coloured his skin and the way he flinched when touched proved it had been a thorough questioning.
Gently I intertwined my fingers in his hair, rolling one lock back and forth between my fingertips, loosening it from the blood. I almost felt bad for him. He hadn’t hurt me when he had the chance, now we would continue to torture him until he gave up his family, and who knew how long that would take. A short moment passed as I thought about it, and to my surprise, Mercurissen gradually leaned into my touch.
“You’re not so brave now are you?” I commented.
“...I’ve never claimed to be brave,” Mercurissen answered softly and I hesitated, this one hardly lived up to his reputation.
“Are you going to tell me what we want to know now?”
“No…”
I sighed, “You wouldn’t have to be hurt like this if you did.”
“I think that man is going to hurt me regardless.”
“Maybe,” I agreed, he was probably right. Markos had a curious mind, and little interested him as much as watching others react to pain.
“Besides…” Mercurissen began quieter, “...there’s nothing I can tell you, I can’t betray my family…”
“You’re foolish.”
“No…” he murmured and I sighed, giving up trying to convince him.
“If you’re not going to tell me anything, why ask to speak with me?” I queried instead.
“Because I didn’t know what else to do… I just wanted him to stop…”
“I see…” I retracted my hand, brushing the back of my fingers down his cheek as I did. His skin was smooth and soft with a comfortable warmth. “…This will be over soon, a letter has been sent to your father. If he agrees to a treaty, you will be returned to him,” I assured, afterall, we weren’t the savage ones.
“…He won’t agree…”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know my father…”
I didn’t know what to say. “...Tell Markos what he wants to know, you’ll be fine,” I told him instead, then moved to go. However when I turned I felt a gentle tug on the hem of my pants.
“...Could you stay..? Just for a little while…”
“...No,” I murmured, gently brushing him off. I had only wanted to see how he was faring. I closed the metal door softly, leaving him behind and taking with me the sliver of light that it had allowed into the room.
***
Mercurissen was a fool to be as stubborn as he was. If he talked, I could at least justify moving him to more comfortable accommodation. There were holding chambers for political prisoners and given who he was, that was more fitting for him. Presuming my brother allowed it of course…
The metallic scrape of steel against steel pulled me from my thoughts. I was preoccupied thinking about that little vanir brat, and my sparring partner had wrenched the sword from my hand. It landed upright in the dirt not far away and I put my hands up innocently as the tip of a blade directed at my throat.
“What’s got you distracted?” Ávila asked with a sly smile, showing the points of her teeth.
“Nothing,” I lied without emotion.
“It’s definitely something,” she corrected, lowering her sword and allowing me to retrieve my own before we began the next round.
We were the civilized ones, yet it was the vanir who hadn’t hurt me more than they needed to and the way Mercurissen had flinched bothered me. Should I have taken him from the holding chambers? Was it fair to leave him at Markos’s mercy? I realized I was giving it too much attention again.
Pushing all thoughts of him from my mind, I chose to focus on my training instead. Sweat dripped from my brow and I wiped it away with the back of my arm. Ávila was beginning to retreat, and I took the opportunity. Twisting to the side I caught her off guard and she fell back.
“Alright, I give up!” she huffed, waiting expectantly for me to offer her a hand up, “You need to train with someone more your level.”
“My brother is busy,” I explained.
“Markos then?”
“I would rather not,” I mused. When Markos and I spar we always go too far. It’s a wonder neither of us have lost a limb.
Ávila thought about it a moment before she agreed, “Perhaps that is wise.”
“Still training?” a new voice interrupted us.
“Your ears must have been burning,” I commented as Markos approached with his pet.
He smiled, tossing me a towel to wipe away the sweat, “Oh? Were you talking about me?”
“Just deciding how best to dispose of you,” I assured with a returned smile, “Now why are you here?”
“You’ve missed breakfast, your brother wasn’t pleased. He sent me to find you.”
I scowled to myself, “Right,” I’d lost track of the time.
“You shouldn’t displease him.”
“It’s not like I did it on purpose.”
Markos looked entertained, folding his arms, “No? It’s hard to tell with you.”
“Surely you didn’t come only to tell me that my brother is upset?”
His eyes sparkled, “No, I came to give you another reason to upset your brother. There’s been activity at the border, a vanir rider crossed some days ago.”
That caught my attention, “Just the one?”
“Yes, she’s been coming closer to the castle each night, and has so far evaded all attempts to eliminate her.”
“You think she’s here for the prisoner?”
“Yes,” he mused as if waiting for me to reach some other conclusion.
“...You want to go find her?”
He folded his arms with a nod.
“...And you want me to come with you?” I understood at last.
“If you come with me, it won’t be me Achaicus will be mad with.”
I rolled my eyes, this man was always calculating.
***
We left through the main gates on horseback. Their hooves kicked up loose dirt and I traveled in the direction of the intruder, following the warning pulses of our barrier. Whoever it was, they weren’t making any effort to hide.
Dark magic burned high into the air from a concentrated point and as we reached the crest of a tall hill, we could see the intruder. The markings of a vanir warrior tainted her skin like tattoo ink and her aura lashed the air. She was riding a giant golden boar and kept a safe distance.
“Brigetta,” I muttered mostly to myself.
“One of your friends?” Markos commented with a sly grin and I scoffed. Some days I hated this man.
“Wait here. I’ll deal with this.”
I gathered my reins, allowing my own energy to ignite, “Vorwärts,” I commanded the horse and we began to move, although Markos followed regardless.
However, the girl was just as ready as I was. She bared her teeth in response and when I charged her, she turned to flee. Hooves thundered over the ground, flicking debris and dust. Ordinarily our horses are faster than Vanir boars, but Brigetta was a skilled rider. She weaved between the trees, picking her path up a steep incline and her boar navigated the uneven ground with ease.
We gained on her and she changed directions. She rushed back past us, and we were engulfed in the shroud of a vanir. The sensation of their magic is similar to suffocating, your heart slows and you feel as if you can’t breathe. It’s unpleasant, and Markos’s mare appreciated it less. She reared, making her temporarily uncontrollable while I turned to continue the chase.
The vanir swerved, sending a spray of dust and my horse turned in a dime to follow. We traveled downward at a near vertical angle but my mare kept steady, most days I had more trust in this animal than I did in others. Her silver mane and tail flared, catching the sunlight as her feet found solid footing and I leaned back to remain seated.
We were almost in alignment with Brigetta, and as she tried to change direction again, we diverted to cut her off. Unfortunately the vanir reacted just as fast as I had and avoided us. She changed her path, doubling back a second time and giving the simple command, “Dómari, bíta!” she hissed, commanding her boar to attack.
Immediately I pulled my horse back, allowing her to rear up and defend herself. Heavy hooves came crashing down onto the boar with a compact thud and Brigetta was thrown from her boar. The beast recovered quickly, shaking the dust from its fur with little concern and I backed up further, drawing my sword only to find we were cornered against a rocky cliff face.
If it were only Brigetta and I, this would be settled, but boars regularly tear our horses apart and I wouldn’t allow my horse to get hurt. However, as I moved back, Brigetta advanced. She pulled herself back onto her boar, and regarded me with wary caution as she calculated the best angle to attack.
The vanir paced back and forth, agitated, and uncertain. As if she wanted to approach but couldn’t quite force herself to come nearer. Tension filled the space between us like a repelling force, my horse’s tail lashed and she sidestepped, unnerved by the vanir boar not more than a few feet away.
“You-” Brigetta began in an accusatory tone, but her voice broke in a wet snarl as she breathed in too heavily, “I should have killed you! Where is he!? You tell me he’s okay or I swear I’ll-”
“You’re in our territory. Be careful about the threats you make,” I cut her off, then explained, “Mercurissen is in our custody, I trust Mercury received our terms?”
“I don’t care about your terms!”
“Stop shouting, I can hear you just fine,” I snapped.
Brigetta’s chest heaved and her eyes were pinpoints of rage. However, when she spoke next it was at a more reasonable octave. “Is he alive?” she demanded tensely.
“For now.”
“Is he hurt?”
“He’s alive,” I repeated and she seemed unable to process for a moment.
With so much primal fury, and nowhere for it to go she ground her teeth. Her eyes glistened with hot water and she spoke in a low dangerous tone. “Give him back to me, or I will kill every one of you myself.”
“He will be returned, once Mercury agrees to a treaty,” I stated calmly.
The girl snarled, “Mercury will never agree to a treaty.”
“That’s too bad. Then we have nothing more to discuss, now leave. While I'll still allow it.”
For a moment I thought she would attack. However, to my surprise, she seemed uncertain, anguished as she relented. “Please. I’m begging you please. Give him back.”
“If Mercury agrees, he will have his son back,” I repeated, unmoving.
“And if he doesn’t?” she sneered.
“Then we will execute his son.”
At this, the girl took in a deep breath, looking to the sky for half a second while she blinked back emotion. “But he will never agree!” she screamed at last and frustrated tears spilled down her cheeks. My eyes widened in surprise and I was taken aback as she continued. “Please, you can’t hurt him…! Just give him back to me…”
“We’re not going to give him back without compensation,” I muttered uncomfortably.
“We’ll disappear, I swear it. I’ll take him out of the war, I’ll take us both out of the war.”
“That’s not enough.”
Brigetta seemed at a loss for what to say, “You don’t understand! He’s not like the rest of us. He’s kind and gentle. He cares about a thousand pointless things that he shouldn’t. He doesn’t deserve to die!”
I could have laughed, “He’s killed thousands of fae. Do you think he showed any of them any mercy like you’re asking me to? He tore them apart like they were nothing, leaving families missing their loved ones.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, you don’t know anything about him,” she spat back.
“No? His reputation precedes him, you know. Mercurissen deserves everything he gets,” I snorted.
“He protected you-” she stopped short as an arrow passed her, only missing the nape of her neck because she had shifted her weight while she shouted. The girl turned back to see where the shot had come from, and I watched the calculation in her eyes.
Markos had finally caught up with us and, realizing she was outnumbered, Brigetta readjusted. She avoided a second arrow and maneuvered her boar back before rushing forward. With two short bounds the creature gained enough momentum to jump. Its muscles contracted and it shot upward, landing among the rocks of the cliff face.
The beast continued nimbly upward and disappeared over the top. Leaving us on the ground and my jaw set in annoyance. Our horses couldn’t follow that path. We would have to go around, and it was hardly worth it.
“She got away,” Markos commented.
“I can see that, thank you,” I muttered in response, although my thoughts lingered on what she had said. What did she mean he protected me? Taking a breath in I shook my head, I shouldn’t have hesitated, I should have killed her outright. Then I wouldn’t have to puzzle over her cryptic nonsense.
***
It was with mild trepidation that I found myself walking down the long starwell to the holding chambers once again. I can’t say what possessed me to make the journey. More days had passed, Markos continued his interrogations and I lamented on what Brigetta had said.
She hadn’t yet left our territory, guards tracked her night and day, but it was little use. She escaped them just as she had evaded us. Would she truly wait around for us to release Mercurissen? I thought absently as I walked through the prison. His room was the furthest down the hall and I entered without announcing myself.
The vanir was in the same place he always was, sitting in the furthest corner. He held his hands away from himself in an uncomfortable way. Long needles protruded through every one of his knuckles and fresh blood dripped slowly from the underside of each. He shivered as if cold and dewy moisture beaded on his brow.
He didn’t look up as I approached, but his gaze slowly lifted to meet mine as I crouched before him. His long lashes were damp, but his eyes were clear. “..What do you want?” he muttered.
“Nothing. I just wanted to see you suffering,” I mused and he scowled.
“And? Are you satisfied?”
I shrugged. He was thinner now, and his body weaker, but his wounds were healing. Still, I sat with him, “Your cousin is being a nuisance,” I commented and he looked over, surprised.
“What?”
“Brigetta, I believe is her name. She’s stalking our territory.”
Mercurissen groaned to himself, “That idiot.”
“If she’s caught, we’ll execute her on the spot.”
“You won’t catch her, Dómari is too fast.”
“Her boar?”
“Yes.”
“They have names?”
“Of course they do,” he snorted as if it was obvious.
“How should I have known that?”
“I don’t know, I thought it was obvious. Don't your horses have names?”
“They do,” I agreed.
“What’s yours called?”
“Galaxi.”
The vanir chuckled, “Ahh, that’s so ordinary it’s almost cute.”
My lip curled and I fidgeted with mild embarrassment, “Whatever. Where is your boar?”
“I don’t have one.”
“I thought all vanir had one.”
“No… My father doesn’t like animals, so I was never permitted to have one.”
“Mercury’s ‘perfect’ little son wasn’t allowed a pet?” I teased and he scowled.
“Shut up.”
I chuckled to myself, it was easy to agitate him, and rather entertaining. Still, he closed his eyes, resting his head back against the wall and I made no further comment as I watched him. He seemed tired, but I supposed his injuries probably made sleeping difficult.
“Let me see your hands,” I requested calmly, and he opened his eyes again to look at me.
“Why?” he asked, suspicious.
“Because I told you to.”
“I would rather not…” the vanir mumbled, directing his gaze away. However, he was pleasantly obedient and made no move to stop me when I placed my fingers under the palm of his hand. I pushed it gently upward, raising it to examine the needles. They were embedded in the joints, and he winced when I touched one.
“...Please don’t…” he murmured, anxious.
“Quiet, just hold still,” I told him sedately as I began.
I pulled the needles out one by one, dropping them into a blood stained pile. They fell in individually messy splatters and Eiríkr exhaled softly in pain.
“I'm almost done,” I assured, not that it looked like he was listening.
His shivering had increased. Fresh sweat dampened his hairline and he held his breath. I thought for a moment that he might pass out. However as the last of the needles clattered to the floor he sighed in relief.
“Thanks…” he mumbled awkwardly.
“Nothing more snarky to say?” I taunted lightly. It bothered me somewhat to see him this way, for as much as I disliked him, I didn’t hate his nature.
Mercurissen took a small breath in before looking back over to me with the faintest gleam of mischief in his eyes, “Why should I say anything else? You pulled them out didn’t you? It doesn’t matter that you were bad at it.”
“Should I put them back in then?”
“Uhh…” he faulted, unable to tell if I was serious or not and I smiled slightly.
“Relax, I’m only joking,” I mused, “Tell me, why did Markos put them in?”
“He didn’t like that I kept writing little spells, apparently it was inconvenient for him.”
I chuckled to myself. Markos had failed to mention having any kind of trouble with this boy, and that probably meant he was more of a nuisance than my cousin appreciated. “I see,” I mused, Mercurissen truly didn’t know how to make things easier for himself.
“…Can I ask you something?” he spoke with uncertainty.
“You may ask.”
“What’s going to happen to me..? If my father doesn’t agree?”
The question caught me by surprise and I hesitated to answer, “...You’ll be executed.”
Mercurissen fell quiet and I fidgeted. Something in the way he looked stirred an unusual guilt in the pit of my stomach and I thought about what Brigetta had said. If nothing else, she truly believed every word she had said about him and it bothered me.
“Are you afraid..?” I asked gently and he gave a small nod.
“Yes…”
The admission was unexpectedly honest and I delayed processing. “I thought vanir were fearless…”
Mercurissen lowered his gaze to the floor, “We’re supposed to be, but I don’t want to die…” he murmured ashamed, and my breath shallowed. It was an unfamiliar feeling of remorse that sparked resentment and I stood.
“Then you should have made different choices,” I told him bluntly.
He didn’t answer and I stormed out of the room, ignoring the gentle pull on the back of my shirt. If he had wanted to live he shouldn’t have been who he was, or what he was. His species could have chosen to live peacefully, respected the borders, not started a war. But they didn’t, and if Mercury didn’t agree to end it, his son would pay for it.
NEXT
.xXx.

Recently got back from an incredible 19 days in Japan. I’m really feeling the post-Japan blues now, but writing about the trip and sharing what I learned feels like a nice way to honour the memories I made.
I (35M) travelled to Japan with my partner (41M) from Canada. We were there from March 26 to April 13 - these dates were “chosen” for us because we were attending a wedding in Tokyo. We got to wear hakamas, walk in the procession at Meiji Jingu, and observe a Shinto wedding ceremony first-hand.
We did the Golden Route + Kanazawa, however, many travelers have already written about this route so I’ll try to offer new stories to interested readers instead.

About us and high-level trip summary:

• Our entire itinerary consisted of: Tokyo (+ trip to Kawaguchiko), Hakone, Osaka (+ trips to Himeji and Nara), Kyoto (+ trip to Hiroshima), Kanazawa (+ trip to Shirakawa-go), and then Tokyo again for the final night in Kichijoji.
• Stayed at a total of 7 hotels and made good use of the luggage delivery service. Usually took 1 day, but sometimes 2, so plan ahead.
• We got the JR West All Area Pass, which let us go to Hiroshima, Himeji, and Kanazawa from Osaka/Kyoto (plus a few other small trips). Not only was this worth it for us in terms of monetary value, but the built-in flexibility came in clutch i.e taking the train at our leisure and feeling much less stress over seat reservations or waiting in line. I used this website to help me determine which pass to get: https://www.japan-guide.com/railpass/
• As mentioned earlier, we attended our close friends’ wedding in Tokyo, which took place at Meiji Jingu and Meiji Kinenkan. It was a truly special and once-in-a-lifetime event. Being photographed by the sightseers at Meiji Jingu was also an interesting experience!
• We went out on weekend nights and checked out the popular places in Shinjuku Nichome (i.e the gay village). While they were fun, you need to dig deeper to find the places that make Nichome stand out from other gaybourhoods around the world.
• Did not make a lot of food reservations because we read how easy it was to find good food around every corner. We found this to be largely true and ate well on our trip (including many konbini meals and bento boxes on the train), but we look forward to diving deeper into the culinary world on trip #2.
• One of my favourite phrases was: Nani ga oishii desu ka? It means ‘What is tasty here?’ and is like asking the restaurant for their recommendation. I never got a bad result with this question.
• The ryokan, onsen, and kaiseki from our 1 night stay in Hakone were all amazing. It was probably our favourite room and meal on the trip. We would certainly return to Hakone and stay 2 nights next time.
• Saw a geisha performance in Kanazawa that was geared towards visitors and it was so fun and fascinating. My partner got to play taiko drums with a geisha!
• The big tourist must-sees were nice, but I’ll fondly remember all the times we just wandered the streets, witnessing small slices of other people’s lives.
• Kichijoji ended up being our favourite area of Tokyo.
• I planned this trip meticulously, but many items still ended up falling through or needed to be re-arranged due to various reasons (fatigue, sickness, timing mistakes). I think you will need to make peace with this and be prepared to be flexible with your plans, outside of pre-booked reservations.

Detailed report:

Before the flight

There were a few things we did before the trip began that helped us out:

• Picked up a Wise card, allowing us to withdraw cash without paying extra fees. The fees can really add up.
• Reserved a pocket wifi router for pick-up at Narita.
• Made reservations for popular activities, namely the Ghibli Museum and USJ Express Pass.
• Adjusted our bodies to the new timezone a few days before our flight using an app called Timeshifter.
• Installed the Japan Travel by NAVITIME app, which I preferred over Google Maps when it came to anything involving the shinkansen.
• Watched Perfect Days, a meditative film that follows a toilet cleaner in Tokyo. It got us even more excited for Japan, plus the washrooms featured in this film are real and inspired us to look out for them in real life!

Landing in Japan

• After passing through customs at Narita, we picked up the pocket wifi router we had reserved. There are multiple drop-off locations, so you can pick up at one location and drop off at another. We chose the plan that gave us unlimited data for 3 weeks and it was worth it.
• I wanted to get our IC cards, but the line at the JR ticket office was so long that we just opted to buy individual tickets to take the Keisei Access Express. If you are going to be staying near any major metro stations (Ueno, Tokyo, Shinjuku, a few others), you can go there for your tickets because the lines seem to be shorter and you’ll ideally be rested by then.
  • I got my IC card at Ueno Station. On the ground floor, at the JR travel centre, you can line up for the Suica. However, I really wanted the cute Pasmo Passport instead. It took some asking around, but we eventually found the ticket office in the metro station, which is underground and had no line at all. We showed our passports and picked up our Pasmo cards without issue. It’s cash only.
• I also purchased an eSIM from Airalo. It was my first time doing so and I found the process fairly straightforward. I only got 3 gigabytes of data, which was for situations where I might find myself separated from my partner (who held onto the pocket wifi). Ended the trip with over 1gb remaining.
• On our first night, we wandered and found some restaurants in the alleyways behind our train station; we ate delicious ramen for around ¥800. It’s true what they say about your first night being a write-off, however, so don’t expect to do much else.

March 26 - 28: A gentle introduction to Tokyo.

This leg of the trip consisted mainly of wandering and exploring, which was a nice stress-free way to get used to Japan. Staying in Asakusabashi gave us easy access to the major destinations in eastern Tokyo i.e within 15 minutes by metro. A lot of people recommend staying in Asakusa, but we found Asakusabashi to be even quieter and cheaper.
Places: Asakusa, Akihabara, Ueno, Ginza, and Chiyoda
Hotel: Route-Inn Grand Tokyo Asakusabashi
A standard and comfortable hotel with a fantastic breakfast buffet. We got it at a really good rate and were pleased with the quality.
Highlights:

• Itoya Ginza is a stationary lover’s paradise. Each of the ten floors is immacuately curated, filled with beautiful things to look at and use. If that wasn’t enough, a nature-inspired soundtrack plays the entire time to really put you in the mood. I picked up a Shupatto bag and liked it so much (great design and durability) that I went back and bought a few more as gifts.
• Sensoji and the path leading up to it is cool, but shoulder-to-shoulder busy. Across the street from the main entrance is a sweet potato cafe that my friend recommended and it was very yummy!
• I found a place called the Okuno Building and it felt like a hidden gem for anyone who’s into art and architecture. Try to time your visit with when Room 306 is open: https://room306project.tokyo/about-en/
• Stepping outside of Tokyo Station, you feel small and the grandeur of Tokyo really hits you. Across the station in the building with the Beams store, there’s an observation deck that offers a gorgeous nighttime view of the area. There’s also a food hall with a great energy and vibe.
• About 10-15 minutes walk north of Akihabara station is an artisanal market tucked away beneath the train tracks. It was quiet and cute with a lot of interesting shops. Many handmade giftable items to be found: https://www.cntraveler.com/shops/tokyo/aki-oka-artisan
• I had a reservation for the Final Fantasy Eorzea Cafe in Akihabara - it was something I had wanted to do for a long time, though it felt underwhelming in the end. The food and drinks were photogenic, but forgettable. There are a number of cafes like these around and I imagine the gimmick is similar in each (at least, the ones run by Pasela Resorts). Still, no regrets!

Notes:

• Most of the hotels we stayed at did not allow use of stairs except in emergencies. This was usually fine, but during one busy morning rush we waited a ludicrously long time to get down from the 4th floor! We became acquainted with a charming Japanese woman as a result of waiting for the elevator, so there was a silver lining.

March 29 - April 3: Unforgettable memories made over a weekend.

We had a jam-packed several days filled with ceremonies, friends, parties, and singing. We got to be part of a traditional Japanese wedding and also experienced the famous Tokyo gay nightlife. Dotted throughout these memories were other precious moments that gave us a glimpse into what life in Japan is like.
Places: Shinjuku, Shibuya, teamLab, Kawaguchiko, and the wedding
Hotel: Yuen Shinjuku
Atmospheric hotel. Situated on a quiet street in Shinjuku while remaining within walking distance to all the fun places. Onsen on the top floor with amazing city views.
Highlight: The wedding

• To prepare for the wedding, we had a fitting at a kimono rental shop (Vasara) along with some friends. The men in the group wore hakamas, which are like trousers reserved for very formal occasions. Wearing a kimono and hakama was interesting - there’s a lot of tucking and wrapping under those robes, forcing you to stand straight while also having your organs squeezed in. But damn did we feel and look good in them, haha.
• The wedding itself was one of the most gorgeous and well-organized weddings I’ve ever been to and I’m still in a bit of awe. It began in the early morning with a Shinto ceremony at Meiji Jingu. The ritualistic garments worn by the bride and groom as well as the attendants were beautiful. After conducting the tea ceremony in a semi-private reception area, we gathered into a two-column procession and slowly walked to the main ceremonial site deeper within Meiji Jingu, led by a priest and two shrine maidens. Everything was solemn and immaculate. You can read about what these ceremonies are like online, but there were a lot of rituals, rules, and even audience participation e.g. standing, sitting, clapping, and drinking sake. Being photographed by hundreds of people while walking to and from the ceremonial site was also something I didn’t think I’d ever get to experience - I imagine this is what a celebrity feels like!
• The reception afterwards was at Meiji Kinenkan and followed a more familiar Western reception format, with an MC, music, multi-course meal, and live performances (including mochi pounding and spectacular Japanese Bollywood dancers) - but no dancing for the participants, haha. There was also an after-party at an Indian restaurant in Shibuya and it was a much more casual and colourful affair.

Highlight: Nichome

• Nichome - one could easily miss this entire neighbourhood during the day, but boy does it come alive at night. We visited most of the major bars: Eagle, Eagle Blue, Dragon Men, Arty Farty, etc. What immediately struck me about those places was how similar they felt to bars back home i.e Toronto. There were lots of foreigners and the vibe and music reminded me of our own bars. It’s still a fun time and you can meet other travellers if you put yourself out there.
• When I said that one needs to dig deeper to find what makes Nichome stand out from other gaybourhoods, I was referring to the hundreds of tiny bars in the basements and upper levels of the buildings all around Nichome. To really get something out of this experience though, you need to either: i) speak Japanese, or ii) be accompanied by someone who can speak Japanese. I was lucky to fall into the latter group and had a few nights of uproarious karaoke, bantering with drag queens, and intimate conversations with bar staff.

Other highlights:

• teamLab Planets was mind-blowing and I highly recommend anyone go at least once. The less you know about it, the better. The area around teamLab Planets (which includes the famous Toyosu Market) was also pleasant to walk around. In fact, we had a picnic by the water with a clear view of the Tokyo skyline.
• I find malls in Asia to be on another level and the one we visited - Shibuya Parco - was no exception. There was a large terrace on the top floor with expansive views of the city and the basement housed an impressive food hall with a wide range of cuisines. The floors in-between had many unique offerings as well, even if only to window shop.
• We found one of the washrooms from the film Perfect Days, the one in Nabeshima Shoto Park. The exterior was incredibly designed, though the interiors were just fine. The park also houses a tranquil pond that was nice for a stroll around and the neighbourhood itself was enjoyable to walk through.
• Got my hair cut at a place called Assort Tokyo with English-speaking hair stylists - shout out to Yutsuki who gave me one of the best cuts I’ve ever had!
• Karaoke Manekineko is prevalent in Japan and we had the fortune of going to one with our Japanese friends. It was fun, affordable, and equipped with all our favourite songs (both Japanese and English). Indulge in the bottomless drink machines - their corn soup is a best seller and after trying it myself, I can see why!
• Seeing Mt. Fuji in person is an out-of-this-world experience - pictures don’t do it justice. However, the popular places we visited (Chureito Pagoda, northern shore of the lake) were extremely busy despite the lack of cherry blossoms e.g. the queue to access the observation deck at Chureito was 1 hour long. Getting around Kawaguchiko also wasn’t easy or cheap - the buses were packed and unpredictable and taking a taxi across town cost us a pretty penny. If I were to return, I’d get a private tour guide or just stick to the not-famous places and aim to be there in the early morning.

Notes:

• We switched hotels from Asakusabashi to Shinjuku and it was worthwhile to do so. We valued being able to walk to and from the bars, especially at night after the trains close
• I made the mistake of thinking we could get tickets on the express/direct train to Kawaguchiko the day before - nope. You should book these early. We took the shinkansen to Otsuki and then from there took a local train the rest of the way.

April 3 - 7: Embracing the calm after Tokyo.

Walking an average of 20,000 steps for the past eight days, our feet were ready for some much-needed relief and Hakone was the perfect solution. We also appreciated the smaller city vibes of Osaka and how it felt more down-to-earth. This was a good transition from Tokyo to the Kansai region of Japan.
Places: Hakone, Osaka, Himeji
Hotels: Mount View Hakone and Onyado Nono Osaka Yodoyabashi
The hotel in Hakone was itself the highlight. This one was a bit higher up in the mountains, but still easily accessible by bus. Top-notch hospitality and amenities. Our Osaka hotel was also comfortable and had an onsen and was located in a convenient area - not in the thick of things, but close to the important metro lines.
Highlights:

• I wish we stayed longer at our Hakone ryokan. Their kaiseki dinner and breakfast were exquisite. The private onsen consisted of two large basins for our exclusive use with a view of an illuminated bamboo grove. That said, I think you could choose any 3+ star ryokan in Hakone and have a stellar time. The town was calm and charming; it was especially haunting with the light rain and mist when we were there.
• We took a bus that went directly from our hotel all the way to Odawara, where we caught the shinkansen to Osaka. Unlike at home, where riding the bus feels like a chore, I felt that taking the various transport options in Japan was an experience unto itself - always something to see and admire outside the window.
• Osaka’s nightlife was vibrant, though we preferred Shinsekai over Dotonbori if only because the former was way less crowded. I also went out to Doyamacho (Osaka’s gay district) on my own, which seemed tiny in comparison to Nichome. I visited the newly opened Eagle Osaka and met a Canadian expat; it was fun to hear stories about being gay in Japan from people who’ve lived there for a long time.
• Sunset at Osaka Castle with all the sakura was magical. The crowds were minimal here. My favourite shot to take was a close-up of the flowers with the castle in the background.
• My partner was very keen on visiting USJ and getting the Express Pass - I’m glad we did that because we got to experience (almost) everything we wanted to. Super Nintendo World was the absolute gem of USJ: going there felt like going to another dimension.
• Right outside USJ is a large shopping and restaurant complex. There’s a place on the fourth floor called TAKOPA Takoyaki Park and what a joy it was - pick any of the restaurants here, order a combo meal, and let your taste buds soar.
• Himeji is an easy day trip from Osaka and the famous castle is a straight walk down from the station. It was very picturesque - definitely visit the gardens while you’re there.

Notes:

• My partner started to feel unwell at this point of the trip, so we had to slow down our pace and also reshuffle a few itinerary items.

A note about the trains and ticketing system

I loved taking the shinkansen, they were so comfortable and predictable. The ticketing system, however... that’s a different story entirely. I think everyone just has to go through it as a rite of passage. I also couldn’t get SmartEx to work, which would’ve saved us a lot of hassle.
Regarding the JR West pass, I learned that you can’t make online seat reservations with it after you pick up the physical pass. You must use a specific machine or visit a ticket desk. To use the machines, find the ones with the green head boards and then select the option that mentions using a ‘discount ticket’ or something like that. Insert your pass and choose the destination and train you want to take. You’ll then get your pass back along with the printed tickets. Fortunately, there’s usually an attendant there to help you out.
I will miss having bento on the train while watching the scenery pass by (and listening to Fujii Kaze, haha).

April 7 - 10: Sakura, temples, and museums.

It took some time for Kyoto to warm up to us, but once it did, we found ourselves wanting more time here. It’s a city best enjoyed at a leisurely pace in the early morning or late at night, once the crowds have dispersed. Aside from the temples and parks popping up in unexpected places, I enjoyed crossing Kyoto’s many bridges, each offering a view of gorgeous sakura-lined canals.
Places: Nara, Kyoto, Hiroshima
Hotel: TUNESTAY Kyoto
A modern hotel that also feels like a hostel with its communal amenities and young vibe. Rest assured, the rooms are private and include your own bathroom. Minutes away from Kyoto Station and situated on the same street as the sightseeing buses.
Highlights:

• The sakura were now in full bloom and made for magnificent strolls around Kyoto’s famous districts, but like all other famous sites, they are best enjoyed early. We got up early for Philosopher’s Path and it was breathtaking and tranquil, just as we imagined it to be. It started to get crowded i.e noisier after 9am.
• The 10th floor of the Isetan building at Kyoto Station is a dedicated food hall, with one side being just ramen shops. Very yummy and very short lines!
• I read about how emotional the Hiroshima Peace Museum made people feel, but I still wasn’t prepared for the sheer gravity of it once we were there. I can only describe the experience as powerful and poignant. Certainly take your time to go through and read the cards on the exhibits. It was one of the rare places we visited that was both busy and quiet.
• Visit Okonomi-mura for delicious Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki and good vibes. It’s another food hall, but one that feels much more down to earth and gritty.
• We happened to stumble upon a night market at Murayama Park in Kyoto. The cherry blossoms were at their peak; they looked especially splendid under the glow of the lanterns. There were food stalls aplenty and we ate to our heart’s content: grilled fish, fried yam rolls, bamboo on a stick, and barbequed meats. Several restaurants and tables were set up in the middle of the park so you could sit down for a meal and some drinks while partaking in hanami. People were in very good spirits and we ended up chatting to a young couple sat next to us, where we bonded over our shared love for Howl’s Moving Castle and all things Ghibli. I’ll remember this particular night very fondly.

Notes:

• It’s possible to visit Nara on route from Osaka to Kyoto or vice versa. That’s what we did and we just stored our luggage at the station in Nara.
• It makes more sense to go to Hiroshima from Osaka - not only is it closer, but our JR West Pass did not include shinkansen travel between Osaka and Kyoto (even if we were riding on the same train going from Osaka to Hiroshima). We only did it this way because our original plans were changed due to my partner’s change in health status.

April 10 - 12: Winding down and enjoying small city life.

Kanazawa was a culinary and visual delight for us. Slowing down as we approached the end of our trip, it was easy to get to and from various places due to the city’s small size. It may not have as much to do as other places, but that’s also something we appreciated about it.
Places: Kanazawa, Shirakawa-go
Hotel: Hotel Kanazawa Zoushi
Our second favourite hotel of the trip. We had the warmest reception here, with complimentary tea and dango provided at check-in. The room was very comfortable, while the bathrooms were surprisingly spacious.
Highlights:

• Everyone comes here for Kenrokuen and... yeah, it’s an absolutely stunning garden, dressed in wide swathes of pink thanks to the pretty cherry blossoms. Having said that, we noticed other areas of the garden weren’t as lively because the plants had not yet flowered. I think coming here when you know certain flora will be in season will make for a more memorable experience.
• Right next to the gardens are the Kanazawa Castle Ruins, also home to some gorgeous blossom-lined paths. It was way less busy here, as if people didn’t realize they could walk another few minutes to this beautiful location.
• On the surface, Higashi Chaya looked similar to the historic districts in Kyoto. We primarily went there for the Geisha Evenings in Kanazawa performance held at Kaikaro Tea House and it ended up being one of our favourite highlights of the entire trip. Lady Baba is a fabulous host and storyteller; the two hours we spent here flew by, filled with laughter, music, and cultural learnings.
• Omicho Market feels a lot more like a real food market than Nishiki and smells like the sea. We enjoyed some huge oysters here and grilled scallop and octopus skewers.
• We dined at Gen-zae-mon on the recommendation of a local who worked at Kaikaro. It’s a cozy izakaya in downtown Kanazawa serving plenty of scrumptious regional specialties. Try asking the service staff for their recommendations if you’re overwhelmed by the menu options.
• Shirakawa-go was quaint, almost like being transported to a different era. The entire village is easily traversable by foot and it’s worthwhile to visit at least one of the historic houses that have been converted into a museum. If you can climb to the top of the observation deck, you’ll be rewarded with a serene lookout of the entire village. That said, I don’t think spring is the optimal season for Shirakawa-go to shine; I think any other season would colour it better, because it was still grey and barren when we went.

Notes:

• I mistakenly thought we could get tickets for the highway express bus from Kanazawa to Shirakawa-go last minute... nope. Thankfully, our JR West pass let us ride the shinkansen at no additional cost to Toyama, where we caught the bus there - and that bus was mostly empty. It only added about 30 minutes more to our travel time.

April 12 - 13: One more outing in Tokyo’s most desirable neighbourhood.

I’m glad we stayed in Kichijoji for the last day of our visit. Walking the streets of this neighbourhood was exactly what we envisioned a peaceful Tokyo to be like and there was much to please the senses. It just felt like the whole package - picturesque, relaxed, easy to get lost in, and bustling to a degree that felt exciting without being overwhelming. The Internet claims that Kichijoji is the most desirable neighbourhood in Tokyo; I definitely believe that now.
Places: Kichijoji, Haneda
Hotel: Tokyu REI Kichijoji
Standard hotel with few frills, but great price and location. We chose it because it was a last minute decision to switch from Akihabara to Kichijoji for our final night.
Highlights:

• Ghibli Museum was delightful and I’m a big fan of the “no indoor photography” rule. The attention to detail was incredible. Treat yourself to a walk in Inokashira Park before or after your visit. It was late afternoon when we went and the park was filled with young families and students playing after-school sports. It just felt like a pinnacle “slice of life” moment.
• My very fashionable friend (the one who got married) said Kichijoji is her favourite place for consignment shopping and we saw plenty of those stores here. A bit deeper into the residential parts of Kichijoji is an artisanal market and cafe called Sippo: it was filled with one-of-a-kind goods at reasonable prices and everything was made in Japan. I know there are a lot of great shops in Tokyo, but this one stood out to us and we would certainly return on future trips.
• We hopped on an airport shuttle bus from Kichijoji Station to Haneda. No reservations, but the bus was only a quarter full. We gave ourselves three hours at Haneda and still felt like we ran out of time - lots of great shops for last minute gifts (including an Itoya outpost!) Take note that the higher rated restaurants are located outside of the security gates.

Now that some time has passed since departing Japan, the emotions that swept over me in that country have left a deep impression. Like a reminder of what I’m chasing after in this life, Japan excited me, fulfilled me, and left me wanting more. I know that being Japanese in Japan is an entirely different experience, but I still yearn to experience even just a sliver of that life.
Thanks for reading and I hope you got something out of this trip report. If you’re interested in seeing some of the photos I took on this trip, I’ve shared them on my Instagram account, which is the same handle as my Reddit username.

< < Next Chapter>>
Craig
“Craig? Where are you, Craig?”
He heard his mom calling him from the front yard. He knew she’d be sticking her head out the front door any moment now. And if she saw him out here, well that would be all she wrote.
Literally, sometimes.
The last thing he wanted was for his mom to catch him out front when he was supposed to be doing whatever it was she just told him to do. He couldn’t remember. Sometimes it felt like everything went in one ear and out the other.
He wasn’t sure if that was because he’d gotten really good at ignoring her, or if there was something else going on there.
It was the same feeling he got whenever he was trying to do an assignment for school. Reading the same paragraph over and over, and only getting more and more frustrated knowing he should be able to absorb this shit, but he couldn’t.
He wished he was tossing a football around right now. He’d just gotten home from practice a little while ago. It would be nice to have some down time when he got home, but of course his mom would never have that. Not when there were chores to do.
It didn’t help that Coach had been all sorts of intense with him at practice today. He was excited at the opportunity, terrified at the pressure being put on him, and guilty because he knew the only reason he got this opportunity was because somebody had torn Brad and Carrie to shreds.
At least that was the story he heard. He wasn’t quite sure he believed that. Sure there were all the stories of the Beast that had been going around for as long as he could remember, but it seemed like every time somebody died it got attributed to the Beast.
Little old lady had a heart attack late last night? The Beast clearly walked past her window and gave her that heart attack. Someone had their lungs ripped out while they were waiting outside the Chinese restaurant to get some beef chow mein? Totally the Beast.
Okay. So that last one sounded like the kind of thing that would be the Beast. Not that he thought that one had actually happened. Still. The point was everybody blamed everything on that monster, and he was pretty sure it was just an urban legend.
There was a fancy word he’d learned from Josh.
Speaking of. Already he was wishing he hadn’t invited Josh over, for all that it would be a reprieve from his mom. Only it was tradition. It wasn’t like he was going to abandon his friend. Not when they only had a month and some change before school started.
Still. Better to do it on a Saturday. He didn’t have as much to do on a Saturday. He didn’t have the twitches in his muscles as he remembered everything from practice, for all that he’d have to go straight to practice the next day.
Yet another reason why it was better for Josh to come over on a Saturday night. He didn’t have practice the next day. The Lord’s day was the one day of the week Coach thought was sacrosanct.
Only Josh was weird about coming over on Saturdays. Probably because he had to go to church with them the next day. Which wasn’t something Craig could blame him for.
He wished he could get out of going to church. He almost wished Coach would have practices on Sundays. That would be the one thing that would get him a pass from church. Maybe.
Jesus was number one in his mom’s book, sure, but it was a question of whether it was Jesus or football as far as his dad was concerned.
“Craig? Where are you, young man!”
He looked around. There was just the one street that ran down to the end of their cul-de-sac. There was the wider neighborhood off in the distance in the other direction, but he wouldn’t be able to get down there in time to avoid whatever it was his mom wanted.
Was it taking out the trash? Was he supposed to take something out of the laundry? He couldn’t remember, and he knew he’d catch hell for not remembering what she wanted him to do as much as he’d catch hell for not doing it in the first place.
So instead he ducked around the side of the house. He glanced in his bedroom window for a moment, peering through the thin crack.
His dad liked to keep the blinds closed during the day. He was always going on about how he wasn’t paying to air condition the sunlight streaming in through the windows, but Craig always tried to leave at least a small sliver open.
The better to look in through that window and make sure his parents weren’t in his room looking through his stuff. He knew a spot inspection could happen any time. Which was why he’d learned to hide his good stuff.
And why he always left his blinds cracked open just a little so he could look at what they were doing without them knowing he could see what they were doing.
There was nobody in there right now. He froze as he thought he heard the front door open. Almost as though she could sense he was outside trying to avoid her. There were times when he thought his mother had a tracking device on him or something. Like the kind of thing you saw in the movies.
Only those things were always really big, and he didn’t think she had some futuristic thing that could be used to track him.
He froze, his fight or flight response going into staying as still as possible. It irritated him that he reacted like this whenever he was worried about his mom catching him, but he also knew the slightest hint of a noise would be enough to have her turn around the side of the house so she could lay into him.
He really didn’t want to have another incident where he could see the curtains and blinds moving ever so slightly on all the other houses on their cul-de-sac. That let him know everybody else was watching. Probably enjoying the show.
Craig shivered. The last thing he wanted was to give the neighbors a show. So he held still, worried she might decide to come around the side of the house anyway.
Then again, the woman could be surprisingly lazy. As lazy as she was overwhelmingly sweet whenever he had someone over. Which was another reason he was always sure to invite Josh over on the weekends, for all that another part of him didn’t want to bother with it.
She transformed into the kind of mom anybody would be lucky to have when there was company over. Not so much any other time.
“Craig! Where have you gotten to?”
The voice was syrupy sweet now. Oh yes. It was always syrupy sweet when she thought somebody might be listening in. Except for the times when she let the anger get the best of her, and then there were those shifting blinds. Those curtains moving.
Everybody watching. Everybody knowing. Everybody tsking and talking about how horrible it was that Craig had pushed his dear sweet mother over the edge, and why couldn’t he try to be a better son? Why did he have to always make things so difficult for his poor long-suffering mother?
He shook his head. The front door slammed. He waited for the space of another couple of breaths, wondering if it was a trap. If she was going to come around the side of the house anyway.
That didn’t happen. He thought he heard somebody moving through the house. She’d be over in the garage now, if she kept to her usual search pattern. He had no intention of letting her know he wasn’t in the house.
He ducked low as he went along the fence. There was a time when it was easier to duck low and avoid being seen. Now he was so big that he felt ridiculous trying to hide, but some concealment was better than none.
He glanced over to Mrs. Miller’s house, but he didn’t see her staring out the sliding glass door on the back of her house. She did that sometimes when she heard his mom looking for him, but she’d never ratted him out.
She’d also never done anything about it. Never said anything to his mom. Never said anything to anyone who could help. So he was ambivalent about Mrs. Miller.
She didn’t matter anyway. She wouldn’t rat him out even if she was looking. Which she wasn’t. He could make his escape. Maybe.
If he just stayed out of the house long enough for Josh to get there everything would be okay. His mom would be that syrupy sweet woman inside the house and outside, and if he was lucky she’d forget whatever it was she was upset about right now.
She’d tell him he forgot to take the laundry out of the washer and put it into the dryer with a smile and a glance to Josh and a tightness around her eyes, and everything would be fine. Maybe.
There’d been times when she remembered to yell at him after Josh went home, after all.
“Just a few more years,” he muttered to himself. “A few more years and you’re out of here.”
Realistically getting out of here looked like joining the army or something like that. Be all that he could be. Sure there was always a part of him that fantasized about getting a college scholarship. He’d heard of schools where they put a rubber stamp on your degree as long as you were good at football.
He figured he needed one of those schools. After all, it’s not like he was going to get a college degree with his academic skills. Josh was the one who was always good at that book learning shit.
He reached the back of the fence line and paused to look back at the house. A part of him was terrified of looking back. As though that would somehow summon his mother.
He imagined seeing her face staring out the back window at him. Or maybe through the kitchen window. It would be every bit as terrifying as catching a glimpse of the Beast who he never really believed existed, for all that there were all those rumors.
That hadn’t stopped his dad from yelling at him about being a pussy when he was little and came into their room afraid. Yelling about how he needed to toughen up and stop jumping at shadows. Be a real man. Like him.
Craig shivered as he opened the gate behind the house, oh so slowly to keep it from creaking, and moved into the cornfield beyond. He slipped in between the stalks that only came up to about his waist and breathed a sigh of relief.
She wouldn’t come after him out here. There’d been a time when he’d been terrified of this place. When he’d been small enough that a run in with a coyote might’ve been dangerous. Or, more realistically, a run in with one of the coydogs that bred with the coyotes and didn’t have a fear of humans.
He wasn’t afraid of any of that shit now. Let a pack of the little yipping fuckers come at him. He’d smash them.
He felt like smashing something. There was an anger building inside him. An anger that was always there when he had to deal with his parents.
Of course dealing with his mom was better than dealing with his dad.
He shivered again. He could hear the old asshole now. Though he’d been a whole hell of a lot more tolerable since Craig started doing football. Especially after he got the quarterback position.
The old man had been bragging about it all over town. Which got some odd looks since everyone knew the only reason Craig was getting that chance as a junior was because Brad had been ripped to pieces.
“Nobody in town can stand that asshole,” he muttered.
He looked up to the sky above. He could still see over the cornstalks. There was a time when they would’ve been coming up almost to his head at this time of year, but a few big growth spurts had taken care of that.
To be honest those growth spurts had probably done more for keeping his dad’s hands off him than playing football, for that matter.
He felt at home here now. The field had gone from being a place where he was afraid to a place where he knew he’d be safe because neither one of his parents would bother to come after him out here.
Sure they’d be waiting with disapproval when he eventually decided to come home, but whatever.
He started walking. He figured Josh would want to come out here later tonight. He smiled as he thought of the spears they’d made. That had been fun. An excuse to get out of the house and go hang out with Josh’s crazy Uncle Cody for a little while. And the man really was crazy.
There were times when he looked at that spear resting on the special stand they’d created for them and thought about how he could grab that when his dad was yelling at him and…
He pushed those thoughts down. He might be angry, but that was a terrifying thought. He didn’t know where it came from, and he smashed down on it as aggressively as he wanted to smash down on a coydog’s head right about now.
He kept walking. He glanced at his watch. He still had a little while until Josh was supposed to be over.
He lost track of time as he walked. He usually did when he was lost in his thoughts and feeling sorry for himself.
Eventually he found himself at the small woods on the other side of the cornfield. The countryside was dotted with small little woods that farmers kept around because they marked a property boundary, or they covered a train track that ran through somebody’s property, or there was a river or creek that couldn’t be diverted.
There were a lot of reasons why the trees might’ve survived being on prime farmland. There were times when he felt like somebody could move across the entire county by sticking to those wooded areas, though he wasn’t sure how realistic that was.
He looked up at those trees now. They were more than familiar to him. He’d been in here plenty of times playing with Josh. Sure that kind of shit seemed a little silly now, but whatever. It was fun.
Even if Josh was always going on about elves and other bullshit like that. The kind of stuff he never would’ve been interested in himself, but Josh was fascinated by that shit, and always made it seem fun. He stopped and looked at the woods. Then he looked up to the skies again. It was starting to get dark, but it was still mid-July. That meant it wouldn’t be getting too dark too early.
Then he turned and looked off in the distance, and frowned again. Because the moon was hanging there. It seemed to call to him as he stared up at it. His mouth fell open and he took a step towards it, then thought about how ridiculous that was.
It’s not like he could walk to the moon. No, he’d have to get on a rocket or something, and they’d stopped sending rockets to the moon a few years before he was born.
He thought he heard something snap, and he turned to look at the trees. It was thick enough in the little woods that it was hard to see too far. There were some really big trees in there. Like the kind of stuff that made him think this maybe went back to the days when Indians had roamed the land.
He’d found arrowheads in there a couple of times. Josh always got really excited about that. Hell, he always got really excited about it. Even if his dad told him it was stupid for him to get excited about a bunch of “Injun bullshit.”
Which felt vaguely wrong to him, though he couldn’t put his finger on why. Probably because if his old man was saying it then he was being an asshole about something.
His head moved on a swivel, searching for the source of that snap. He wasn’t afraid so much as he was curious. He was a big guy, after all. He figured he could handle anything that came at him.
“Hello?” he called out.
There was no response.
He did feel a tingle on the back of his neck. He thought about how Brad and Carrie bought the big one.
The stories said they’d been torn to pieces. That the inside of Brad’s ancient boat of a car had been coated with blood.
He wasn’t sure how much he believed that. Most of it was small town gossip, and he knew talk was cheap. That people loved to play the telephone game where they tried to make things sound way more horrible than they were in reality.
Still…
“Is anyone out there?” he called out.
Which was ridiculous. It had to be an animal of some sort. Maybe a bobcat. Maybe a coyote. It’s not like there was anything out there that could actually hurt him.
Even all that shit about the Beast was probably a cover-up. That’s what Coach said, at least. The local cops couldn’t handle some serial killer or something who’d been stalking the county for decades, and so they made up a bunch of bullshit about a fucking monster that ripped people’s lungs out for fun to cover up their incompetence.
Yeah. That sounded a whole hell of a lot more likely than some monster roaming the countryside killing people.
There was no more sound. No sound at all. Not from insects. Not from animals. Not from anything.
That had the tingling on the back of his neck going all over again. He backed away. Back into the corn. Though as he did so he never took his eyes off the woods. He was backed up a good twenty feet or so before he lost that prickling sensation on the back of his neck.
He waited for another moment, wondering if there was really something out there or if it was just his imagination. But then slowly the insects started chattering again. Making the same noises that had been the backdrop to every good night of his childhood.
He chuckled, wondering why he was jumping at shadows. Probably because of practice and Coach yelling about how Brad could’ve done it better, which inevitably led to thoughts of what had happened to Brad and wondering how much of that was the truth, and how much of it was small town bullshit.
He shrugged, then turned and made his way back towards the house. It was a little darker overhead, but still not quite twilight.
Though as he turned and looked back towards the trees he had that strange feeling again. The same as when he looked at the moon. Like there was something back there calling to him. Something that sent a shiver running through him.
And not necessarily a bad shiver.
He turned and made his way back to the house. Where he could hear his mom calling. Like she was pissed off that he’d disappeared. It was almost enough to make him turn back to the scary woods. Running into the Beast might be preferable to getting into it with his mom.
But then he heard something else that made him feel better. The unmistakable sound of a station wagon engine revving.
Josh was here. Which meant whatever his mom was pissed off about, it would have to wait until tomorrow after football practice. And maybe that would be enough time that she forgot whatever the fuck it was she was mad about.
If he was lucky. He wasn’t always that lucky, after all.
< < Next Chapter>>
Get advance chapters on Patreon!

Ted would learn a lot of new words by the end of this day. Hopefully, you're learning too, but some of the words Ted learned, I will not be teaching you. You are— if you are an egg, as I presume— too young for that.
It started with finding Eddy's old campsite. He left a message for me. No one leaves a message like that in the middle of nowhere unless they don't think they'll live much longer. Eddy was in trouble, or about to do something really stupid. I followed the direction his glove pointed and pressed on.
I hadn't mentioned before how bad my feet were hurting. Let's rectify that. Space suits weren't meant for long walks on the beach or long walks through a crypt. They were loud, cumbersome, and had poor arch support. Of all things to complain about in times like these, plantar fasciitis wasn't top of my list of predictions. My entire suit was falling apart for that matter. Tattered sleeves and pant legs hung around the metal mating surfaces of wrist and ankle rings. Those would have to come off sooner or later.
"I do wish you would hurry along," from Ted.
"Why are you all of a sudden in such a hurry?" I asked.
"Because if you die somewhere my people can't find me, I may be stuck here forever."
"You keep mentioning your people, but I haven't seen anyone that looks like you."
"There's a logical explanation, I'm sure. Just keep moving and find my portal, please and thank you."
I had taught him that "please and thank you" meant "quickly and I demand you," but I suspect he was catching on. Even if he does, The sarcastic implications could still be used to his advantage. He was a snarky robot, thats for sure.
"My people come first," I said.
"Says who?" He asked.
"Says the person with legs."
"I would still have legs if YOU hadn't eaten them."
"YOU WEREN'T USING THEM!" I shouted.
Poor decision, something heard me, something always hears me. That something was audibly moving closer after having been awoken by our quaral. It sounded like chains dragging. I stopped for a moment, ready to run. My heart pounded on the inside of my eardrums, threatening to burst out as I stood, frozen in space.
Ted's whispering voice broke the silence. "I'm going to let you in on a secret. You NEVER yell in a place like this."
The sound got louder, as whoever or whatever it was got closer.
I whispered back. "I'll let you in on a secret. Your toes came out looking exactly as they went in, dessication and althetes foot in one."
The sound took a cautious step ever closer.
"I hope you're happy being monster food!" The whisper escalated into a stage whisper.
"I hope you're happy being my food!" I accidentally spoke, just outside of a whisper.
The sound seemed to zero in on our location. There was a monstrous low growl and a quickening of the rattling sound.
"I should run now," I astutely observed.
"Tick tock," came a bored-sounding voice from Ted.
I did just that. I ran, metal shoes clinking all the way. Light level being poor in every part of this place, but especially so here, I managed to stumble, bonk, scrape, and smack every hard, sharp, or immovable surface there was. The terrain was causing me more discomfort than whatever was chasing me, and I hadn't even seen it yet.
I ran past Eddy's old campsite, back through the carved tunnel, and around a bend, which permitted more adequate lighting. Again, I making a ruckus all the way. When I felt I was more able to put up a valiant defense, I stopped, turned, and held up a big rock, ready to come down on whatever is analogous for a head on this creature. What came out was the cutest darned thing I had ever seen.
It was like, if you took a rabbit's ears and stuck them on a puppy's head and gave it an otter's body. Scale that up to about knee height. The disconcerting part was it had no eyes.
It looked like an animal from Earth, but I know that wasn't possible. Animals, again, are Earth creatures. Everything else is on its own tree of life. It probably didn't even have DNA as we know it, something definitional for literally every living being on Earth, barring a few who dump it after reaching maturity. But wow, if it wasn't the darndest thing. It looked distinctly Earth.
I stood, unable to bring it down. Don't look at me like that. You try clubbing a baby seal if you think it's that easy. Smashing something like that would take something from you, you could never get back. It's like explaining the birds and the bees to a child who wasn't emotionally mature enough. It ruins them. I suppose a better analogy would be "telling a kid Santa isn't real." But darn it if it didn't happen to me. Speaking from experiance, alright?
I stood there, waiting, hoping it would move on. It stepped a little further out, its substantial claws clinking on the floor like metal. Then Ted did what I feared more than anything else. He spoke.
"Is it gone yet?"
That adorable face centered on Ted's location, which was, of course, in my satchel. I raised the stone up another 3 inches, then accepted my fate, rather than hurting such an innocent-looking creature.
It stepped closer, low and carefully. I closed my eyes, then nothing happened. One eye opened slowly, to see another human.
"Eddy?"
"It's me, Sean," he said.
I dropped the rock behind me, and swung open my arms. Then I hugged him in the most manly way possible. Which is to say, not manly at all. I was hungry, lonely, and anxious. A losing combination for manly fortitude.
"Do you have any food?" I asked.
He laughed. "No, I can't say that I do. Sorry," he replied.
"Hey look, Ted, it's Eddy. I told you about Eddy, right?"
"Endlessly," was Ted's response.
"Hey, whatever happened to that cute-looking alien?" I asked.
"What alien?" He asked back. He seemed a little nervous at that. "Have you been seeing aliens?"
"Are you kidding me? They're everywhere! Most are dead, some I ate, most I ate actually. You were just in a cave full of a bunch of little ones covered in way too much skin. What are you? Blind?"
A careful eyebrow raised as he replied, "right," with a long drawn-out "ight." The sound of skepticism. That's alright, though, as long as he's alive.
We regrouped at his old campsite, reigniting a lantern, and used as a stove. The protein bars went down a little easier when heated up, but there were no protein bars. Best I have to offer are slivers of jerky I stole from justin. You remember justin. He saved me from that first mosnter by being dead, and big enough for me to hide under.
I heated them up as we would our rations, and Eddy watched closely. I handed him one.
"Cookies and cream, my favorite," was his sarcastic "thank you."
"I got your message," I said. "I'm glad you left it for me. I don't know if I would have stuck around long enough for you to find me if you hadn't."
"A message?" He asked.
"Yeah, this one." I handed him the wrapper
He looked at it, flipped it over, then back, then handed it back. "It's just a wrapper. Are you okay?"
"Huh?" I asked. "It's right—huh... it was here, I swear."
"Something's wrong," Ted whispered. It was just loud enough for me to hear, but I could have sworn Eddy's head tilted at that.
"I'll say. My jerky is beginning to taste like that nasty cookies and cream flavor," I said. "Why did he have to mention it? Now that's all I can think of."
I took another bite. They say smell is the quickest way to activating a memory. This seemed to be working in reverse. Now, I smell it from mere memory.
He paused, watching me eat. "Sean, who are you talking to?"
"Oh yeah, meet Ted. I found him a while back. I ate his leg, but he only recently started talking to me." I showed him the artifact Ted was stored in.
"Charmed, I'm sure," from Ted.
Eddy didn't reply. He instead, looked at Ted, then looked back up at me. Finally, he added, "I'm glad to have you back, but I think we need to get some sleep."
That isn't something I've mentioned before. Sleep was a hard thing to reach in a place like this. At first, sure it was easy, but the more you learn about what lurks in the shadows, the weaker sleep's hold on you gets. This time, knowing someone was watching my back, it came much easier. That, or it was the hypodermic needle injecting something into my neck. Note to self: when a coworker pats you on the back, check the hand for a knife.
It was a trip at first, and by that, i mean The colors sang to me, and I could smell the tunes. Yeah, it was that kind of high, a bad one.
Once that was all over, I found myself drooling on my pillow at home. There wasn't a sound to be heard outside my window. All was quiet and peaceful, not even the wimper of a dog at my bed side. Odd, I thought for sure they were right there. I got up, left my bedroom, which apparently led to my front yard. That made sense somehow. My front yard was my living room, no questions there. Also, what idiot left the TV running? And on the news? Who cares about the news? It was playing Some boring dribble about the Canadian prime minister allocating resources to their border. I didn't care. If America wanted Canada—I checked my watch: 3:30. If America wanted Canada, we'd have it by 4:30. There isn't a darned thing they can do about it, boarder patrol of no.
Hey wait a minute, I'm late for work. Darn it, I left my car at work. I'm going to have to borrow my wife's. Don't know how I'll get them both home, but that's not my concern. I've been late too many times. They might fire me, the one and only chosen astronaut to represent my country.
My ride to work wasn't without pit stops. One moment, I was camping with Eddy, he had just put out a fire after offering me a cookies and cream protein bar, then rolled over to go to sleep. Then I was back in my car having been pulled over by duck who was reading me my Miranda rights. I mean a literal duck, 2 feet tall, and i was in hand cuffs. Eventually, I made it to work, apparently having given Eddy a ride, because I had to reach into my back seat to wake him up again.
If i had to guess what this dream meant, I would say, the front yard being me living room, represented how splayed open my life was to the world once I was chosen to fly to space. No privacy whatsoever. Being late? Everyone has those dreams. Eddy and me sharing a protien bar while camping is self explanitory. Then there was the duck. For the lofe of me, I still can't figure that one out. I could wax poetic about how ducks quack, and to quack means "to spill the beans" in mafia talk. Or maybe I was being arrested because I felt like a prisoner her, but I honestly dont know. It was a trip, thats all I can say.
"Are we there yet?" came Eddy's groggy voice.
"Yes, and we had better hurry. We are going to be late for our diaper training," I replied.
You laugh, but dream or no dream, diaper training was real. It was a sanitary effort. Grown men as we were, Eddy and I couldn't keep ourselves from laughing. The Chinese weren't happy to see us having a good time, but James joined in.
We kept it together long enough to get back into the locker room. There, we each took turns strutting our stuff, like we were on a fashion show. when it was my turn again, I added a flourish. "At least I'm wearing the diaper." I turned to Rook, who was a bear in my dream. "On some astronauts, the diaper wears them."
Then I turned and strutted away, making sure to swing my hips. We looked to the Russian, who eventually broke into a laugh and joined in.
He walked confidently across the room to the designated starting point, hiked up his diaper, turned, and started his catwalk. "In Mother Russia, the diaper does wear you." He mocked a hair flip, turned away, and walked back.
"Way to go Ivan Drago," I applauded.
The Chinese were still unamused, though I was sure I saw one of them crack, ever so slightly.
Oh, by the way, this actually happened. I was just reliving it in my fever dream, though Rook wasn't a real bear. That should go without saying, but I had to check. We were having a ball. Then I heard a strange thing. It was a guttural noise.
Somehow I knew the owner of that sound, and his name was Ted. I don't know how I knew him, or where his voice was coming from, but that his name was Ted, I was certain.
"Ted?"
The others slowed their roll and looked at me.
"Ted?" James asked. "Who's Ted?"
I held up an index finger. "Ted? Where are you?"
The gurgling started again, then broke through as speech. "Sean. You have to move."
"What? Move? Am I asleep?"
"No, you are not asleep, but you are hallucinating. Eddy, as you called him, is modifying your sensory inputs. I say, you have chosen a rather poor friend if you ask me."
"Modifying my— if he's modifying my senses, how can I hear you?"
"Because you aren't sensing me, I'm in your head. One moment, I'll try to switch it off."
And he did. He switched off every sense I had. Even the secondary ones like proprioception. I was not only in nothing, but I was nothing. I wasn't even granted the luxury of seeing black. You know what the back of your eyes look like? I mean, how there is NOTHING behind you, as far as your eyes are concerned? Not even black can escape back there. That is what I was in the middle of. A sense of panic set in as I wondered if Ted had managed to switch me off. Then, the worst pain imaginable.
Oh, this is when Ted learned all those new words. Despite my extensive grocery of expletives, I failed to truly communicate the extent of my pain. Shouting, was a mistake though. It comsumed much of my energy in a mater of seconds.
"I'm going to need definitions for all those new words when you get a chance," Ted requested, a little too politely.
I pried my eyelids open, to see a hideous, translucent, gelatinous monster latched to my chest. It loomed over me with somewhere between 5 to 9 supporting limbs.
I reached for one of the gadgets Larry, Curly, and Moe gave me.
"Grab my gun you nimwit!" Ted advised.
"Doesn't— work—" I managed.
Got it. The alien device was in my hand, and I aimed it carefully at the biggest portion I could find.
With a "thub thub" the device fired some of Moe's hardening spit, which went right through its body and stuck to the wall behind it.
"What was that?" Ted asked. "That doesn't sound like my gun!"
I grabbed another of the three Stooges' gadgets. This one was much more low tech. It was a big honking knife. Nice. I swung it at the monstrous alien's giant sucker still attached to my chest. It chose to let go before the knife could hurt it. Either it had good reflexes, or I was much too slow and tired.
"Sean it's me, Eddy. Are you trying to put an eye out?"
"Don't listen to it," Ted advised. "Just grab my gun and end this."
I did as he told me. Wouldn't hurt, if not, I'm dead anyway. That thing did a number on me. Still on my back, I held it steady. "Alright, how do you use this thing?" I coughed.
I blinked, and the monstrous alien, was that earth looking animal again. It struck serious platypus vibes, in that it took all the cutest parts of an animal and smushed them together.
"Do you have my gun yet?" Ted asked.
The creature regained some amount of composure and began inching forward, sniffing the air in that adorable way it does.
"Yeah. Got it." My voice was quiet. Barely a whisper. It took all the energy I had left just to say it.
"Thumb on top."
I did so.
"First finger goes in the hole on the side."
I did that too.
"Use your other hand to support the gun at the handle, then use your third, and final finger to pull the trigger."
"Kaboom" would fail to fully encapsulate just how impressive the sound was that came next. It wasn't so loud that it hurt, but I felt it in every inch of my body. That gun rocked my world, and I'm sure it did the same to the creature.
Somehow, it died from the massive hole in its body. Who knew?
The odd thing was, everything of Eddy's disapeared after that. The lanturn, the glove that pointed forward, the message on the wraper, but the wraper was still there. That means Eddy was here.
Next chapter: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/s/wcPwMNjxjn

Ted would learn a lot of new words by the end of this day. Hopefully, you're learning too, but some of the words Ted learned, I will not be teaching you. You are— if you are an egg, as I presume— too young for that.
It started with finding Eddy's old campsite. He left a message for me. No one leaves a message like that in the middle of nowhere unless they don't think they'll live much longer. Eddy was in trouble, or about to do something really stupid. I followed the direction his glove pointed and pressed on.
I hadn't mentioned before how bad my feet were hurting. Let's rectify that. Space suits weren't meant for long walks on the beach or long walks through a crypt. They were loud, cumbersome, and had poor arch support. Of all things to complain about in times like these, plantar fasciitis wasn't top of my list of predictions. My entire suit was falling apart for that matter. Tattered sleeves and pant legs hung around the metal mating surfaces of wrist and ankle rings. Those would have to come off sooner or later.
"I do wish you would hurry along," from Ted.
"Why are you all of a sudden in such a hurry?" I asked.
"Because if you die somewhere my people can't find me, I may be stuck here forever."
"You keep mentioning your people, but I haven't seen anyone that looks like you."
"There's a logical explanation, I'm sure. Just keep moving and find my portal, please and thank you."
I had taught him that "please and thank you" meant "quickly and I demand you," but I suspect he was catching on. Even if he does, The sarcastic implications could still be used to his advantage. He was a snarky robot, thats for sure.
"My people come first," I said.
"Says who?" He asked.
"Says the person with legs."
"I would still have legs if YOU hadn't eaten them."
"YOU WEREN'T USING THEM!" I shouted.
Poor decision, something heard me, something always hears me. That something was audibly moving closer after having been awoken by our quaral. It sounded like chains dragging. I stopped for a moment, ready to run. My heart pounded on the inside of my eardrums, threatening to burst out as I stood, frozen in space.
Ted's whispering voice broke the silence. "I'm going to let you in on a secret. You NEVER yell in a place like this."
The sound got louder, as whoever or whatever it was got closer.
I whispered back. "I'll let you in on a secret. Your toes came out looking exactly as they went in, dessication and althetes foot in one."
The sound took a cautious step ever closer.
"I hope you're happy being monster food!" The whisper escalated into a stage whisper.
"I hope you're happy being my food!" I accidentally spoke, just outside of a whisper.
The sound seemed to zero in on our location. There was a monstrous low growl and a quickening of the rattling sound.
"I should run now," I astutely observed.
"Tick tock," came a bored-sounding voice from Ted.
I did just that. I ran, metal shoes clinking all the way. Light level being poor in every part of this place, but especially so here, I managed to stumble, bonk, scrape, and smack every hard, sharp, or immovable surface there was. The terrain was causing me more discomfort than whatever was chasing me, and I hadn't even seen it yet.
I ran past Eddy's old campsite, back through the carved tunnel, and around a bend, which permitted more adequate lighting. Again, I making a ruckus all the way. When I felt I was more able to put up a valiant defense, I stopped, turned, and held up a big rock, ready to come down on whatever is analogous for a head on this creature. What came out was the cutest darned thing I had ever seen.
It was like, if you took a rabbit's ears and stuck them on a puppy's head and gave it an otter's body. Scale that up to about knee height. The disconcerting part was it had no eyes.
It looked like an animal from Earth, but I know that wasn't possible. Animals, again, are Earth creatures. Everything else is on its own tree of life. It probably didn't even have DNA as we know it, something definitional for literally every living being on Earth, barring a few who dump it after reaching maturity. But wow, if it wasn't the darndest thing. It looked distinctly Earth.
I stood, unable to bring it down. Don't look at me like that. You try clubbing a baby seal if you think it's that easy. Smashing something like that would take something from you, you could never get back. It's like explaining the birds and the bees to a child who wasn't emotionally mature enough. It ruins them. I suppose a better analogy would be "telling a kid Santa isn't real." But darn it if it didn't happen to me. Speaking from experiance, alright?
I stood there, waiting, hoping it would move on. It stepped a little further out, its substantial claws clinking on the floor like metal. Then Ted did what I feared more than anything else. He spoke.
"Is it gone yet?"
That adorable face centered on Ted's location, which was, of course, in my satchel. I raised the stone up another 3 inches, then accepted my fate, rather than hurting such an innocent-looking creature.
It stepped closer, low and carefully. I closed my eyes, then nothing happened. One eye opened slowly, to see another human.
"Eddy?"
"It's me, Sean," he said.
I dropped the rock behind me, and swung open my arms. Then I hugged him in the most manly way possible. Which is to say, not manly at all. I was hungry, lonely, and anxious. A losing combination for manly fortitude.
"Do you have any food?" I asked.
He laughed. "No, I can't say that I do. Sorry," he replied.
"Hey look, Ted, it's Eddy. I told you about Eddy, right?"
"Endlessly," was Ted's response.
"Hey, whatever happened to that cute-looking alien?" I asked.
"What alien?" He asked back. He seemed a little nervous at that. "Have you been seeing aliens?"
"Are you kidding me? They're everywhere! Most are dead, some I ate, most I ate actually. You were just in a cave full of a bunch of little ones covered in way too much skin. What are you? Blind?"
A careful eyebrow raised as he replied, "right," with a long drawn-out "ight." The sound of skepticism. That's alright, though, as long as he's alive.
We regrouped at his old campsite, reigniting a lantern, and used as a stove. The protein bars went down a little easier when heated up, but there were no protein bars. Best I have to offer are slivers of jerky I stole from justin. You remember justin. He saved me from that first mosnter by being dead, and big enough for me to hide under.
I heated them up as we would our rations, and Eddy watched closely. I handed him one.
"Cookies and cream, my favorite," was his sarcastic "thank you."
"I got your message," I said. "I'm glad you left it for me. I don't know if I would have stuck around long enough for you to find me if you hadn't."
"A message?" He asked.
"Yeah, this one." I handed him the wrapper
He looked at it, flipped it over, then back, then handed it back. "It's just a wrapper. Are you okay?"
"Huh?" I asked. "It's right—huh... it was here, I swear."
"Something's wrong," Ted whispered. It was just loud enough for me to hear, but I could have sworn Eddy's head tilted at that.
"I'll say. My jerky is beginning to taste like that nasty cookies and cream flavor," I said. "Why did he have to mention it? Now that's all I can think of."
I took another bite. They say smell is the quickest way to activating a memory. This seemed to be working in reverse. Now, I smell it from mere memory.
He paused, watching me eat. "Sean, who are you talking to?"
"Oh yeah, meet Ted. I found him a while back. I ate his leg, but he only recently started talking to me." I showed him the artifact Ted was stored in.
"Charmed, I'm sure," from Ted.
Eddy didn't reply. He instead, looked at Ted, then looked back up at me. Finally, he added, "I'm glad to have you back, but I think we need to get some sleep."
That isn't something I've mentioned before. Sleep was a hard thing to reach in a place like this. At first, sure it was easy, but the more you learn about what lurks in the shadows, the weaker sleep's hold on you gets. This time, knowing someone was watching my back, it came much easier. That, or it was the hypodermic needle injecting something into my neck. Note to self: when a coworker pats you on the back, check the hand for a knife.
It was a trip at first, and by that, i mean The colors sang to me, and I could smell the tunes. Yeah, it was that kind of high, a bad one.
Once that was all over, I found myself drooling on my pillow at home. There wasn't a sound to be heard outside my window. All was quiet and peaceful, not even the wimper of a dog at my bed side. Odd, I thought for sure they were right there. I got up, left my bedroom, which apparently led to my front yard. That made sense somehow. My front yard was my living room, no questions there. Also, what idiot left the TV running? And on the news? Who cares about the news? It was playing Some boring dribble about the Canadian prime minister allocating resources to their border. I didn't care. If America wanted Canada—I checked my watch: 3:30. If America wanted Canada, we'd have it by 4:30. There isn't a darned thing they can do about it, boarder patrol of no.
Hey wait a minute, I'm late for work. Darn it, I left my car at work. I'm going to have to borrow my wife's. Don't know how I'll get them both home, but that's not my concern. I've been late too many times. They might fire me, the one and only chosen astronaut to represent my country.
My ride to work wasn't without pit stops. One moment, I was camping with Eddy, he had just put out a fire after offering me a cookies and cream protein bar, then rolled over to go to sleep. Then I was back in my car having been pulled over by duck who was reading me my Miranda rights. I mean a literal duck, 2 feet tall, and i was in hand cuffs. Eventually, I made it to work, apparently having given Eddy a ride, because I had to reach into my back seat to wake him up again.
If i had to guess what this dream meant, I would say, the front yard being me living room, represented how splayed open my life was to the world once I was chosen to fly to space. No privacy whatsoever. Being late? Everyone has those dreams. Eddy and me sharing a protien bar while camping is self explanitory. Then there was the duck. For the lofe of me, I still can't figure that one out. I could wax poetic about how ducks quack, and to quack means "to spill the beans" in mafia talk. Or maybe I was being arrested because I felt like a prisoner her, but I honestly dont know. It was a trip, thats all I can say.
"Are we there yet?" came Eddy's groggy voice.
"Yes, and we had better hurry. We are going to be late for our diaper training," I replied.
You laugh, but dream or no dream, diaper training was real. It was a sanitary effort. Grown men as we were, Eddy and I couldn't keep ourselves from laughing. The Chinese weren't happy to see us having a good time, but James joined in.
We kept it together long enough to get back into the locker room. There, we each took turns strutting our stuff, like we were on a fashion show. when it was my turn again, I added a flourish. "At least I'm wearing the diaper." I turned to Rook, who was a bear in my dream. "On some astronauts, the diaper wears them."
Then I turned and strutted away, making sure to swing my hips. We looked to the Russian, who eventually broke into a laugh and joined in.
He walked confidently across the room to the designated starting point, hiked up his diaper, turned, and started his catwalk. "In Mother Russia, the diaper does wear you." He mocked a hair flip, turned away, and walked back.
"Way to go Ivan Drago," I applauded.
The Chinese were still unamused, though I was sure I saw one of them crack, ever so slightly.
Oh, by the way, this actually happened. I was just reliving it in my fever dream, though Rook wasn't a real bear. That should go without saying, but I had to check. We were having a ball. Then I heard a strange thing. It was a guttural noise.
Somehow I knew the owner of that sound, and his name was Ted. I don't know how I knew him, or where his voice was coming from, but that his name was Ted, I was certain.
"Ted?"
The others slowed their roll and looked at me.
"Ted?" James asked. "Who's Ted?"
I held up an index finger. "Ted? Where are you?"
The gurgling started again, then broke through as speech. "Sean. You have to move."
"What? Move? Am I asleep?"
"No, you are not asleep, but you are hallucinating. Eddy, as you called him, is modifying your sensory inputs. I say, you have chosen a rather poor friend if you ask me."
"Modifying my— if he's modifying my senses, how can I hear you?"
"Because you aren't sensing me, I'm in your head. One moment, I'll try to switch it off."
And he did. He switched off every sense I had. Even the secondary ones like proprioception. I was not only in nothing, but I was nothing. I wasn't even granted the luxury of seeing black. You know what the back of your eyes look like? I mean, how there is NOTHING behind you, as far as your eyes are concerned? Not even black can escape back there. That is what I was in the middle of. A sense of panic set in as I wondered if Ted had managed to switch me off. Then, the worst pain imaginable.
Oh, this is when Ted learned all those new words. Despite my extensive grocery of expletives, I failed to truly communicate the extent of my pain. Shouting, was a mistake though. It comsumed much of my energy in a mater of seconds.
"I'm going to need definitions for all those new words when you get a chance," Ted requested, a little too politely.
I pried my eyelids open, to see a hideous, translucent, gelatinous monster latched to my chest. It loomed over me with somewhere between 5 to 9 supporting limbs.
I reached for one of the gadgets Larry, Curly, and Moe gave me.
"Grab my gun you nimwit!" Ted advised.
"Doesn't— work—" I managed.
Got it. The alien device was in my hand, and I aimed it carefully at the biggest portion I could find.
With a "thub thub" the device fired some of Moe's hardening spit, which went right through its body and stuck to the wall behind it.
"What was that?" Ted asked. "That doesn't sound like my gun!"
I grabbed another of the three Stooges' gadgets. This one was much more low tech. It was a big honking knife. Nice. I swung it at the monstrous alien's giant sucker still attached to my chest. It chose to let go before the knife could hurt it. Either it had good reflexes, or I was much too slow and tired.
"Sean it's me, Eddy. Are you trying to put an eye out?"
"Don't listen to it," Ted advised. "Just grab my gun and end this."
I did as he told me. Wouldn't hurt, if not, I'm dead anyway. That thing did a number on me. Still on my back, I held it steady. "Alright, how do you use this thing?" I coughed.
I blinked, and the monstrous alien, was that earth looking animal again. It struck serious platypus vibes, in that it took all the cutest parts of an animal and smushed them together.
"Do you have my gun yet?" Ted asked.
The creature regained some amount of composure and began inching forward, sniffing the air in that adorable way it does.
"Yeah. Got it." My voice was quiet. Barely a whisper. It took all the energy I had left just to say it.
"Thumb on top."
I did so.
"First finger goes in the hole on the side."
I did that too.
"Use your other hand to support the gun at the handle, then use your third, and final finger to pull the trigger."
"Kaboom" would fail to fully encapsulate just how impressive the sound was that came next. It wasn't so loud that it hurt, but I felt it in every inch of my body. That gun rocked my world, and I'm sure it did the same to the creature.
Somehow, it died from the massive hole in its body. Who knew?
The odd thing was, everything of Eddy's disapeared after that. The lanturn, the glove that pointed forward, the message on the wraper, but the wraper was still there. That means Eddy was here.
Next chapter: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/s/wcPwMNjxjn

̉ First Prev Next Royal Road Patreon Ko-fi Discord
PRs: u/anakist & u/BroDogIsMyName
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Yet another kinetic projectile ricocheted off of the armoured hull of a shuttle acting as their cover. It deflected into the brittle concrete floor, leaving sparks and fragmentation in its wake, the round spraying the area with lethal shards. Displaced rubble fell like a sombre rain amidst pounding hearts. Over a dozen souls tensed, each of them awaiting her order.
Sunundra provided. “Move!”
The group bolted from cover, paw pads and boots stomping against the ground as they ran through the corridors of dry-docked ships. The panting of both human and Lilhun was drowned out by the din of combat. Shouts broached the cacophony, sorrow and fury roaring out in equal measure, yet they ignored how the former was becoming more prevalent. The constant sprinting was wearing the group down, and the circumstances that necessitated it was gnawing at their fraying nerves, but the pale-furred female gritted her teeth the hardest. She was falling behind more and more with every mad dash, only overtaking those who fell to enemy fire.
The rest of her unit pulled ahead as she hid the grimace of pain caused by her abused legs pushing herself forward. One paw held her stomach, the claws hooked into what little fabric they could gain purchase in. It made her stride even more lopsided, but it was disguising the trickle of blood coaxed by the heightened activity, preventing the others from questioning her weakness. Try as she might, applying pressure to the wound was out of the question for a simple reason; her arm wouldn’t obey her commands anymore. It had suffered too much. From gunshots to cuts, from overworking and enduring impact after impact, her shoulder wept its own crimson tears. Metal flecks had found their way into open wounds and irritated her raw flesh, grinding deeper into already torn muscles. Any haphazardly applied bandages had fallen off a while ago.
The defect stumbled behind the pack into the shade cast by the next spacecraft, straining her hearing to locate the repeated calls from the group that found a functional transport. It was so clear before, but now the voices melded into the staccato of firearms and stray shots slamming into concrete and steel. Pain bloomed during the brief moment of respite given to them by the bulwark they sheltered behind, a headache tearing into her like heavy machinery attempting to crack open her skull. She surrendered to the pain and folded her ears. It was useless; she wasn’t able to pick out where they needed to go next when everything else was so loud. She could only pray that her initial heading was correct, and that they would see far less fallen.
They had passed two other units so far. The first had been reduced to a pair of Lilhuns holding their stolen bonds in one arm while laying waste to everything in their sight through their tear-struck howls of rage, their faces of loss and ire illuminated by the unending strobe of their guns. Jean had to be physically picked up by Syrus to stop her from falling into shock when the pair was eviscerated by the deluge of retaliatory fire. The human became silent since then. Despondent. Her scent was like acid on the defect’s snout, eating and eroding flesh with every laboured breath. It smelled like everything she knew of their kind’s scent, yet nothing at the same time, setting her even more on edge. It was the smell of emotions abruptly cut short, the furless biped’s mind shutting down to leave naught but a cold shell.
It was eerily close to the scent of death.
The second group they encountered had successfully repelled a wave of forces pressuring them into retreat. Having suffered only a single loss, a recently unpaired human remained with their others instead of searching for vengeance like his bonded partner would have, though the dark expression and muted pheromones sowed unease within his allies. The unit joined Sunundra’s following and were assigned to carrying the weight of ammunition, addressing sustained wounds between baiting shots from ever-present snipers. No one complained about how long it took to tend to those who needed it; the lull bought time to prepare the next method of misleading their foe.
One of the furred males grabbed a cap from his bond and placed it over the barrel of his empty firearm, using the rifle to feign a cautious member of the group ‘peeking’ around the corner. The response was immediate. The garment was sacrificed to a single, lethally accurate kinetic that destroyed both bait and weapon in the process. The male discarded both and sprinted onward. The rest tore after him.
Open spaces passed by in a blur. Imposing superships loomed over them as they ran between storefront-sized blocks holding it aloft. They kept up the pace far longer than Sunundra could maintain, yet the pale-furred female kept running, choking down air when she could.
Despite the command to hold, a female Lilhun risked not waiting for another attempt to waste the sniper’s bullet and continued beyond the cover of the support blocks, taking a round to the chest in her haste. She tumbled, an attempt to get back to her feet ceased with a second shot that impacted the ground a moment before she fell limp. There was no time for mourning, nor for chastising the decisions of the deceased. The sacrifice had allowed them to continue safely, intentionally or not. The group swallowed their discomfort and ran, most pointedly not looking at the dead eyes watching kin abandon her corpse.
Sunundra, however, looked. She met the stare devoid of light as she passed. That one did not heed the orders of her betters. That one fell as a consequence. The pack leader returned her gaze to the next batch of cover, forever disregarding the result of insubordination. The small fragment of her soul holding Bill’s wish whimpered, muffled beneath the hardened shell formed to protect it. She was to save them, true, but they were to obey. It was not her responsibility to carry the weight of their stupidity.
The defect was the last to get behind the cover of a mostly disassembled transport, heavy steps bleeding off her momentum. The others had chosen to rest; some stood, others leaned against their protection, and a few simply sat down to nurse their wounds, purposely ignoring the distant cries of suffering.
“How much farther?” Syrus asked between laboured pants, Jean hidden within his embrace. The female’s shuddered breaths showed an attempt to collect herself—an effort apparently helped by the bonded one stroking her head.
A lighter-furred male catching his breath perked an ear. “I cannot hear them over the—”
A deafening explosion beyond their cover sent dust and detritus through the air.
“—combat,” he finished with a wince. “We should be near by now.”
“How close are the approaching forces?” another Lilhun questioned. “The sniper must be relaying our position, no? Why have we not been surrounded from all angles yet?”
“We are,” Sunundra corrected dryly, hiding her exhaustion and injuries by crossing her good arm over the limp one caught in her shirt. She gazed at the ground, almost fantasizing about how comfortable it would be to just lay down, though she bit back the dulled urge. If she stopped now, there would be no starting again. Her legs were leadened weights, her lungs burned, and her mind was clouded. Suns upon suns of high stress and endless activity had more than taken its toll. Any attempt to rest might prove to be her last.
Curious eyes looked to their leader for an explanation, reminding her yet again that these were civilians, not soldiers. She turned her attention to the maze of crafts beyond their hideaway.
“I suspect they have split our pack,” she elaborated tiredly. “There is no route to flee—the Union has ensured that—and what we have remaining is not enough to breach quarantine. We have been moving towards our escape, yet what of those who were farther away than ourselves? There has been no sign of them following us, and no firefights have chased us down. The enemy is separating us into easier to manage chunks and eliminating us through superior numbers.”
Silence washed over the gathered unit as she brought her disinterested stare back to them. Twenty faces of mixed species all wore defeat as their expression. A human male spoke up, pushing himself off the ground to stand. Blood and grit covered his angered, disbelieving scowl. “Then why haven’t we been cornered yet?”
The defect shook her head when an attempted shrug failed. “You deem us of greater importance than the others? Are we so identifiable to the hordes of the indiscriminate? No. They slaughter our kin as the opportunity arises—we have simply been fortunate enough to provide few. Perhaps our position in the middle of the spread allowed us greater freedom, or perhaps the enemy has concentrated their efforts on removing those who found themselves with less protection in the environment. Why we remain is immaterial; we merely are, and it is our duty to the departed to prove such an oversight to be the Union’s fatal mistake.”
She beckoned the group with a claw, ignoring the cowed alien’s odd expression of determination and uncertainty. “Rise. You all have rested enough. We must continue.”
Several opened their mouths to protest, but her glare stayed their words. They knew that every moment wasted on temporary respite was another moment risking permanent failure. Sunundra was aware of the massacre happening out of sight, no matter how much she wished she wasn’t. If they were split as heavily as she feared, then hundreds would have been reduced to half by now, and that said nothing of the units they circumvented or had yet to see.
She was saving far less than she desired, and that number was getting smaller and smaller…
A tentative nod was shared amongst the group, the few firearms they still had being checked and reloaded before someone went about luring another shot from the sniper.
A bullet cracked against the ground. They ran.
- - - - -
The beckoning from the unit who had found a suitable transport was finally audible over the cacophony of war. They yelled for their kin through hoarse desperation. It was close—an assumption supported by the report of gunfire transitioning from being diluted echos to its new snapping clarity. Still, Sunundra’s pack ran unimpeded by fear, every hurried stride bringing them towards their destination as they traveled between the slivers of shadow. There was no room for hesitation anymore; the enemy had finally begun closing in, and any lingering thoughts of staying in the safety of the ships’ protection was dashed by urgency.
Tall walls of space-faring constructs dwindled to nearly nothing as they broached a section dedicated to individual component repair. The broad space was free of towering transports or sturdy pillars to hide behind, yet it was filled by chaos. Distant ships framed the circular, artificial enclosure, only the upper halves visible over the mess of storage and tools. The space was occupied—no, consumed—by countless workstations and abandoned assemblies, several shelves of replacement parts already torn asunder by warfare. Terminal arrays, mechanical lifts, and large, boxy equipment lay scattered and haphazardly placed. Cables and panels offered nearly nothing in the way of sightlines, swallowing entire pathways with their nets of wiring—some of which sparked and swayed, cut by stray shots. Claustrophobic lanes were all they could actually see, and those told of an even worse labyrinth awaiting them.
Footsteps slowed while those in front of the unit visually scoured the edges for a path through—a mistake. They were not alone, and the enemy welcomed their group swiftly.
Both left and right became naught but flash and deafening din, streaks of light trailing superheated plasma screaming its way mere fractions from piercing her kin’s forms. Several of her pack shouted their suffering as crimson mist sprayed outward and the scent of seared flesh polluted the air. No one needed to encourage the pack to dive into the maelstrom of mechanical litter, though some were slower to do so than others—Sunundra included. She ignored the burn across her thighs and jumped over a table covered in tools and schematics, embracing the dim shade that swallowed her whole. A stumbled step and outstretched arm stopped her fall, pushing her back into a lopsided sprint to catch up to the others before she too was left behind. Flickers of fur beyond the veil of wiring was all she could see of her kin, and that was quickly lost amongst the nests of cables. Yet she persisted, the dryness in her throat making every heaving breath feel like she was inhaling shards of glass. At least it was safer within—
Something slammed into her back, sending her cascading over a crude, knee-high box, her form crashing to the floor. Bullets relentlessly punched through metal and synthetic compounds above her, saturating the area with promised demise. Shelves and equipment were perforated endlessly by unerring streams of projectiles. Splinters exploded into the air with every shot, pelting her with slivers that stuck and stung the skin. She managed to close an eye in time to avoid going blind, but the tiny fragments littering her fur needled exposed wounds.
The assault lasted only a moment before the maelstrom swept onwards to suppress other sections. The pale-furred female pulled herself to her knees, noticing that she had lost the others. She was alone, blood pouring down her face from lacerations on her scalp while the arc of gunfire likely shredded her pack inside the mess of shelves. The thoughts were quickly drowned out by blackness crawling through her veins. A familiar, sickeningly enticing Void cooed into her ears through whispers that knew no volume, yet said nothing at all. It only begged to be released once more. To feed.
She felt it tempt what remained of her consciousness, promising a momentary rest while it dealt with her troubles. It warned her of how it could force her to comply. It brought forth the flickers of memory—of the rapture on a red-soaked defect bearing crimson-stained teeth while their prey fell lifeless before them. It asked her if she would rather admit to having failed her bond, dedicating herself to enacting vengeance, or if she would cling to the increasingly doomed goal she had set for herself.
For the briefest of moments, Sunundra considered it.
Her hammering heart skipped and stuttered, each successful beat detonating in her chest to make up for those it missed. Her head grew light, her vision draining of all colour, and only the keening wail of a ruptured eardrum remained in one ear.
Had she already failed? Was it time to give up? Could she?
Outnumbered, outgunned, and hopelessly trapped, could she abandon the wish and surrender to the desire—the need to drink the ichor of her enemies who took her bond? All she had to do was accept her failure, and then she could ensure that all who had sinned against her were sent to the Void as mere playthings for the faithful. They would go, fearful and haunted by the image of a pale-furred monster savouring the taste of their flesh as life bled from their forms, and she could be the beast that smiled at their suffering. She could die as something more than a sad, desolate female who had lost their gift.
It would be so simple to forget what she was supposed to be…
“...ver…ere!”
Her arm was nigh useless, but she could rend and sever with just one. The other was a detriment, however, trapped within the cloth of her shirt. That would get in the way. She tugged at the wrist with her functional paw, aware of something pulling at the wound in her stomach, yet disregarding the phantom sting. An object fell into the limp limb’s grasp, but her attention moved to the continued static wail assaulting half of her hearing. Distance speech garbled and wavered—a distraction to be dealt with.
“...ean, we must leave!”
“..v…er…!”
She got to her feet, claws picking at the shell of her ear, returning with shards of…
She stared at what she held in her functional paw, confused by the sense of loss. Her translator lay on her pad, destroyed. Useless. It must have been damaged by shrapnel, rendering it to be little more than malfunctioning waste. The assumption proved true; a metal splinter had punched through almost the entire device, just barely stopping before it pierced her eardrum. She had removed what caused the noise, and her hearing was apparently still fine, so why did it hurt to see this tiny object laying so shattered?
Ah, right. It was the first thing she accepted from Bill. It was what allowed her to speak with him.
Now…it was gone. Just like him…
The dulled sensation of something else in her other paw reminded her of the previously ignored curiosity. It was a red-soaked cylinder, a small fuse protruding from the top.
‘You’re a kind person, miss.’ ‘Well, you’re my Sunshine.’ ‘I can’t…save you. I can’t…help the others.’
Sunundra blinked, surprised by the suddenly blurred vision. She was about to give up, wasn’t she? She did give up, but his words shed light upon her darkness. Even now, he reminded her of what she had suffered for. Of what she still suffered to achieve.
No. He reminded her what she will achieve, no matter how small. No matter how pathetic she became, no matter how little she was, and no matter how far she would need to go, she would fulfill his wish.
A sudden paw grabbed her arm, almost hauling her off her feet. Sunundra stumbled, blinking through her surprise and the pulse of adrenaline when she noticed Jean yelling at her in that unintelligible human language as she was pulled along. The alien female sported her own cuts and dirtied clothing, but unlike the horified visage of before, she glowered at the defect with a gaze of sheer determination while navigating further into the maze of shelving.
“Just leave her!” a deeper voice shouted. Sunundra glanced at the source. Syrus stood amongst discarded toolboxes, seeming none too pleased with his bond’s actions, a paw resting on his pistol. Jean barked something in reply and continued past him hurriedly. Whatever was said was enough to bring conflict to the male’s expression. He searched the pale-furred female with his gaze when he caught up, his eyes flicking to her ear. “Her translator is missing.”
His bond slowed, finally letting go of the defect’s paw. Her speech prompted him to close his eyes and let out a frustrated huff before addressing his pack leader with irritation in his tone. “We located the ship, high one, but we required a distraction to cross a vacant stretch to reach it. Several have volunteered.”
“Yet you remain?” Sunundra asked distractedly, steadying herself when Jean released her. Something was missing, but she hadn’t the chance to dwell on it before Syrus’ glower returned.
“It seems my bond values your life enough to risk her own in ensuring you were given a chance to escape as well.” He ignored his human’s indignant reply. “Thus we are here, delaying the others while we waste time.”
“Then we must return,” she countered, not bothering to start an argument. Her thoughts were occupied by the drips of dread pooling in the back of her subconscious. What was wrong? What was absent? Her arm was slack, but with them being so close to their goal, appearances could afford to tarnish somewhat. Besides, as long as she still had—
Her breath hitched as she turned towards whence they came. The firecracker.
Her paws were empty. She didn’t put it back where it belonged. Where was it? When did she lose it? How?
…Jean. Jean had grabbed just above her wrist, and Sunundra dropped the keepsake without noticing, too surprised to process the absence of something so important. She left it behind.
Her hope of returning to what Bill was so fond of. Her hope of being his Sunshine once more. Her hope of not succumbing to the Void. It was gone. Abandoned. She had to go get it. She had to hold it again. Her instincts all but begged for the crimson-stained explosive to be returned to her. To its resting place, protected by her very flesh and blood. To be kept where no other could sully what it stood for. She felt cold without it. Distressed. Empty. It was wrong to be away from it. She needed it. She needed to have it close. She needed—
Another paw gripped her shoulder and roughly pulled her back before she could leave to retrieve the physical manifestation of the promise she made to herself.
“Release me!”
“We must go,” Syrus growled, tugging her off balance and forcing her onward. She tried to resist, but she was too weak. Too hurt. Her form was pushed too far to fight the male. Not without surrendering to becoming the thing which relished violence and would put an end to what she held dear. She had no choice but to suppress the tears of futility as she was led farther and farther away from her last memento of her bond.
Jean assisted when she noticed strength drain from the defect’s limbs, placing an arm around Sunundra’s back to ease the strain of stumbled steps. The act was done in good faith, but all she felt was yet another barrier placed between herself and the last thing remaining of the one she loved.
- - - - -
The lull in violence did little to ease their nerves, yet the pale-furred female’s thoughts remained clouded. It didn’t matter now. She felt vacant. Wrong. She eventually regained enough energy to walk on her own, though it took a light tug to have Jean allow it. Syrus released her when he was sure she wouldn’t charge back into the mess of wires, and she made no attempt to. There was no point in going back now; she didn’t know where the firecracker had fallen, and Bill would be disappointed with her if she abandoned the others for a single object. Not when they were so close.
They regrouped with the others who intended to rush towards their goal, just barely ten in number. Truthfully, she only heard how a few of the broken were to draw the enemy’s attention elsewhere in the maze, freeing time for the rest to flee with their bonds—a pragmatic course of action, if disliked by some. She just nodded at the request for her approval. A few humans begged for her to stop them, but they accepted when she spoke, her own voice uttering words she didn’t recall forming. Something else kept her moving, talking, and commanding…
She was wondering what the point was, uncaring of if it was actually her piloting her body anymore—as long as what needed to be done was done, then the how was of little importance.
If anyone noticed a difference in her demeanor, then they failed to act on it. The remaining pack moved to their assigned positions and waited for the signal, spurred on by a faux defective barking orders. Sunundra barely tried to keep track of what was happening, every blink transporting her somewhere else within the chaotic confines of the maintenance area, some part of her remaining at the reins of consciousness while the rest fell quiet.
Combat initiated elsewhere. The air above gained more streaks of plasma and cries of suffering, some belonging to the enemy. That was enough to elicit action amongst those in wait, the group sprinting out from the shelving and into empty space towards the safety of ships. Of course, Sunundra’s injuries had only worsened over time, and blood loss had worn her down to the point that she would fall behind once again. And she would have, had Jean not insisted on having Syrus assist. Both of them all but carried her forward.
They were about half way through the open area when a tan-furred male peeked around the edge of a craft with a weapon trained on them, only to lower it once they saw who was approaching. He shouted out for unseen kin to open something, a rapid exchange being followed by a loud hiss, then a ramp being lowered into a recess along the clearing. The new one’s voice pierced Sunundra’s daze enough for her to regain lucidity.
“Hurry!”
Syrus slowed in tandem with his bond, his glare of confusion mixing with irritation as he once again released his pack leader to walk forward. “This is what you summoned us to? You were told to acquire a larger ship.”
The other Lilhun growled, jabbing a claw at the modest shuttle. “You are more than aware of what happened to the rest of us! We did find a larger transport, yet it was overrun as soon as the fight started. You should be thankful we located something else! Now, get inside. Quickly! We are attempting to bypass the console lock on the cockpit, and the moment that we succeed, we leave—with or without you.”
“You cannot—”
“—I have done enough,” he snarled, taking a step closer to the dark-furred male, his grip on the firearm tightening. He gestured towards the pitifully small collection of souls that had managed to make it to their method of escape. “You have no right to criticize me when this is all you bring. I did my duty and called out to our kin, then did so again out of kindness—something that is becoming ruinously difficult to supply. We have bled enough as it is. We have lost enough as it is. We need not welcome the Void while awaiting those who have already departed. If you do not get in the shuttle, you are welcome to find another for yourself, where you may gleefully join those who will never come.”
Jean started to speak up with vitriol in her throat, and Syrus seemed prepared to pull out his pistol, but neither could act before a human female appeared at the top of the shuttle’s ramp, a light pant colouring her speech. The new one gestured at a panel next to the entrance on the hull a few times before jogging back inside.
“The lock requires an override,” Syrus translated through a growl, rubbing a rib his bond had prodded none too gently. He gave a sharp nod towards the panel that the other human seemed frustrated with. “The internal system is apparently reliant on that, but none of their members are able to bypass it.”
A questioning glance at the others proved that their group’s arrival had yet to change that fact.
The dark-furred male huffed. “Are you able to destroy it?” he spit between clenched teeth, keeping his attention on the tan-furred male while begrudgingly addressing the pack leader.
The defect shrugged off her backpack after a sluggish moment’s thought, wondering if she had enough loose compounds for a simple acid or the like. The bag was still mostly empty; she had lone drops and grains of chemicals, but not enough to make anything useful. A shuffling paw scoured the contents in case something had escaped her notice, the process brought to an abrupt halt when Recon’s drone thumped against the ground. Its shell was cracked and mangled, a deep crater carved into the chassis, rendering the majority of it inert. Her brow creased in confusion until she remembered being hit in the back while amongst the shelving and wires—a hit that her backpack took the brunt of.
So she was shot then, just…protected… Protected by a gift created to convey her sincerity to one who wished nothing of it, then held by the pitiful female who was too terrified to accept that none would care for her. Sunundra eyed the monocopter before hesitating, her paw having stretched to retrieve it without her permission. She reeled the errant appendage back in, grabbing her bag and making her way over to the panel, ignoring the unease caused by abandoning the possession. The drone’s payload was destroyed, and thus it was useless to her now. She couldn’t salvage it to solve their current issue, but she could still take a look at the source, if nothing else.
The others who had arrived with them took her actions as permission to enter the craft, passing by as they took shelter. Syrus stayed on the ground, just barely maintaining peace with the other male. He placed himself between Jean and the equipped firearm while the former cautiously asked questions, likely unsure of why they had remained outside. Sunundra ignored the tense atmosphere, dropping the backpack at the top of the ramp as she eyed the interface that was causing so much trouble.
Any attempt to interact with the panel resulted in the display showing a strange symbol and garbled alien text. The combination seemed strangely familiar, yet the pale-furred female struggled to recall when she had seen it. Still, the sensation persisted, insisting that it was something she had encountered before, no matter how briefly. The oddity was set to simmer in the back of her mind as she went about examining the problem at paw.
She poked, prodded, and felt along the edges for a way to tamper with the installation while the sounds of weapons fire reverberated out from the chaos they had fled. Every passing breath was but one breath less before the enemy discovered that they were chasing those already destined for the Void. Then, it would be little time at all before their attention was directed towards the shuttle. Sacrifice or no, there was only so much the broken could sustain before succumbing, and she wished not to waste their efforts. She had lost her bond, her keepsake, and now, the representation of a foolish fascination she called ‘love.’ What she would not lose, however, was her chance to fulfill his wish.
The panel flashed yet another red symbol of refusal from her attempts, a frustrated fist thumping against it. Where had she seen it? When? The stress caused her to tense, pulling at the torn muscles throughout her form, a trickle of coaxed crimson seeping into the fur of her stomach. The sting should have been distracting, yet all she thought of it was that her most secure storage had been foiled by a shoddy attempt to keep her limp arm out of the way. Now, all she had was…the odd…
The memory clicked into place, hazy and indistinct after so many suns spent constantly active. The symbol was on the very first maintenance tunnel she encountered—a denial for entrance, as she was yet to acquire Greg’s terminal. Of course she forgot it; every path had been open to her since, and there was no reason to use anything besides what worked. Her paw moved quickly, piercing her wound and retrieving the oddly shaped device, then placing its blood-stained surface to the access panel.
The panel beeped, its display turning green.
A human calling out from inside urged action, the tan-furred male perking an ear, then barking for Syrus and Jean to make up their minds before sprinting up the ramp. Sunundra felt the wisp of a smile form as success was but moments away. It was far smaller than she intended, and by far narrower margins than was commendable, yet it was a success all the same. It was a defect completing a portion of her departed bond’s deepest desire. It was something, which was more than she had ever achieved before.
The pale-furred female hissed as she put the terminal back where it belonged, stepping back on unsteady legs to grab her bag. She glanced down at the drone at the bottom of the ramp—the last connection she had to a time before she learned the joy of love. A time before her name was said fondly, and before she had become someone’s Sunshine. A time before she became a beast consumed by bloodlust, no matter how briefly.
A time before she found out how much worse living could be.
Jean’s cry snapped the defect from her thoughts, a blink clearing the haze and revealing the human—
Sunundra was plowed over by the tackle, both Syrus’ bond and herself sent crashing to the floor inside the shuttle. Her muscles screamed their muted agony, yet those bellows of torture paled in comparison to the dark-furred male. He appeared in a blur, the briefest fraction of clarity painting his rushing visage as one of terror. He all but ripped Jean from atop the diminutive defect, shouting to be directed towards the medical bay, then bolted into the bowels of the ship without waiting for an answer. She hadn’t a chance to process what had happened before the ramp to the ship slammed shut with alarming speed, yet the closed entrance revealed enough.
Blood had been sprayed across the ramp where she had been standing moments before. She looked down at herself, seeing her clothing and fur matted by copious amounts of foreign ichor, and a single furrow torn into her shirt, passing through the pocket she kept the navigational terminal. A pool of red had formed next to her in the short time she was pinned beneath Jean, and large splotches followed along the path Syrus had fled, painting a gruesome outcome.
She got to her feet in a daze, only marginally aware of the inertia changing as the shuttle took to the air in search of an exit. A faint scuffing sound followed her through the confined corridors as she dragged her backpack by a strap, her mind rejecting the details of her surroundings. They didn’t matter; she simply followed the heavy spills of crimson and replayed what caused them again and again, every repetition rejected then parsed once more.
A sniper. There was no flash, nor crack of kinetic to alert them. No, she wouldn’t have noticed anyway; she was preoccupied with other thoughts. Which meant Jean had noticed something, then acted to save a defect by pushing her out of the way, the alien female using her own body as a shield in the process. It was a simple chain of events, yet it was discarded and reevaluated. Again. Then again. No matter how many times she tried, she couldn’t answer the one question she truly had.
Why? Why not allow Sunundra to fall, then use the lull to secure the safety of the others? Why take the risk? Because she was the pack’s leader? That was a position she had gained by effectively threatening to slaughter all who dissent, treating the insubordinate as but casualties to their own failures. She had done nothing to endear herself to her kin. What would have been the point? The moment that they arrived on Iras, all would be forgotten, and they would go back to their lives with their bonds, leaving her alone yet again. So, why?
She slowed her pace in the middle of an indistinct hall, stopping to stand before a dark-furred male sitting on the floor. His bond had been placed atop his lap to rest against his chest, his arms wrapping around her like an iron cage. Soft, shuddering sobs shook him. His ear turned towards the intruder, yet he didn’t speak, instead choosing to quietly cradle his other half. There was no need to ask—the scent alone confirmed her suspicions.
Jean didn’t make it.
Sunundra stood there, watching yet another of her kin learn the horrors of being broken. Yet it was worse for him, she supposed. The others had been given a clear enemy to exact penance from, but Syrus was aboard a shuttle leaving any he could seek far behind. He could only swim in the shattered shards as they sliced and gouged his soul until there was nothing left to cut.
She opened her muzzle, a feeling of sympathy drying her throat. “I apol—”
“—DO. NOT,” the male roared, sorrow cracking his voice. A choked breath settled his volume to a whisper. “Do not discredit her deed with your words. Do not speak as if she was wrong to act—as if she had made a mistake. She wished to aid one who had unjustly suffered… To save someone who sought to save many… Please…do not…”
The defect fell silent, offering only a nod.
Neither of them so much as flinched when the alarms sounded, neither moved when the speakers blared a warning of an anti-air battery acquiring them as a target, and neither listened to the weeping coming through the microphone that had been left active while those in the cockpit lamented how close they were to surviving.
Sunundra simply stared at the third person in her life to show her true kindness. Dead.
Someone decided to read the countdown to collision aloud, filling the ship with an exact idea of how long they had left. Like everyone else, they had given up, yet wanted the others to spend their final moments with their bonds and loved ones.
Six.
Syrus finally looked up at her as the numbers continued to fall, his gaze slipping past her, contorting his expression from despondent to bitter. Gingerly, he slipped his bond from his lap, carefully seating her against the wall to show the mess of soiled fabric that covered the wound in her chest. The pale-furred female blankly watched as he stood, scowling at her with a visage shimmering with reddened fluid. He reached out, gripping her throat and lifting her as he had done before, but there was no anger left in his eyes, only mourning. She let it happen.
Five.
He slammed her into the opposite wall, punching next to her head with enough force for her to hear his bones break against the metal, yet he didn’t so much as wince. Suddenly, the wall behind her was gone.
Four.
The male leaned in, burrowing into her breathless face with his gaze, his voice barely a whisper. “Do not waste her efforts.”
Three.
She was thrown backwards before she could question it, crashing against a new solid surface, her backpack hitting her stomach a fraction after. A barrier of transparent material snapped down, containing her within a strange confinement. An emergency escape shuttle? Syrus returned to his bond, placing her back in his lap and curling around the human female as much as he could.
Two.
The muffled countdown continued. A hiss drowned out the sounds of futility. Her stomach was pulled into her throat, the tiny cell she was trapped within now firing away from the shuttle at speed.
One.
Sunundra watched a barrage of missiles impact and disintegrate the ship, leaving naught but shards and smoke in its wake. It was only the dull sting in her abdomen that reminded her of her bag—or more accurately, the makeshift controller for Recon’s drone that stuck out of the pouch. Her claw flicked the switch, then depressed the detonator, wondering if the components required had survived. They did, and she upheld her words to the security guard who assisted her.
She spotted the first plume of smoke instantly. It quickly became two, then four, then a single, unforgiving fireball that swallowed a massive area, the drone relaying the signal to every charge she had placed during her restless task to find her bond.
She had nothing now—no pack to return to, no love to cherish, no Sunshine to be…not even the knowledge that she had fulfilled a part of his wish. She merely bore witness to her explosives killing an untold number of others, just as she never wanted.
A single word came to mind as the shrinking landscape became a voracious flame, though there was no one else to say it with her, nor was there the surge of youthful glee to lose herself in. It slipped from her lips in the strange, alien tongue, an echo of Bill’s elation diffusing throughout the emergency escape craft’s tiny interior—a final reminder of what she had for such a short time, and what she will never have again.
“...Boom.”
Next

Part 1
As I stared at the horrifying imprint on my window, an imprint that only reminded me of the horror that just happened, a spark flickered in the corner of my mind. I remembered something—something Grandma said when she first told me the story of the creature: “It keeps its victims alive for seven long years.”
What kind of life could she possibly have in the clutches of that thing? Still, there was a possibility; however slim, it was still enough to ignite a sliver of determination within me. I wouldn’t let her become another one of its forgotten victims. I had to find her.
I trudged outside, the weight of dread clinging to me like a magnet. The backyard was filled with activity. Numerous detectives in crisp blue uniforms combed the woods, their movements purposeful yet unearthing nothing.
My gaze landed on a larger huddle of detectives near the tree line. They stood in a tight circle, their expressions grim. Curiosity gnawed at me, and I inched closer. As I approached, their hushed voices reached my ears, laced with a mixture of urgency and dread.
Then I saw it. A single, horrifying furrow gouged into the earth—an undeniable drag mark. My body tensed up. It snaked its way toward the dense woods, a testament to the horror that unfolded just hours ago. The mark ended abruptly at the tree line, swallowed by the thick undergrowth. It was a chilling sign, a confirmation of my worst fears, but also a single, undeniable clue.
The nagging suspicion wouldn’t leave me. If Grandma knew about the creature, then surely Grandpa must too. He’d retreated into a shell of silence ever since losing her, but maybe, just maybe, there was a missing piece of the puzzle locked away in his grief.
I got into my car. The radio sputtered static, a monotonous hum mirroring the disquiet churning in my gut. My grandparents’ house loomed ahead, a familiar sight now shrouded in an unsettling aura. Grandpa was already outside, a cigarette dangling from his lips.
A forced smile stretched across my face as I approached him. “Hey Grandpa,” I said, the cheerfulness sounding hollow even to my ears. He grunted a greeting, his eyes clouded with a sadness that mirrored the one gnawing at me. “Can we talk inside?”
He stubbed out his cigarette. “Uh, sure,” he mumbled, avoiding my gaze. The house felt empty without Grandma around anymore, it’s the same way it felt in my mom’s house, the air was thick with unspoken words.
“Haven’t seen you around lately,” he finally said, his voice raspy. “How are you holding up?”
“I’ve been better,” I admitted, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. I sat down, the familiar creak of the chair a jarring sound in the suffocating silence.
Taking a deep breath, I plunged right into the conversation. “There’s something I need to ask you about Grandma... Did she ever tell you a story about a creature?”
His body tensed, a flicker of something akin to fear crossing his face. He looked away, his jaw clenching tight. “A story?” he finally managed, his voice barely a whisper. I held his gaze, refusing to back down. “The one about...” My throat tightened. “The thing in the woods.”
His face drained of all color, as if his heart had plummeted into his chest. “It got your mom, didn’t it?” The question hung heavy in the air.
I could only manage a slow nod, tears welling up and blurring my vision. They spilled over, tracing warm tracks down my cheeks. Grandpa remained silent for a moment, a hand cupping his face in what seemed like a combination of regret and frustration. Then, with a deep sigh, he lowered his hand and met my gaze.
“Then we have to find her before it’s too late.”
He got up from his chair and disappeared into one of the darkened rooms. The house creaked and groaned as he moved, the silence amplifying the anticipation gnawing at me. He returned moments later, a leather-bound journal clutched in his hand. He settled back into his seat, a grim expression etched on his face.
He placed the journal on the coffee table with a trembling hand. “Your grandma wrote about it,” he continued, his gaze flickering nervously toward the darkened hallway that led to the back of the house. “A story about a creature, saying it used to stalk the woods near her house when she was a little girl. She claimed it moved, searching for prey.” His voice trailed off, replaced by a shallow cough that racked his thin frame.
“She told me it travels to different areas,” he finally managed, his eyes locking with mine for a fleeting moment. “That’s why she was so hesitant about buying this house. Sure, the lake in the backyard was nice, but there were the woods—always the woods. “That’s where it lives," she’d tell me. It’s the one thing she always nagged at me about—the feeling of unseen eyes watching us. But, well, I brushed it off. I told her she was letting childhood stories get the better of her.“
He shook his head, the movement slow and defeated, and kept it down for a while, his labored breathing the only sound in the tense silence.
His voice, when he spoke, was laced with a raw determination that sent shivers down my spine. “Follow me,” he said, rising from his chair.
I scrambled to my feet, wiping away the tears that streamed down my face in a futile attempt to clear my vision. My grandpa, the man who usually moved with quiet deliberation, now pulsed with frenetic energy.
We reached the basement door, I was never allowed to go in there during my childhood summers. “It’s only for adults,” he’d always say, securing the padlock with a stern finality.
Now, with a single turn of his hand, the lock yielded, revealing the unknown depths below.
A single, bare bulb flickered to life as he pulled the light string. The harsh yellow glow illuminated a scene that sent a jolt of fear through me.
Guns—an arsenal of them—lined the walls. A hunting rifle I remembered from childhood hung next to a pump shotgun and a well-worn.22 pistol I vaguely recognized as the one he’d used to teach me to shoot years ago.
A horrible realization dawned on me. This wasn’t a simple search. My grandpa’s eyes, burning with a desperate resolve, told a different story. This was a mission fueled by vengeance—a descent into the darkness to confront the creature head-on. The reality of what we were about to face washed over me, and a cold dread settled in my stomach. We were going hunting, but the prey was unlike anything I could have ever imagined.
I stood there, frozen, a silent scream trapped in my throat. My grandpa moved with practiced efficiency, his hands unlocking a series of metal cages lining the basement wall. My fingers instinctively twitched as my heart pounded in my chest. My gaze darted towards the weapons, then back to my grandpa.
He finally settled on a weapon, an AR-15 with a scope and a makeshift grip. He held it with surprising ease, years of experience etched in the way his trained fingers cradled the deadly tool. He turned, the glint in his eyes a harsh contrast to the worry etched on his face.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he rasped, his voice rough. “You probably think I’m crazy.” He was right. This entire situation was insane, yet here we were
“But what else of a choice do we have?” He continued, his voice tight with desperation.
The truth of his words slammed into me. The police investigation was a dead end, and my mom’s life hung in the balance. It was a desperate gamble, going into the woods armed with nothing but hope and bullets, but it was the only chance we had.
Before I could voice my doubts, the words tumbled out of my mouth, a confession laced with fear. “I’ve never shot an assault rifle before.”
A flicker of surprise crossed my grandpa’s face, then a grim smile settled on his lips. “That’s why I’ll teach you,” he said, a hint of his old confidence returning. “You learned to shoot the .22, I don’t see why you wouldn’t be able to learn this.”
He gave me a different weapon, a semi-automatic rifle with a worn stock. It looked older, more familiar—the kind of gun I’d expect him to be using, not me
“Here, try this one out,” he said, his voice gruff. “Let me know if you like the feel of it.”
Hesitantly, I wrapped my fingers around the grip. The cool metal sent shivers down my spine. Following his instructions, I located the magazine release and popped it open, revealing an empty chamber.
Closing one eye, I lined up the sights, aiming at the blank wall across the basement. The act felt strangely empowering—a tiny flicker of defiance against the overwhelming fear that gnawed at me.
I followed Grandpa toward the back of the basement, a knot of suspense tightening in my stomach. He swung open a door, revealing a dimly lit shooting range. Rows of paper targets hung on the far wall, riddled with bullet holes—a display of his countless training sessions long past.
“Here’s where you’ll train,” he said, his voice gruff but reassuring. He handed me a rifle, its weight unfamiliar in my trembling hands.
“Alright,” he continued, his eyes sharp and focused, “safety first. Keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to fire. Always.”
He patted the barrel of the rifle.
“And never point this at anything you don’t intend to shoot, even if your shoelace comes undone.“
I nodded, overwhelmed by the sudden influx of information and the weight of responsibility. He ran through the basics—stance, breathing, sight alignment—each step a hurdle in my current state of nervousness.
He set up a target with a red dot in the center and gestured for me to aim. I raised the rifle, awkwardly attempting to replicate his earlier instructions. Sweat slicked my palms as I squinted down the iron sights, the paper target blurring slightly from the effort.
“Take a deep breath and hold it,” he instructed, his voice calm amidst my rising panic. “That’ll help steady your aim.” I inhaled deeply, the air catching in my throat. The world seemed to shrink to a tunnel; the sights and the target were the only things in focus.
With a trembling finger, I squeezed the trigger. The gun roared, the sound deafening in the enclosed space. A jolt of surprise ran through me, followed by a wave of relief. The spent casing clattered to the floor, and a small plume of smoke drifted upwards.
“Not bad,” Grandpa said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. He walked over to the target and examined it. “Bullseye on your first try? It looks like you might be a natural after all.”
Three months blurred into one another, the rhythm of training becoming a grim soundtrack to our lives. The initial trembling in my hands gave way to a practiced grip, and the sting of gunpowder in my nostrils was replaced by a steely resolve. With each successful shot, a sliver of fear chipped away, replaced by a cold determination. But the nightmares remained, vivid snapshots of the creature’s horrifying form, a constant reminder of the darkness we were about to face.
One crisp morning, the silence in the house felt heavy. Grandpa emerged from the back room, a weathered backpack slung over his shoulder. The weight of the pack seemed symbolic—a physical manifestation of the burden we were about to carry. Inside lay a tent, rations, and our grim arsenal.
He met my gaze; his eyes were a mixture of grief and determination. For a beat, the weight of the situation pressed down on us, a silent acknowledgment of the danger that lurked ahead. Then, with a nod, he broke the silence.
“Let’s go get your mom.”
We rumbled down the familiar road in my grandpa’s truck, the air thick with unspoken dread. Every creak and groan of the vehicle seemed amplified, a reminder of the approaching danger. Finally, we pulled up to my mom’s house, a house that now felt haunted by her absence.
We walked towards the tree line, the woods looming before us. My pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, the silence broken only by the crunch of dead leaves under our boots. It felt like the entire forest held its breath, waiting.
We located a barely-there trail, a faint hope amidst the dense foliage. It snaked deeper into the woods, a single path. We followed it for what felt like an eternity, the minutes stretching into hours. The sunlight, dappled and weak, barely pierced the thick canopy of trees, casting long, unsettling shadows that danced at the corner of my vision.
The trail eventually sputtered out into a dead end, a wall of tangled undergrowth blocking our way. But amidst the thicket, there was a narrow opening. We squeezed through, emerging into a small clearing.
I took a deep, shaky breath, trying to calm my escalating anxiety. My breaths came in ragged gasps, a stark contrast to my grandpa’s steady demeanor. He’d seen his fair share of hardship in his military days, a fact that both comforted and terrified me. Here, in this untamed wilderness, a different kind of danger lurked—a primal threat, unlike anything he could have trained for.Across the clearing, another trail snaked away, a faint trail leading deeper into the woods.
“There’s another trail over there,” I rasped, the words catching in my dry throat.
“Yep, I see it,” my grandpa replied, his voice betraying none of the apprehension I felt.
We crossed the clearing, weariness clinging to us like a second skin. Hours bled into one another as we followed the new trail, scrutinizing every rustle in the undergrowth and every snap of a twig.
The dappled sunlight filtered through the dense woods, casting shifting patterns on the forest floor. Suddenly, a noise ripped through the silence—a rhythmic pounding that grew louder and faster with each passing second. My heart lurched into my throat, and my eyes darted wildly through the trees, searching for the source.
Then it bursted into view—a magnificent buck, its head crowned with a rack of antlers. It leaped across the trail a few feet in front of us, its powerful muscles rippling beneath its dappled coat. As quickly as it appeared, it vanished back into the undergrowth, leaving behind a fading echo of its snort. I let out a startled scream, adrenaline coursing through my veins. Relief washed over me as my grandpa chuckled, his hand resting on my shoulder.
“It’s just a buck,” he said, his voice warm and reassuring. “Scared the heck out of you, didn’t it?”
I let out a shaky laugh, the tension finally breaking. And for the first time in a long while, I saw a genuine smile on my grandpa’s face. It wasn’t a wide, carefree grin, but a small flicker of joy that crinkled the corners of his eyes.
“I miss that,” he said quietly, his gaze distant. A single tear welled up in his eye, tracing a glistening path down his cheek.
For a moment, I didn’t understand what he meant. Then, it hit me. The smile, the laughter—they were things that had been missing from his life since Grandma passed.
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I said softly, placing a comforting hand on his arm.
The sun was beginning its descent.
“We should find a place to camp soon,” my grandpa said, his voice regaining its gruff composure. “We should also set up a fire to keep those mosquitoes away.”
He pointed off the trail, his gaze settling on a small clearing nestled amongst the towering trees.
“What do you think?“
“Yeah, that seems like a good spot,” I agreed, stepping into the clearing. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, the sound mingling with the rhythmic chirp of crickets hidden among the undergrowth.
Grandpa bent down with a grunt, lowering his heavy backpack to the ground. He took out a flimsy tent, the worn fabric whispering a tale of countless camping trips.
“Here, hold this part,” he instructed, handing me a pole. I grasped it tightly as he took the opposite end, and together we stretched the fabric out. A rogue pole decided to put up a fight, stubbornly refusing to fit into its designated slot. We wrestled with it for a moment—a silent struggle punctuated by muttered curses—before finally snapping it into place with a satisfying click.
Working together, we unfolded the tent, fed the poles through the sleeves, and staked it firmly into the ground. As we finished tying down the last flap, a wave of accomplishment washed over me. The flimsy structure now stood proudly. Stepping inside, I felt a sense of security.
“Come out here for a second; I want to show you something,” my grandpa called out. I crawled out of the tent, my muscles pleasantly achy from our work. He stood beside a pile of sticks he’d gathered, with a glistening piece of metal clutched in his hand. It wasn’t the traditional lighters or matches I was used to. This was a flint and steel fire starter—a sleek metal device with a smooth handle and a jagged piece of flint protruding from its side.
“This is how you can start a fire,” he said with a hint of pride in his voice. “No fancy lighters or matches needed.”
He held it up and demonstrated, scraping the flint against a grooved metal pipe with a satisfying screech. A shower of tiny, white-hot embers erupted, cascading down onto a pile of moss and dry leaves he’d carefully prepared.
To my surprise, a small flame sputtered to life almost instantly.
“See?” he said, a grin spreading across his face. “Easy as pie. It wouldn’t have been this simple back in my day, that’s for sure.”
He gestured towards a nearby cluster of trees. “Go grab some more of those fallen branches over there. We’ll need them to keep this fire going.”
I nodded and hurried towards the trees, pushing aside damp leaves in my search for usable branches.
The fire crackled, casting flickering shadows that danced across my grandpa’s face. Regret etched deep lines around his eyes as he spoke, his voice hoarse with grief. “I should’ve believed her. Your grandmother.”
“I don’t think she’d blame me,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly. “Who could believe something like that, right? I had every reason to be skeptical. But that damn skepticism...” He choked on the words, his gaze hardening as it settled on the fire. “It got your mom, my daughter, taken.”
He turned to me, his eyes filled with tears.
“What does it look like? Your grandma never told me.”
The question ripped open a hole of fear within me. Memories I’d desperately buried flooded my mind—a grotesque tangle of limbs, eyes that glowed with an unnatural light, and the unearthly screech that still echoed in my nightmares. I squeezed my eyes shut, the taste of bile rising in my throat.
He must have seen the struggle etched on my face, because after a beat of silence, he spoke again, his voice softer now. “Never mind, you don’t have to talk about it.”
Silence engulfed us; the only sounds were the crackling fire and the frantic beat of my heart. Shame gnawed at me for failing to answer, but the memories were too horrific to relive. We sat there, each lost in our world of sorrow.
Finally, unable to bear the tension any longer, I got up and retreated into the tent. My grandpa stayed behind, sitting on the ground, his eyes staring into the fire.
Images of my mom, pale and captive, danced behind my closed eyelids. How could this creature keep her alive? What could she be going through? The questions gnawed at me relentlessly, offering no answers.
Just as I drifted to sleep, I heard the soft rasp of the tent zipper opening and my grandpa settling in beside me. But before I could turn and see his face, sleep claimed me completely.
A sliver of sunlight pierced through the fabric of the tent, rousing me from sleep. The air inside smelled faintly of wood smoke and pine needles, a comforting reminder of the crackling fire outside. I stretched, the muscles in my back protesting slightly from the night spent on the uneven ground.
As I emerged from the tent, a symphony of morning sounds greeted me. Birds chirped a cheerful melody from the branches overhead, the wind rustled the leaves in a gentle whisper, and the distant gurgle of a hidden stream added a peaceful counterpoint.
But the peaceful melody was shattered the moment I saw my grandpa. He crouched beside the fire, a mug of coffee clutched tightly in his hand. His eyes were bloodshot, and his face had deep worry lines that seemed to have deepened overnight. He took a shaky sip of coffee, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice gruff and strained.
“Good morning,” I mumbled back, a knot of dread tightening in my stomach. My appetite seemed to have vanished, but I forced myself to take a seat on the makeshift branch chair he’d fashioned and picked at the eggs he’d prepared. The silence stretched on as I ate.
Finally, my grandpa cleared his throat.
“I found something,” he said, his voice low. “But I want you to stay calm.”
My heart plummeted. The anticipation was agonizing. He gestured towards a nearby tree, its rough bark illuminated by the golden rays of the morning sun. A shiver ran down my spine as I saw it—a deep gouge etched into the bark, a mark I recognized all too well. The same grotesque splayed imprint of multiple fingers, identical to the handprint on my window pane.
“I think we’re getting closer to it,” my grandpa said, his voice tight with fear.
The words sent a fresh wave of terror crashing over me. As we took down the tent and packed our supplies, I noticed the trail we were following led directly towards the marked tree. With each step we took, the weight of dread grew heavier, the forest pressing in on us with a renewed sense of menace.
As we walked, my grandpa suddenly ended the silence. “Stop,” my grandpa rasped, his voice tight with sudden urgency. I skidded to a halt. He crouched low, his gaze fixed on the ground in front of me. A knot of dread formed in my stomach as I followed his line of sight.
There, imprinted in the soft earth, was a footprint, unlike any animal track I’d ever seen. It was small, but the details were sharp and unsettling—four rows of perfectly round indentations, each one leaving a mark like the point of a needle. Multiple rows of these prints veered off the trail and disappeared into the dense undergrowth.
“Let’s follow it,” my grandpa muttered, his voice a mere tremor. Despite the tremor in his voice, there was a steely glint in his eyes. I knew arguing was pointless. We had come too far to turn back now.
He reached into his backpack and pulled out a machete, the worn blade glinting in the dappled sunlight. He began hacking away at the undergrowth, creating a makeshift path. I followed close behind, my eyes glued to the ground, tracking the trail of unearthly footprints.
The prints continued for about ten feet, leading deeper into the tangled undergrowth. Then, abruptly, they stopped. It was as if the creature that made them had simply vanished into thin air. One moment, the prints were there, clear and unmistakable; the next, they were gone, leaving no further trace. I stared at the space where the trail had disappeared, a cold dread seeping into my bones.
The hours melted into each other, creating a blur of green foliage and tangled undergrowth. We’d strayed so far from the original path that even the familiar scent of pine needles seemed distorted and tainted with a hint of decay. The rising urgency to find our way back only intensified the sense of isolation pressing down on us.
As we walked in an aimless direction in hopes of relocating the footprints, a sound emanated from deep within the woods. It sounded close but far away at the same time, a sound that sent shivers down my spine—a high-pitched screech that echoed through the trees, rising and falling in an erratic rhythm. It wasn’t the cry of any animal I’d ever heard. My grandpa’s face, already etched with worry, was drained of color. His grip tightened on the machete, his knuckles white against the worn wood.
He steered us away from the sound, towards a small clearing—a pitiful excuse for a campsite. We set up the tent with frantic urgency; the silence between the screeching shrieks was thick with dread. Inside the cramped tent, the smell of mildew and fabric was suffocating.
“What in the hell could that be?” My grandpa rasped, his voice barely a whisper. My heart hammered against my ribs, mirroring the echo of the screech that had faded into an unsettling, low growl.
“I... I don’t know,” I said, voicing the unspoken fear that hung heavy in the air. His eyes darted towards the tent flap.
“No campfire tonight,” he said, his voice rough.
I knew it wasn’t just the danger of attracting attention; he was terrified to leave the flimsy shelter of the tent.
The moon cast an eerie glow through the fabric, painting the interior with a ghostly light. I found myself fixated on the shadows dancing across the tent wall, the innocent shapes of trees twisting into forms in my overactive imagination.
Then, a sliver of movement caught my eye. A shadow darted across the illuminated canvas, a fleeting glimpse of something dark and fast. There was no sound, no rustle of leaves, no snap of twigs. Just silence—a horrifying silence that made the movement seem even more unnatural.
“Grandpa,” I whispered, my voice barely above a tremor. “Something’s moving outside the tent.” He whipped his head toward me, his eyes wide with terror.
The shadow moved again, a dark shape flitting behind another tree, a tree closer to us. My grandpa saw it too. His breath hitched, and his eyes bulged. Then, with a swift movement, he reached into his backpack and pulled out his pistol.
I watched the shadow; it was completely still, until it wasn’t. The shadow, the thing, ran so fast, so silently, that I had no time to brace myself. Grandpa’s hand clamped over my mouth, stifling the scream that threatened to escape.
The shadow, a semi-human or something else, slammed against the tent, its weight causing the fabric of the tent to billow inward. A putrid stench, a sickly mix of decay, assaulted my nostrils.
Then it started to sniff our tent; the tent sucked inward with each inhale, the sound of wet, raspy breaths filling the confined space. I looked at Grandpa. His face was etched with terror, but a flicker of something else—defiance, maybe, or a desperate attempt to appear strong for my sake.
Warm tears streamed down my face as his hand remained clamped firmly over my mouth. The sound that pierced the silence next was a sickening rasp—the sound of the tent zipper being unzipped. A surge of adrenaline coursed through me. Somehow, this thing had figured out the purpose of the zipper in a horrifyingly short amount of time.
Grandpa, whose eyes narrowed, raised his pistol, his finger hovering over the trigger. The zipper hissed open, revealing a gaping maw filled with razor-sharp teeth. Grandpa let off round after round, and before I could even think, a skeletal arm, impossibly thin and tipped with a spidery claw, shot out of the darkness and wrapped itself around Grandpa’s leg.
Memories of my mom flooded back, a vivid nightmare replaying in my mind. I wouldn’t let it happen again. Grabbing the machete that lay near the tent flap, I lunged forward, fueled by a primal rage. With a bone-crunching slice, I brought the blade down on the arm, severing it clean from the creature’s body.
There was no scream, no roar of pain. The severed limb twitched for a moment, then snapped back into the darkness. The creature, recoiling as if stung, retreated into the trees with an unnatural silence.
“We have to run now!” Grandpa screamed, his voice rough with urgency. He slung his backpack over his shoulder, and together we scrambled out of the tent.
We sprinted blindly through the woods, the darkness surrounding us in a swirling mass of shadows and unseen dangers. I forced myself to slow down, glancing back to see if Grandpa was keeping pace. He was there, but stumbling.
Then a new wave of terror washed over me. In the distance, perched on a low-hanging branch, was a humanoid silhouette with skin as black as coal, four spindly legs, and a head composed entirely of glowing eyes. It leaped from branch to branch, a silent stalker keeping pace with us.
“It’s following us!” I screamed, pointing towards the creature. Grandpa whipped his head around, his face contorted in a mask of horror.
“Jesus Christ, what is that thing?!” He bellowed, his voice a desperate scream into the uncaring night.
A steep hill came into view, a tangle of loose rocks and undergrowth. With a shared look of desperate hope, we sprinted towards it, the chilling laughter of the creature echoing in our ears. We didn’t slow down, didn’t hesitate—we threw ourselves down the incline, the rocks and sticks tearing at our clothes and skin. I landed with a painful thud at the bottom, the frigid water of a small pond shocking me back to my senses. I lifted my head from the rocks. “Grandpa!” I croaked, the taste of blood metallic in my mouth.A wave of nausea washed over me, and my vision blurred. The last thing I remembered was scrambling to my feet and calling out for Grandpa. Then, darkness.
A gentle hand shook my shoulder, pulling me back from unconsciousness. I snapped awake, blinking against the harsh sunlight that made my eyes sting.
“Relax, it’s me.” Grandpa’s voice was raspy, rough, and strained.
I pushed myself up, wincing at the throbbing pain in my leg. A smear of dried blood stained Grandpa’s forehead.
“What should we do?” I asked, fear and urgency knotting my stomach.
“We have to keep moving,” he croaked back, his voice weak.
Ignoring him, I stood still for a moment, my eyes darting across the darkening landscape. Every rustle and every creak had my full attention. Then, on the opposite end of the pond, I spotted it, a barely noticeable trail, barely visible through the dense thicket.
“Let’s follow that trail,” I said, pointing towards it.
Grandpa flicked his gaze between me and the trail, a storm of emotions brewing in his eyes—fear battling with deep-seated defiance. I knew he wanted to quit. Yet, the man I knew wouldn’t back down from a challenge. With a defeated sigh, his shoulders slumped slightly. He brushed the dirt from his arms in a seemingly mundane gesture, a nervous tick in the tense atmosphere. Finally, he met my gaze.
“Alright,” he said, his voice low but steady. “Let’s go.”
I noticed it immediately as we walked on the trail—the same footprints branded into the ground, sending a fresh wave of terror crashing through me. My heart began racing again as we followed the tracks.
Then, a sound, an unmistakable sound, pierced the tense silence—a sound I knew well, a sound etched into the very fabric of my being. A soft, guttural moan. It was Mom; I knew it was; no one could tell me otherwise. I whipped my head in the direction of the sound, and a primal scream clawed its way up my throat, dying strangled in my parched mouth.
Stretched between two trees, dominating the isolated trail, hung the most monstrous spiderweb I had ever laid my eyes on. It wasn’t a delicate net spun by a garden spider; this was something entirely different, shimmering with an unnatural, mossy white. Trapped in its sticky center, like a fly caught in a death trap, was my mother. Her entire body was cocooned in the sticky strands—a horrifying parody of a spider’s meal.
Except for her head. Her face was drained of color, pale as moonlight, but her eyes—her eyes were wide open, filled with a vacant terror that mirrored my own. The urge to scream her name was a physical ache in my chest. But there, clambering across the sticky strands with unnatural agility, was the creature itself.
It was a grotesque parody of a spider, a blasphemy against nature. It had a humanoid torso and coal-black skin. Its spidery legs contorted at impossible angles, clicking and scraping against the web.
My grandpa grabbed me, pulling me full force down behind a log; somehow it hadn’t seen us. Relief, sharp and unexpected, flooded through me. My heart hammered in my chest as I imagined the creature making its way just above us. For a moment, a tense silence blanketed the woods, broken only by the ragged gasps escaping my lips.
I stole a peek through a knothole in the log, the world tilting on its axis as I took in the horrifying scene. The creature scuttled across its intricate web, its movements deliberate and predatory. Every black leg seemed to tap out a strange sort of rhythm—a rhythm of impending doom.
Beside me, I heard my grandpa inhale a shaky breath. I slowly turned my gaze towards him, bracing myself for the fear that would surely be etched on his face. But what I saw instead was a different kind of emotion entirely. Acceptance. A quiet resolve hardened his features. It was the look of a man who had made a choice in his mind—a choice that gnawed at him, but a choice he knew he had to make.
In a low and shaky whisper, my grandpa said, “I’m going to distract it.”
“What?” I spat back, completely caught off guard.
He squeezed my shoulder, his grip surprisingly strong for a man who looked like a gust of wind could knock him over.
“Listen. I don’t have much fight left in me anymore, but maybe, just maybe, I can be useful one last time. Your mom, my daughter, she needs you. Just promise me you’ll get her to safety. Promise me you'll never come back here looking for me!”
His eyes, once filled with determination, were now clouded with a deep sadness that seemed to suck the light out of him. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill. I swallowed the lump in my throat; the air was thick enough to chew on.
“I promise,” I choked out, a single tear tracing a path down my cheek.
He brushed it away with a rough thumb, his touch surprisingly gentle.
“There is no time for tears. Be strong. Take care of your mother and yourself. I love you; tell your mom I love her too, but don’t tell her what happened.”
Then, in a move that defied his age and condition, he leaped to his feet, ran out from behind the log, and roared, “COME AND GET ME, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!”
The creature on the web snapped its head around, its multiple eyes locking onto my grandpa. With a screech that sent shivers down my spine, it launched itself off the web and hurled towards him, though my grandpa already had a head start because the second he screamed, he was already running, tempting the thing to chase him, and it did; his plan worked.
This was my chance.
I scrambled out from behind the log, my heart hammering. She hung suspended in the web. Ignoring the throbbing pain that had taken root in my arms, I reached out and tore at the sticky strands, fueled by a frantic desperation that coursed through me like a shot of adrenaline. They clung stubbornly, but I wouldn’t give up.
Finally, with a satisfying rip, she tumbled free, landing at my feet. Disoriented and mumbling a name that wasn’t mine, she looked at me with vacant eyes—eyes that I couldn’t tell were of recognition or something else.
I hoisted her over my shoulder, surprising myself with the surge of strength that seemed to come from nowhere. Ignoring the exhaustion gnawing at my bones, I picked a direction and ran, plunging deeper into the woods. Every rustle of leaves and every snap of a twig sent fresh jolts of fear through me.
The forest floor blurred beneath my feet as I ran, my lungs burning and my legs screaming in protest. But the urge to survive propelled me forward. Then it ripped through the air—a sound that sent shivers down my spine and turned my blood to ice. A bloodcurdling scream, raw and filled with unimaginable pain. It echoed from somewhere deep within the woods behind me, a horrifying confirmation of my worst fears.
My grandpa’s scream.
The image of the creature, its monstrous form enveloping him, flashed in my mind like a horrific nightmare. I didn’t need to see it to know his fate. The scream spoke volumes, a testament to the sacrifice he made to buy me time. A wave of nausea crashed over me, the taste of bile rising in my throat. But I forced it down, clinging to the one sliver of hope—Mom.
Desperation fueled my flight. The forest floor blurred beneath my burning feet, my vision swimming with tears I couldn’t afford to shed. Just as despair threatened to engulf me, a sliver of hope pierced through the dense foliage. A clearing, and within it, a sight that sent a jolt through my entire being—a river.
A memory flickered to life, a precious memory from a happier time. My grandpa, his voice tinged with the wisdom of countless adventures, taught me a crucial survival rule: “Follow the river downstream, kiddo. Sooner or later, it’ll lead you to civilization, or at least the ocean.”
Hours bled into one another as I followed the river’s flow. The relentless sun began its descent, painting the sky in fiery hues of orange and red. The weight of Mom on my back was a constant ache, a stark reminder of the burden I carried. She remained silent, the only sign of life the shallow rise and fall of her chest with each labored breath she took.
My legs had become numb. I moved in a daze, a sleepwalker propelled by sheer will. Hours bled into one another, measured by the monotonous gurgle of the river and the rhythmic rise and fall of Mom’s chest against my back.
Then, a flicker of sensation returned to my legs—a prickling numbness that chased away the dull ache. Hope, flickering like a dying ember, flared back to life. As I crested a small rise, the world seemed to stop spinning entirely. There, slicing through the dense trees, was a sight that brought tears to my stinging eyes—a road. A strangled laugh, a sound raw with emotion, escaped my lips. With a burst of adrenaline that defied my exhaustion, I lurched forward, a desperate parody of a run. My legs, regaining some semblance of life, propelled me towards the asphalt ribbon. Cars whizzed by in a blur, the sound a symphony of hope.
I stumbled onto the road, heedless of the danger, my voice hoarse from exhaustion. “Help us!” Two words, desperate and raw, ripped from my throat. Just as a speeding truck loomed into view, its horn blaring, it screeched to a halt mere inches from my outstretched hand. The driver, a grizzled man with a face etched with the lines of a life well lived, peered down at me, his eyes widening in surprise. He didn’t waste time with questions. “Get in,” he barked, his voice gruff but kind. I settled Mom gently into the passenger seat, her body a fragile weight against mine. The driver grunted in acknowledgment, his gaze flickering to her pale face for a fleeting moment.
“Hospital?” He rumbled, his voice gruff but not unkind.
I managed a weak nod, my throat tight with unshed tears.
“Lucky you,” he muttered, his weathered face creased in a hint of a smile. “There’s one just up ahead.”
The engine roared to life, the comforting rumble pulling me from the edge of sleep. As the familiar scenery of trees blurred past the window, they morphed into a terrifying tapestry of memories. Every rustle of leaves and every snap of a twig echoed with the memory of the creature and the desperate struggle for survival. Finally, the frantic pace of the car slowed as we pulled into a brightly lit hospital entrance. Relief washed over me, a tidal wave threatening to drown me in its intensity. With trembling hands, I helped the driver get Mom out of the truck and into a waiting wheelchair. Now, as I sit beside her in a sterile hospital room, the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor fills the room. The doctor’s words echo in my ears: “She’ll be alright.” Those words are a lifeline, a fragile hope that I cling to with all my might. My gaze rests on Mom’s peaceful face, and the memory of her soft, comforting hand is a beacon in the darkness. Getting her back was all that mattered. But at what cost? The answer hangs heavy in the air, a silent tribute to the man who taught me strength in the face of despair, my grandpa.