Context
I was shaking, stressing over the idea the girls might break in at any second. Eventually, the police arrived and told us they'd be on the lookout, which eased most of my nerves. Alice and I still needed to hide, though… and for how long was unknown. A couple of hours after the police left, there was a knock on the front door. A male voice echoed in.
“Hello? We have the property secured. May I come in?”
I went over to the door and answered it, relieved help had returned. The officer stood on my welcome mat, with his radio in hand. I took a deep breath.
“Thank you so much for coming. Can you stay for a while?”
“Yes, I will stick around. Because your description of the perpetrators is quite alarming, I've brought backup.”
I sped to Alice’s room, then repeated to her what the officer told me. She sighed in relief, but still had that look of conflict and stress on her face. No matter how much we had discussed her friends, I was still confused as to why they hated her. She has never done anything wrong, as far as I know. This situation was so out of the ordinary. She was always pretty innocent and sweet, so who would act out against her as if she had done something criminal?
The officer was at the kitchen table, speaking into his radio, while Alice and I went over the things she has done that her friends may have mistaken for malice. We couldn't come up with a single thing that would drive anybody to chase after anybody with hammers. Who would be that pressed about someone being unable to hear them? Reading a text wrong? Looking in the wrong place at the wrong time? Eventually, the officer walked over and told us to follow him outside. We put our shoes on, then out we went.
The three of us were mostly silent as we walked along the sidewalk. It was a chill, warm night. So quiet, I could only hear the sounds of our footsteps. At some point, we stepped into a convenience store. The cashier was absent, and there were a few candy wrappers littered across the floor. The officer brought us into one of the isles, then looked us both in the eyes.
“You hear the music playing? That'll be your lesson for tonight.”
It was a rap song about trust. I didn't understand what it had to do with the situation. I didn't understand how what the officer said was supposed to fit in with the atmosphere of this situation. Before I could open my mouth, I heard the front doors. The officer looked over, then stepped away from us. Five girls walked in, all with touque masks and hammers. My heart dropped. The girls stood by each other, left hands resting on their hips as they all stared at Alice and I. Alice gasped.
“Oh my god!”
The officer let out a good laugh, right at our faces. I raised my right brow at him.
“Why are you laughing right now?”
The girls started giggling, but not in any innocent way. The officer shook his head at us.
“You two seriously thought you were safe with me.”
I was confused. Why would a police officer say that? What did he mean? What was he doing? The girl to the far left pointed her hammer at the officer, giggling.
“He's my boyfriend!”
The “officer” took his hat off and let it fall to the ground.
“I need to get out of these clothes. See you later, Sandra.”
It was like my soul turned to ice. All those feelings of assurance and safety were just… the result of a trick. How'd they even do this? What happened to the police we called??? Our safety wasn't real! I looked at Alice, who’s pupils had shrunk and looked less colorful… like the life was taken from her.
“Why…? What are you doing?”
Sandra rolled her eyes. “We got you to come here so we can get you. Did you have fun feeling safe?”
Sandra's boyfriend walked up to the doors, the girls moved out of his way to let him exit. My brows furrowed, I stared at Sarah. “Who's idea was this!? This is cruel and… you shouldn't be doing this stuff!” Sarah, shifting her weight to her right leg, pointed her hammer at herself.
“Mine, actually.”
The girls sprinted towards Alice and I, eyebrows furrowed and hammers pointed at us. I grabbed Alice's shoulder, then turned and sprinted to the back of the store with her. There was a door, but the handle wouldn't budge. My nerves were stinging. Next thing I knew, excruciating pains hit my back and shoulders. The force of multiple hammers brought me to the floor, then one of them struck my right knee. The pain was unbearable. I reached for my knee and let out a scream. Leah grabbed both my hands and held them above my head, then Sarah and Sandra struck both of my knee caps again and again and again, making me scream louder than I ever have. Meanwhile, Alice was wailing and screeching. Jessica and Anna weren't holding back, striking every nerve-ending-heavy part of her body. I could barely do anything other than kick and wail. The only thought on my mind was… “why?” I was then struck in the head, and everything went blurry.
Sometime later, I awoke in an empty room with white brick walls and a grey metal door with no window. Where was I? Where's Alice? What’s happening? The door creaked open. It was Sarah, without her mask, face and long blond hair fully visible. She was holding a jar in her hands and stared into my eyes.
“I brought this… I hope you have fun with it.”
She pointed the jar at me, then twisted the lid off. Shutting her eyes, she turned the jar upside-down, letting a blurry object fall to the floor. It looked odd. It was as if something was able to be given a censor-blur in real life. As I stared at it, my heart dropped, shivers ran down my spine, and my head began to ache. Sarah backed out of the room, shutting the door. What made this worse was the click of the door being locked. I jumped up, looking at the blurred object as it sat on the concrete floor. I needed out. I sprinted to, then body-slammed, the door. I twisted the handle, knowing the door was locked, but hoping I could somehow rip it out. Of course, it was no use. Fear really does things to your confidence.
I was hyperventilating, but then I wondered, why was I so afraid of this? It was an object… it can't move… I sat down facing the door. I was not going to look at that rancid THING. I hated it so much. It was like its purpose was to heighten my fight-or-flight response. Specifically the flight part. I reached into my pocket for my phone. As I pulled it out, I noticed the screen was terribly scratched and cracked. “LOL” had been written on it with mascara. All I could do was throw it at the object, but I would need to look at the object in order to properly aim for it. I buried my head in my arms, hoping I'd at least fall asleep.
Well, I did fall asleep… but I woke up to a painful prickling on my left shoulder, like hundreds of needles were poking me at a time. I looked and saw, up close, the blurry object. It was just sitting on my shoulder… until it moved. Shocked to my soul, I jumped up and ran my shoulder into the wall. The thing fell off and landed by my foot. I went over to grab my phone, then blindly threw it at the thing while turning my head away. The phone made a thump, rather than a crash, so I had to have hit the thing. While catching my breath, the painful prickling returned near the center of my back. My stomach tightening, I took my shirt off, then slammed it to the ground. Luckily, it was covering the object, but I could see a hump moving around. I became disoriented, throwing up on the ground.
I had felt enough fear for enough time to grow frustrated. In a desperate need to get rid of the thing, I took my right foot and stomped the hump again and again and again. I heard a splatter. Once I could feel I had flattened the thing, I stopped. I bent down and gently lifted my shirt until I started seeing a disgusting mush of black, red, and purple, along with a white slime. As disgusting as it was, my adrenaline wasn't rising. However, my shirt had rips and disgusting stains.
The door clicked, then creaked open. My heart skipped a beat. I stood up, hoping to my life it wasn't one of Alice's twisted friends. It was just Alice. Her face flushed, eyes sunken. Her shirt was torn, exposing her stomach and shoulders. She let out a deep sigh.
“What did they do to you?”
I explained everything. She nodded, then squinted.
“They made me eat one.”
I nearly threw up again. “They made you what!?”
“Yeah… Sarah and Sandra tied me up, then Sarah put a tube in my mouth and… and… I can't even…”
I was desperate to know why Alice's friends were doing this. Going to the greatest lengths possible to torment Alice and I…
“Did they do anything else to you?”
“They sat away from me and talked about all the fun things they've done together, along with all the fun things they plan on doing with each other. I tried to talk to them, but they’d barely respond. Then, apparently, Sarah stole my childhood DVD and brought it with her. She stood up and scratched it against the wall while the others giggled and glanced at me.”
“Well… that's cruel… they're horrible people.”
“It was worse that they weren't wearing their touque masks anymore. It was like a casual hang out I wasn't invited to.”
“Did they even passively talk about their problem with you?”
“No, but they would occasionally bring up my name, then go “ew” and “gross” or make a disgusted face.”
Alice did not deserve to go through any of this. I wanted to figure out what her fake friends’ problem was, and even if Alice did something wrong… 1. she'd be the one to apologize and do better. I doubt she'd have done it on purpose… 2. her friends are definitely in the wrong for being violent, impersonating authority, and kidnapping. Why can't people just communicate? Or at least say they don't want to communicate… I told Alice we needed to stay far away from her psychotic excuses for friends. She nodded her head in agreement.
“Definitely. Although, I think one of them was neutral.”
“Neutral means you don't care about the stuff the toxic one is doing. You don't want to cut them off for being toxic, because you don't see that what they're doing is wrong.”
Alice nodded her head in agreement as a woman with long black hair, who looked to be in her 30s, peered into the room.
“Oh my god, are you two alright!? I’m an employee here. I heard there were five girls causing some trouble.” Alice looked at her.
“Yeah! They made me eat a weird bug and socially humiliated me!” The employee nodded her head.
“I see. I'm going to need you two to come with me.”
We followed the employee into the hallway. I couldn't guess where we were. The hallway was just white bricks and grey metal doors along both walls. It didn't help that I couldn't recall how I got here. Every question Alice and I asked was ignored, which meant I had to wait longer for any answers. It couldn't be that long, though… right?
At the end of the hallway, there was a pair of double doors. The employee held one of them open for us, and when we walked through, a pit formed in my stomach. The five psychopaths were standing by each other in the center of an empty lobby, pointing their phones at us. Sarah rested her left hand on her hip.
“Ew, look, it's those sluts!” Sandra flipped back her long black hair.
“They're so gross!”
I looked into the employee's eyes, waiting for her to tell them off. I was hoping she'd curse them out too. She nodded her head left and right.
“These two girls were trespassing on this property and brushing up against male employees without consent. Say what you need to.”
And if my trust in authority hadn't already been obliterated… I looked at Alice to check for her reaction. Her brows were furrowed.
“I know everything about you, by the way. We've been friends for eight years.” Jessica chuckled.
“Oh yeah? We know everything about you too! We still have that video of you being tricked into keying someone's car by being told it was a junk car you could practice your rage on.” The girls chuckled. Alice had a look of determination. Meanwhile, I was shaking. What's about to happen? Did Alice have to say that at this moment? Sarah looked me in the eyes.
“Alexa, you shouldn't be friends with Alice, if you don't want to be dragged into her problems.” I raised my right brow.
“But you're the ones causing the problems! You're torturing Alice… and I… and you aren't giving us any reason!” The girls slid their phones into their pockets, then walked over to me. I was cornered. Even if there weren't six women cornering me, the exit doors were boarded up beyond their frames. There was no immediate way out. Sarah was staring me down.
“You know what, Alexa?” I was sinking.
“What?”
Sarah and Sandra sped up to me, then grabbed me by the arms. I froze, reminded of what went down in the convenience store. Jessica smirked.
“I think we should let Alexa get her words out now.” Sarah giggled.
“I bet she thinks people will believe the bug thing.” Sandra giggled.
“Maybe she shouldn't have posted about us in the first place.”
The employee gave me her phone, then she told me to vocalize every word I type. As I typed this, the girls giggled and rolled their eyes at every moment of fear I recounted. They want me to feel small, but I'm too distrusting of them already. Hopefully this will be settled peacefully and maturely.

I can't really find this in anywhere. But I remember that I watched it on YouTube in 2015. On a park, there is a poor boy with ripped and worn off clothes. I kinda remember some other teens bullying him at the start, and he removes his worn off shoes and make it talk like a puppet. As he walks, he sees another boy around at his age. He looks happy, has nice clothes, and generally looks wealthy. The poor boy wishes to god to be in the other boy's place 3 times, and as he wishes 3rd time, they swap bodies. The poor boy gets happy to be a wealthy boy, but when the wealthy kid changes bodies with the poor kid, he becomes extremely happy, and he starts running around, yelling in joy. The poor kid gets puzzled, and as he watches the other kid running around, his mom comes with a wheelchair to pick him up. Turns out the wealthy kid was a paraplegic. I cannot remember the language of the video but altough the video wasnt Turkish, the title and description was fully in Turkish, if it helps. That's all I can remember.

Forgotten Dreams

Some people call Night City the City of Dreams. But to those of us living in it in 2044, it’s the City of Nightmares. Twenty years after Johnny Silverhand detonated a thermonuclear device at the Arasaka Tower and ended the Third Corporate War, the city is only just now leaving its post-apocalyptic state. The Nighters that call it home are either too stubborn to leave or have nowhere else to go. In the remnants of the American third world, that isn’t too unusual. The sky is still red with the particulates left over from the Fourth Corporate War, casting a dark bloody glow over the world. Underneath this crimson sky Night City is a battleground where every man woman and child is locked in a never ending war for survival. As hard as what remains of the Night City government and relevant neocorps try to maintain order and rebuild infrastructure, most of the city is still in ruins or utter poverty, usually both.
Electricity is unreliable, the water is tainted, and the animals have long since died out or been driven from the city leaving artificial meat and plantlife the only food sources and ration chips a universal currency only eclipsed by cold hard Eurodollars. Overall, Night City is a pretty fucking miserable place to live.
But that just means those of us left are more determined to keep fighting. The corpos at the top want to squeeze the corpse of the City of Nightmares dry of any and all eddies it might have left, the politicians want to hold on to their power, the gangers want to cling onto the highs of designer drugs and spent bullets, the civies want to keep the lights on and rations on the table, and us Edgerunners want to make our mark on the world before we get snuffed out. That’s how it works. We burn bright and we burn hot but we just don’t burn long. Not in this city.
For us, it isn’t about just surviving. It’s living on the Edge. The fine line between life and death, the new frontiers of technology, fashion, night life. We have the most ‘in’ clothes, we have the baddest guns, we have the shiniest chrome. We see this city for the living nightmare it truly is and we laugh in its face and dare it to try and take us early. And when it does, we get the greatest honor an Edgerunner can achieve: a drink named after us on the menu at the Afterlife, the bar where we all raise toasts to the legends whose lights went dark at last.
We come from all walks of life, all kinds of backgrounds with all kinds of goals and hopes and ambitions and dreams. Solos, Techs, Medias, Fixers, Netrunners, Rockerboys, Medtechs, Lawmen, whatever. But wading through the mud and muck of this city for so long can mean we get caught up in it. Stuck in the endless river of shit with no way of getting out of the nightmare. We lose sight of what matters, lose sight of the Edge. Get caught up in gang wars, corporate contracts, hunting criminals, pulling off heists and staving off cyberpsychosis. We forget the dream. We forget what makes us Edgerunners.
But I’ve been watching you for a while now, and you haven’t forgotten. You keep the dream alive. You’re living it. You’ve reminded me what it means to be an Edgerunner, which is more than I can say for any of the other new talent trying to make a name for themselves in Night City. That’s why I’m reaching out to you. The names Checkmate, and I’m looking to put together a crew for a job. A big job. The kind that’ll set you up with the street cred and the eddies to jumpstart your career by a decade, at least. Find me at the Afterlife, and let’s have a chat.
Drinks are on me.

Background Lore

The world of Cyberpunk is a dystopia that focuses on individual stories of strife, hope, and personal growth. It’s a hellscape world that isn’t due to change anytime soon, and instead you learn how to survive and become the best version of yourself within it, holding on to your humanity as best you can in a world that is determined to take it from you. Sure, corpos and gangers and mercs and cops are probably going to feature as the enemies you fight mostly, but it isn’t the true enemy. The true enemy is Night City itself. The city is a metaphor for the society and very world, an abyss that’s just waiting for the chance to swallow you whole at the first opportunity. Night City is the pit where humanity goes to die, and it’s also your only true salvation because it’s where it’s at. There is no Cyberpunk without Night City, there is no humanity without Night City, there is no you without Night City. The only way to beat it is to leave it, and even those that have the opportunity often can’t bring themselves to do it.
No one ever wrote a legend about the one that walked away, after all.
The timeline of the Cyberpunk series diverges dramatically from our own around roughly the 1990s—although other divergences do occur well before then, albeit smaller in size and scope—where the fall of the Soviet Union at the end of the Cold War leads to a dissemination of nuclear weapons on the black market. Coupled with a US government "deep state" called the Gang of Four, the world soon finds itself in the midst of an economic crisis and the Collapse. Proxy wars, trade wars, and a resurgent Europe butt against the prevailing US world order. Eventually, brief nuclear exchanges and biological warfare around the globe cause the gradual decline of Western civilization. Societies collapse and many governments either dissolve or are reduced to reactionary, petty authoritarian states.
In the chaos, corporations fill the vacuum of power amidst a collapsing social order. Technological advances, unbridled from government oversight or ethical limitations, lead to hundreds of new inventions. As time wears on, some corporations become as powerful as the countries they are housed in. Ultimately, four corporate wars have occurred by 2023, each one becoming more overt and deadly than the last. The infamous Fourth Corporate War was brought to an end by the detonation of a nuclear bomb in the heart of Night City. The years that followed until 2045, the Time of the Red, were a period of global reconstruction as corporations and governments alike tried to recover from unparalleled economic and environmental damage. Lawlessness, chaos and technology. This is the world of Cyberpunk.

What is Forgotten Dreams?

This roleplay is all about the Edge. The Edge is the idea that Cyberpunks/Edgerunners live and die by, which is always going forward. Never compromising yourself, never bowing down, never allowing the authority and the corpos and the world to step on you. It means the fastest cars, the most in clothes, the best cyberware, the most deadly guns, and being cool and reputable. It means living your life by the idea that you are going to be a legend, a Street Samurai that lives on forever by the badass deeds they accomplish and the people they touch.
But as the saying goes, no battle plan survives contact with the enemy, and living life on the Edge comes with its risks for you and those around you. Night City is a violent place, even before it got nuked. Life is expensive and death is cheap, and the eddies don’t trickle down unless you take them. It's easy to lose sight of the dream, lose sight of the Edge.
You will be taken on a journey that will test you physically, emotionally, and psychologically. You will see the best and worst Night City has to offer in a time when chaos is the rule of day and stability is a long forgotten memory. You will experience action, intrigue, mysteries, romance, betrayal, and more. But be warned because once you start straddling the Edge, there's no getting off again.

How Do I Apply?

If you are interested in going on this adventure with me, then what you have to do is the following:

1. Send me a PM with 'Forgotten Dreams' in the subject line. I will not respond to any chats sent my way unless they are requests for a PM first for whatever reason as I just don't like the chat system here.
2. Tell me what I should call you, a fun fact about yourself, and your likes and dislikes in storytelling, especially your hard limits. I am a writer interested in very dark themes and smut, and part of that means knowing where I need to stop for you.
3. Give me a basic character idea and a writing sample. It doesn't have to be very long, but the more complex and detailed the better chance of securing the writing spot. The writing sample should be a short narrative about your character receiving Checkmate's message and how they react to it.
4. Finally, really sell yourself as a partner to me. I'm only looking for a single partner on this idea, and I'm going to be very picky about it.

I look forward to hearing from you!

I love this game. Over 1000 hours in it, absolutely hands down my favorite survival game of all time. I love the immersion, I love the world, I love the building, the fighting, almost everything. I love having exciting adventures paired with cozy home prep sessions dancing back and forth to fill me with a sense of constant progression and fulfillment.
But with all this love, comes a passion to see this game be something so much greater. Valheim does so much right, and i cannot commend that enough, but I feel it is harboring a few weird blemishes that constantly show and test my love.
I have come up with a list in no particular order of grievances that my peers and I have with this game, that I would love to see addressed in the future. For many of these issues, yes, mods can help alleviate, but that is a solution not available to console players, and setting up can sometimes be a bit of a headache for groups of friends. I understand my grievances may not be shared with everyone, and i do not want to invalidate anyone else's personal opinions, but I know I am certainly not alone.
-UI/Inventory- The crafting menus are... not good. I won't linger on this too long because it's been widely agreed that it sucks and I think(?) it's on the devs list of things to fix. Nevertheless, it is very tedious to find recipes in the crafting menus, both tables and build hammer, and just needs a total overhaul IMO. The problem only gets worse and worse the more recipes you unlock. I would love if new recipes were flagged someway to show the player "hey, this has never been crafted before" to instantly identify what you should probably be making next. The player inventory is also just in need of major love. I understand the philosophy of trying to make the player feel that they can't grab every single thing they see in the wild and haul it back in one trip, and I'm not saying we should be able to do that, but man does it just feel awful to have you effective inventory space get smaller the more you progress in game. Getting armor is -1 slot per piece, an accessory is -1, Potions reduce space, ammo, food, bombs, weapons (a sword and shield is 2 spaces compared to a 2-hander). Separate slots for equipables would honestly just alleviate a lot of this. I don't expect tp be able to travel with a full arsenal all the time and expect to have room for a huge bounty, that's fine, but in mistlands and especially Ashlands this issue just becomes a bit annoying. On the topic of equipment slots, I wish changing gear sets was more convenient. This could be achieve by making Armor Stands have a "swap loadout" function, where with a simple key press and small channel time you can easily swap out your gear with whatever you had equipped to the stand. This alone would make me far more willing to both use armor stands AND change into hildr base clothes or a Fenris foraging set.
-Sloped Terrain Combat- This obviously probably isn't intentional, but man is it just tedious to have all your attacks miss just because you were standing on a 30° slope. Sure by now I instinctively try to seek out the flattest terrain nearby before I even attempt combat, but it just cracks my immersion a bit each time I find myself doing this.
-Furnace/Windmill Filling- I know I can just hold down the button to fill, but it just feels really slow and tedious. The windmills are especially tedious to fill. A max-fill button or even just having the fill speed ramp up the longer I hold it would help a ton. I understand wanting the home chores to feel a bit chorey to promote a sense of satisfaction when you get it done, but you can achieve this and still let me have a little endorphin hit when I see the kiln ramp up in deposit speed when I hold my button on it. The alternative currently is to just mash the hell out of your fill key and that's just.... ugh
-Farming- Currently it is just actual carpal tunnel simulator. Surely there are ways to make planting a large field take time but not genuinely grind away at my hands. This is one of the worst for me. I usually enjoy the slow pace of the house chores, but I genuinely dread when it's time to harvest and replant. I don't make absurdly large crop fields either, and if that's the reason for this very tedious system, than I guess it's working well... Would love if farming had some upgrades associated with, like eventual multi-plant or something.
-Gaps in Weapon Tiers- I just don't understand this one. Once a weapon is introduced, it should have a way to obtain in every tier. It is criminal that you get blessed with something as wicked as a battleaxe in Iron, teased with an even cooler one in the mountains, and then... gone forever. Don't even get me started on the fist weapons (and a set of armor that even boosts them in arguably the quickest biome you pass in the game). I've seen some philosophy floating around that the gaps incentivize trying new weapons but... I think the opposite is true. I would love to try fists or battleaxe for awhile, but I simply don't both because I know it will just go away. They don't need to all be obtained the same way. There's already a great example of this in game: Abyssal gear. The Abyssal Knife and Shield act as the knife and shield for the Iron and Silver ages respectively, and I think it's really cool that you have to go on a little side quest to get your preferred weapon or shield of that tier. Perhaps future updates similar to the Frost Cave update or an Ocean update will come to fill these gaps for us. (Small side note, the ashlands gems are very unbalanced currently. Give some lifesteal to the blood gems plz, I would love to use them sometimes for non-meme reasons)
-Skills- Just needs a total overhaul IMO. Skills should obtained in completely different ways and offer more than just flat boring scaling. There's so many cool directions this could go, but almost anything is better than what we have now. A skill overhaul alongside filling weapon gaps would be great. Would be cool to see weapon classes be lumped together as well even, like atgeirs, battleaxes, and greatswords just be one "heavy weapon" skill for example. Treasure/quests in the world sometimes being skill rewards would be great, a light perk system would be cool too but not necessary. Stuff like "gain a bit of move speed temporarily after getting a knife kill" or "every minute your mace will guarantee stagger on the next power attack" or something would just make me love it so much more. Permanent character progress that isn't instantly erased after a rough few days trying to get an Ashlands beachhead. I won't say much more on this because it's pretty open to what direction they can go here. But the current awkward skilling and skill loss system is just not satisfying to me at all, to the point where I see people either ignore skilling entirely or just get really upset to see their character get weaker with every death.
-Sailing- Once the novelty of your first few sailing adventures wears off, this really feels like the genuine worst part of the game to me. There is nothing engaging for me to be at total mercy of the wind and just sitting there occasionally turning for 30 minutes at a time. Serpents are cool sure, but after a point you just ignore them because they simply aren't worth the attention. I'm praying an Ocean update just totally overhauls the sailing. It feels especially awful in multiplayer where every passenger is doing literally nothing. Again, the initial novelty is cool, but it fades quickly, at least in my circles it did. I make every effort to minimize sailing as much as possible in every playthrough. The Serpent meat isn't worth it :(
-Quests lacking payoff- Hildr sells just about anything meaningful you'd want from her immediately without completing a single quest. The unique dungeons and mini-bosses are neat, but I felt 0 incentive to attempt Hildrs Quest after my first time. Idk what should change here, but the rewards is a good start. Same issues with the new Lord Reto quest. A unique but ultimately mediocre sword after doing an honestly very lame fight. It's just a giga-stat boosted Charred Warrior that you either cheese entirely or get one-shot. Was really disappointed with how this "quest" ended up turning out. To be honest I don't even mind the sword just being a trophy, I just wish the fight was worthwhile.
-Fishing- I legit almost forgot to add this one because of how forgettable it is. Super tedious to skill up, and provides just totally unnecessary recipes. I can survive easy without the additional fish wraps or fried angler. I fail to see a realistic scenario where ever use triple stamina foods. Needs a total overhaul as well IMO. I would love to find the urge to catch myself a big trophy fish to hang on the wall, but I just cannot with the current system.
Again, this game is amazing even with all these criticisms. All of the issues come entirely from a place of love and passion. I couldn't see myself making a post like this for any other game currently. If none of this is ever addressed (I'm certain some of it will be) then I'd still probably continue revisiting this game for years to come, though probably exclusively with mods, and a smidge of disappointment. Thanks for taking the time to read, I will be curious to read your thoughts. Cheers

I've been perusing these cheating subreddit groups for months now and have been wanting to write this on Reddit since this has happened to me but I don't know how to make this into something shorter than a novel. But here's my story.
I'm in my 40s, my common law husband is early 50s. We are fit, and take good physical care of ourselves. We've been together for 9 years and have lived in many different countries around the world. We met in a foreign country where we lived as well. 2 years ago we had an unplanned child that has changed everything as they do. (We both love our toddler very much)
Soon, I realized that hubby wasn't responsible enough with money, to be able to provide for us where we weren't living check to check. And yes he makes more than enough. There were some times where we might have needed to cut some spending down for a slow month, but it's only me who made those sacrifices. As a full-time stay-at-home mom, I soon would start to feel like a fool having to ask for every dollar and having to explain where it all went. Sometimes he was happy to give me the money to get the basic needs for me and his daughter, but most times he would make a cruel joke thinking it was funny. In fact a friend recently commented on it and asked if he was always like this? I said "wow I didn't think anyone noticed, I thought it was just me!" so it did validate my feelings. I'm a very frugal person I don't buy anything for myself, everything is just food and gas. (Albeit expensive)
In 2020, I had saved up some cash from my bartending job and I made the decision to invest in nearly a whole Bitcoin for our child's future. I begged him not to touch it. But every time he brought it up to someone, he bragged about trading it. He was the only one with the access to it. He promised me repeatedly that he wouldn't touch or trade that money. And within less than a year all of it was gone. If my almost Bitcoin hadn't been "traded" by him, well you do the math.
Soon I found myself raising two children. Not good for the sex life, not good for anything. don't want to say I didn't have a share in the disintegration of our relationship, because obviously that's 50/50, but I began to hate and resent him. He lied to me several times about the smallest stupidest stuff. Including that money and well, if he can lie so easily about that stuff what else?
As time went on I would get more and more angry with the dynamics of our life taking out my anger on him and vice versa. Not a good look. I soon went from this happy and free go lucky girl, to an angry negative person. But not once throughout this all, did I ever feel he stepped out, He always made me feel loved and desired. I never would cheat on him or even entertain it.
This year has been particularly rough as we currently live in a country where drugs are cheap, really good and easy to get. He didn't come home for a few days over New years and explained it like "what!? I just want to party?" Like it was ridiculous that I would even ask him where he was, or how perfectly normal to leave your wife and child and go party for a few nights and not come home. I would have left at this point, but I was financially dependent on this human in a foreign country (which I'm a resident of). We have a kid and sometimes you just beat a dead horse and try and work on stuff you know?
We'd often go on trips, apart from each other and it has always been a dynamic of our relationship from the start. This year alone I have gone to my home country twice, and recently, another country that we used to live in, to attend two of our friend's weddings.
One night during one of the weddings After talking to him all day and evening,he went AWOL. I didn't think anything of it because I thought he was jealous that I was at the wedding of our friends... But no that wasn't the case. Turns out he met a new girl at his job that night and was funking her a few hours later, in my car in the parking lot, All while my good friend was babysitting our child. (She apparently didn't know anything, but I don't believe her)
Fast forward a week later, still on my trip, and hubby sends me a nude for the first time... ever!! When I asked him about it, he immediately unsent it and said oh I'm embarrassed. I then asked him who the lucky girl was, (jokingly!!?) not knowing that he actually did take it for someone else.
I flew home a few days later. We had our usual fight, on the way home. During this argument, we broke up like we ALWAYS do. We arrived home and continued living life like we did before I left, in our house together. We cooked meals together and had sex once without protection. It was the same like every other day. He kept hugging me, being affectionate every day. Does this sound like we're broken up to you? Sure didn't to me.
During this time he also told me about this house sitting job he was offered from his married "clients" and it came with a car. I thought this is really strange because who loans their house and car to people they hardly know? A few days later, my friend asked me how I was doing with the breakup! I'm like what? Breakup? What? This was how I found out we actually broke up! The kicker was the response from my husband. I messaged him and said we're broken up?? He kind of laughed and said how could you not know? Like in complete disbelief! Like I would continue to sleep with him if I knew we were broke up? Hardly! And stay and cook in my house? Hell no. He completely took advantage of me, used me and disrespected me. Trying to have the best of both worlds. Just utter disgust.
So at this point he started exclusively sleeping at this house sit and had been driving around this car for a few days. I just knew that something was off about this house and the car but I couldn't find any more information.
It was his birthday during this time and we had some plans for a cake and a small family celebration. I was getting our kid excited about the celebration because who doesn't love making a cake.
I'm out for coffee with the same friend who asked me about the breakup, and she asks if my husband was leaving the next day to go to work? I said no, it was next week. She said oh that's not what he said. The next day my husband told me he was leaving the following morning to go work out of town 2 hours from here. And that it was an emergency that he had to be there the next day.
This wasn't unusual because he worked there before, but the timing was a bit off. For him to need to go right away, bad how he kept saying he needed "space" which he just had 4 weeks of, as I was away. I'm like what about"the cake? the little party we had planned" ? He said no I don't want to celebrate my birthday this year. I thought that was really strange because he loves to be admired and to be the center of attention. I also told him giving me 12 hours notice before leaving town for a week was disrespectful and he needed to be more conscious of my time.
He literally almost left without giving us any money to live for the week. My car was empty of gas and we needed groceries. He made me beg and cry for 80 dollars which would have only filled up my tank. It wasn't until I threatened to go into town and ask to borrow money from his friends, that he whipped around and graciously gave me another $40. ( I do want to add I live in one of the most expensive countries in the world. I don't need to be slagged about it, as it wasn't like this when I moved here 5 years ago). $100 does not go far filling up a car with gas and groceries for the week for two. Never mind if there was an emergency. So I budgeted my $100 put $10 in the car didn't drive anywhere I didn't have to for the week, got the bare minimum for groceries and saved the rest in case there was an emergency.
After he left that night, I found out, rather luckily and accidentally, that he's not actually in the town where he says he's working, but in the big city where the airport is. When I ask him where he is, he doesn't answer me till the next day and replies with 'in bed' which in all actuality was true. But he was really in bed with his new girlfriend, who had just flown back in to see him for the week. (She lives in a different country and owns the house here where hubby is staying at) This girl is also married with three children and two different baby daddies. But I have no ill will towards her, she only believes what my convincing husband told her. So he keeps up his little facade to me, pretending he's working when he's just wining and dining with her, eating out, staying at air bnbs. Meanwhile I had to beg for $100?!
He pretends that the place he's staying at has terrible Wi-Fi and he can't video call (uh huh). We've never not video called no matter how shitty it's been, especially now that we have a kid.
After a week of limited communication probably the least we've ever had, he suddenly decides to come home, at night which was strange. (Turns out he dropped his new girlfriend off at the airport and drove home)
When he gets back, he wants to see the child but it is too late they in bed. So we decide that he would see the child the next night.
Next evening he spends at my (our) house. Meanwhile I still don't know anything other than that we are broken up. I went to bed early that night, and woke up before midnight for a bathroom break. I went to see if he was in the bedroom with the child and there he was sleeping. Then I noticed his phone sitting there. Just staring at me. The voice said look at me. I tried several times to tell the voice to shut up, because why wouldn't I believe everything hubbys telling me? But the voice kept insisting. So I grabbed the phone. (I do want to say that this is the first time in our entire relationship that I felt inclined to pick up his phone and actually snoop.) I got about 20 minutes into it before he woke up and realized that I had it.
The pictures and messages I found in those 20 minutes have completely altered my life. Not only was it his new "girlfriend", it was several women on the go and he was texting them the same exact messages just copying and pasting and on top of that he was sending them pictures of him with our kid, listening to them all tell them what a good daddy he was. He also admitted to sleeping with someone else before his new girlfriend too. I got to read all the dirty nasty messages they were exchanging for the past month, pictures included.
The thing is, I felt absolutely nothing seeing him kiss and hug another girl, which really made this a whole lot easier in that aspect of I don't have to worry about my feelings. I also found out he cheated on me quite early on in our relationship when it was really good, and I think that's probably what hurt the most.
After he busted me with his phone (wish I thought to change his passcode on him cause that would have really messed him up! ) He tried to get mad at me for having the audacity to go through it. Like I violated him or something LOL. Is that your defense? he just kept repeating over and over " but I didn't cheat" ! but I didn't cheat! Like dude I just read your phone. Come on. The most satisfying part was emptying his drawer of clothes and throwing it at him like they do in the movies. Now at my age I have to go in for an STD test and I live in a really small town. But you know what ? I just don't give a f*+k because I'm not the cheater. I was a great wife and I'm a great mother and I can hold my head up high and know that I did the best possibly could. Yes I know I have a lot to work on for myself and my future partner but I know I did my best.
Fast forward to now we haven't talked about a thing, he's hardly had any remorse at all and is only admitted to what I know. Here's the problem. I'm literally financially dependent on him because I quit my job and sold my house to continue to be a full-time stay at home mom, which is something we agreed on when we had the child. I have no money to go anywhere or move or start new in a different part of our country because as I said we are in a small town.
So every day I have to see or hear about him and it's not helping the healing process. His girlfriend's house is 5 minutes from our house and he comes and goes as he pleases to mine, completely ignoring my boundaries and disrespecting me. He is completely absolved himself from all responsibilities leaving me with the house and the dogs and everything that comes with taking care of that on top of being a full-time mom. I don't have money for daycare or babysitters either so I don't get a spare moment unless he has her. I'm trying to start working again but I'm finding a lot of obstacles and one of them is babysitting. I don't have a lot of friends here and everyone who lives here it's quite busy and has their own children or are working full time so friends and family taking my child is not an option. I don't really have support here. I don't actually have support in my home country either. The only support I have is probably in the country I was just in at, but seeing as I just came back from there, I don't have Any $$$.
Not really sure what I'm looking for here but I really needed to get the story off of my chest. I've left out so many details and so many shitty things he's done. I'm tired of dwelling on what he's done I want to be able to move forward now. Because I'm financially dependent on him my options are limited. I was able to go away for 4 days and gain some clarity. But as soon as I came back to this house, to this environment, I'm in the same spot I was before; lost and unsure. I'm a very strong independent woman, but I'm weak right now. I'm scared to raise my child alone. I'm finding it really hard to balance everything and be stable for her. I never wanted to do this alone, I honestly don't think I'm capable of doing this alone it makes me question everything.
I don't believe anything he says, I also don't believe he's capable enough to make responsible decisions. He has been clean from drugs 2 months now maybe 3. I am staying here to allow him to try and be a good father. If I don't try, I will never be able to look my daughter in the eye and say I tried everything. But if history repeats itself as it already has started to do, he will not be a present father, nor will he be supporting us for very much longer.
The irony of this all is that he did the exact same thing to his ex-wife when we met. I'm inclined to believe that hubby and his ex wife weren't broken up when we met like he said.
I know there's been a lot of support for survivors of a$$hole$ here and I'm hoping some of you can share your experience and give me some advice. Especially with sharing the child. I currently will not allow the child on any overnights with him until he gets a decent place or unless I leave my house and he stays here.
I've literally spent two weeks trying to compose this thing and I hope I can get something from it. I'm having trouble co-parenting with him because I feel like I haven't had a moment to heal from this. I start work again in a few weeks, I'm just praying that this will give me the time the space and the money I need to get ahead.
As of right now he is still supporting us still paying for the house that we live in. I'm pretty sure he's contacted his lawyer who is a loose friend as well and has revoked a permission slip to allow me to take our child out of the country thinking that I might take her and leave. which couldn't be further from the truth I want my child to have a father but this scares me. We already have a permission slip there is no need for him to go to revoke this. He doesn't know that I know this either. If I had some money I would be getting a lawyer. The more I write this out, the more I realize what a shitty position I'm in. He does the shitty thing and breaks up our family but gets to go out and be irrresponsible until he feels like he wants to be a parent and sees his kid. Meanwhile I'm not even getting a moment away or a moment to myself. I told everyone I possibly could tell. I want them to know what he's done and I'm tired of covering up for his bullshit and I'm not embarrassed to say it either.

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“Admiral?” The word was soft, quiet, barely spoken at all. Compared to the haunting silence of the fleet bridge aboard the Republic’s Claw, it was like a shotgun had gone off. “What are your orders, sir?”
Admiral Jedik turned, slowly, to face the liaison who had spoken. He waited for a moment before he finally had to face the facts. “Flee. Escape. Scatter the fleet.” He had never before issued such an order, but against neutron beam weapons, there could be no victory. The engines of the Republic’s Claw flared to life and her stern pointed at the Neldian star.
“Admiral, what of our prize?” An officer zoomed the holomap in, pointing out the derelict hulk of a United Human Alliance battleship. “We’ve secured the bridge, reactor, and engines,” he proudly reported. He was the commander of the marines stationed aboard the Republic’s Claw. “It will take only one standard hour to get the ship flight worthy again.”
Admiral Jedik had forgotten about the battleship. “What is the status of its data bank?” he asked, trying to conceal his emotions. Fear, and not valor, drove him now, and fear was the one emotion a leader could never show. He had to remain strong, or at least appear it, for only strength could determine right in this galaxy. “Tell me what I can use against this enemy.” He sounded fierce, proud, as if he were a reincarnation of the conquering warlords of days long past. Inwardly, he felt anything but.
“The data banks are mostly purged, sir,” the marine commander sighed. “Our cyber officers are working, but it’s unlikely we’ll recover anything related to the Supreme Leader’s Armada. At least, nothing usable.”
“Then have the fleet escape to the outer system,” said Jedik somberly. “I and the Claw will remain until our charge is ready to flee with us.” Just mere hours ago, victory had seemed so sure. He had been so eager to seize it. Now, he would be lucky to escape this star system alive.
Admiral Jedik had just lost his first real battle. Part of him had yet to accept it. The rest of him felt a paralyzing fear at the knowledge of it.
One thousand Imperial Space Navy warships had just been annihilated. How many lives had been lost? How many families were just shattered? Though Jedik tried not to dwell on these questions, there was nothing else to do, and he thought of them nonetheless.
He was not infallible. He knew that. But was he destined to have failed?
He could have saved those lives. He could have seen the trap earlier. He knew that. But how could he win the day now?
He looked upward, at the screens covering the domed roof of the fleet bridge, and he watched the stars glow distantly in the black sky above. Space had never before seemed so lonely.
“Admiral,” a fleet liaison spoke up. “Admirals Lin and Venin wish to speak with you.” Jedik accepted the request, even if it was doomed to be fruitless. There was nothing better to do.
“So, is that it, then?” Admiral Lin asked. He looked surprisingly good, under the circumstances. Then again, Jedik knew casualties did not worry him as much. “Do you have a plan?”
Admiral Wedol Venin, last flag officer of the Stralqi Confederacy and first of the Stralqi Enclave, looked at Jedik and blinked with his one eye. “I report two hundred and ninety-one vessels remaining. With your fleet’s four hundred and forty-eight, we have just over seven hundred ships of the fleet between us.” Even without the fleet’s battle damage and expended ammunition, they would have been unable to contest the Alliance armada. Admiral Jedik needed another shift in the paradigm. This time, none would be given to him.
“So we have saved a third of the fleet from utter destruction,” Jedik sighed. “It’s better than a quarter, I suppose.” Nobody laughed. Nobody was in the mood.
“What if we used kinetic strikes?” Admiral Lin asked. The other officers all turned to him. “We take asteroids, rig them with charges, and use our ships to tow them into intercept courses with Alliance Space Navy assets. If we used corvettes as forward scouts, this could be effective as artillery.”
“What’s to stop them from dodging the strikes?” Jedik asked. “Even a space station could adjust its position given enough time.”
“We detonate the charges early, to create a cloud of shrapnel at thirty percent lightspeed. The Neldian fleet would be unable to dodge it.” This was an impressive idea, even for a human. Admiral Jedik had to appreciate Lin’s out-of-the-box thinking.
“A commendable plan, but it would be useless. A series of explosive blasts, for example, would be enough to eliminate most of the threat posed by the micrometeoroid clouds. Even if they did get through, the enemy has projectorless shields. No shrapnel attack could penetrate the hull.” That would have been enough to dissuade most flag officers from ever attempting this plan. Admiral Lin, however, was not your average flag officer.
“We could use it as a distraction.” Jedik could almost see the gears turning in the Terran admiral’s head. “Or intersperse antimatter bombs in with the meteor clouds. They could use the cover provided by the micrometeoroids to approach on a ballistic course before firing thrusters to hit the ships.”
“A-bombs have an easily detectable signature,” said Admiral Venin, “Especially so when they engage their drives. They would be shot down easily.” Admiral Lin grew silent. His idea had failed. “Even still, I commend your unorthodox genius. My government was wrong to move against you.” The Stralqi Enclave, the remnant of the Confederacy that had neither the prestige nor the luck to escape on its ark ships, was widely considered to be the Confederacy’s true successor. This meant that its mistakes, such as the demand that Earth be cauterized from orbit, fell on them as well.
“We have but one available course,” Jedik said, speaking aloud what the others feared to admit in their heads, “And that is to flee. Evacuate the system. We will regroup at the Interion fleet base.” His subordinates agreed. “I thank you for your time.”
The holograms blinked out. Admiral Jedik looked at the holomap one more time. The Coalition fleet was in the process of regrouping in the outer system, though none were far enough away to escape in wormholes. There was no sign of the Alliance space fleet just yet.
“Are our gravity weapons active?” Jedik asked.
“No, sir. We’re focusing on repairing EMP projectors at the moment.” A diagram of the Claw’s status appeared in front of him. It did not look good.
“Have engineering modify a bank of missiles to be used as space probes,” Jedik ordered a fleet liaison. “And get me a gravity cannon repaired and online to fire them. I want to know what I’m facing.”
It was done as he instructed. Thirty fusion-drive missiles, their warheads stripped and replaced with sensor banks, coasted toward the inner system in a wide arc. Even if they couldn’t gather data about the Alliance Space Navy’s new weapons, they could at least provide advance warning of an incoming fleet.
Under the circumstances, that was the best Admiral Jedik could do.
“Bring up the files of the Imperial fleet’s destruction,” said Jedik. “Give me hard data, as much of it as you can.” Charts, graphs, and holographic maps appeared in front of him. He manipulated them like a touchscreen, reaching out and tapping thin air with his claws. Sensors in the holotable translated this movement into practical input, and the hologram changed as he desired.
“The enemy’s weapons are extremely close-range, but extremely deadly,” he thought aloud. “They are able to destroy or penetrate armor, shields, and hull in seconds.” His data, though extremely limited, was enough for him to develop a basic strategy for facing this weapon. “At range, we are at a disadvantage.” Battle analysis from Admiral Yon’s fleet, before its swift and merciless end, had shown enemy missile signatures similar to the munitions used by Terran-made artificial gravity weapons. Most of the Coalition fleet did not have these weapons. “In close combat, we’ll get murdered.” None of them had neutron beams.
There was only one question that remained for Jedik to answer. “How close can my fleet safely approach?” If he could bring his ships’ particle weapons in range, the outcome of the fight might swing in his favor. Even the most battered of his warships still had their heavy guns intact.
But the enemy was crafty. They had waited before firing on the Krell Empire’s fleet. If Admiral Jedik brought his ships in too close, and he was lured into a similar trap, it would be the end of him.
“I don’t know, sir,” an officer sighed. “We need more data.”
“We have prisoners aboard,” suggested another. “Perhaps we could interrogate them?”
“What good would that do?” exclaimed Jedik. The room fell silent. “What would they know? Even the Neldian Armada’s sector admiral, the commander of the Neldian fleet, the very man we would have faced had things been different, had nothing on these weapons!”
“They’re probably either new or rare,” Colonel Talta suggested. “Otherwise, we would have seen them before.”
“Thank you,” Jedik sighed sarcastically. “Very, very helpful.” He looked around the room. His officers, for the most part, looked just as defeated as he did. “Wing Admiral Salentis, you have the bridge. The rest of you, get some rest. Dismissed.”
Admiral Jedik left the room in a fury and went to the shooting range. He emptied six magazines with frightening accuracy before he realized it wasn’t helping him. Then, he went to the physical fitness center. He was strong for his age, and healthy as well, but none of that mattered to him beyond providing a distraction. He couldn’t exactly bench-press an enemy warship, after all.
Then, with nothing better to do, he retired to his quarters and got some rest. It would take time to escape the Neldia system, and he had been using combat stimulants too often to be healthy. Good sleep was a rare commodity in the Republic fleet.
A short rest later, he was awoken by the sound of an RDF:Space duty alarm. He was needed on the bridge. He changed into his black uniform, clipped a sidearm to his hip holster, and walked into the bridge newly invigorated. “Situation report!”
“We’ve received a tight-beam transmission from the warship A.S.N. Brightest Thunder, sir,” said one of his fleet liaisons. “Or, more specifically, our captured battleship has.” An image of the derelict battleship A.S.N. Inexorable had been magnified on the command table, replacing the tactical map that was usually displayed. “It contains a data packet coded in an Alliance cipher, as well as a message in Republic encryption.”
The message appeared before Admiral Jedik, who read it eagerly. “The chancellor’s spy. I always knew she had plans I was not privy to.” He looked at his most senior advisor. “That cipher, if our agent does not lie, protects every scrap of data sent through the Neldian hypercom relay.” The advisors all agreed. Spies did not typically lie to their handlers. “She’s taken a terrible risk by transmitting it to us,” Jedik said. “Make use of it!”
“We cannot crack the code, sir,” an officer protested. “The cipher is incredibly complex. Even attempting to breach it could delete the entire packet.” The Republic’s Claw had the best cyberwarfare division in the Ierad Republic. If they could not do it, chances were that no one could.
“Well?” Jedik waved his wings. “Any suggestions?”
“The captain of the Inexorable might know the cipher,” an officer spoke up. Jedik noted that he was the same one who had suggested the interrogations earlier. “It is my understanding, based on reports, that Admiral Dama’s transmission caused dissent among the Alliance ranks. Inexorable, for one, was heavily affected by this.”
For the fourth time that day, things that had seemed set in stone were instead being molded like clay. Five minutes ago, all had seemed lost. There was no way to counter the Alliance’s mystery weapons. But now, there was a change in the paradigm. Now, there was intelligence to be gathered.
If Admiral Jedik could convince the Inexorable’s captain to cooperate, he could crack the Alliance data packet. If he could crack the data packet, he could have a treasure trove of intelligence at his disposal. And if he had that much intelligence to work off of, that meant he had a fighting chance against his opponent.
“You’ve all done wonderfully,” Jedik said, his anger and fear from before being replaced by a sense of knowledge and calm. “I am truly honored to work with such competent advisors.” With that, he left. He had a job to do.
The dining room of the Inexorable was massive, and far from spartan. Its floor was carpeted with fine synthetic silk, its doors were real Neldian wood, and trophies of war adorned its walls. Admiral Jedik was, at the moment, eating a hearty meal underneath the severed head of one of his unlucky compatriots. “Friend of yours?” his prisoner asked.
Admiral Jedik looked up from his meal. A man in white prison attire sat across from him, the clothing he wore being the only reminder of his status on the ship. Once, he had issued orders from its bridge. Now, he was kept in its brig. “I have no enemies,” Jedik told him. “Is the food not to your liking?” He hadn’t eaten a bite since he was allowed in. He seemed utterly convinced that this was all part of some ruse, which it was, and he was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“It’s laced with truth drugs,” he scoffed. “I’m not a fool.”
“Let us switch places, then,” said Jedik. “If the food is drugged, I’ll eat from it as well.” The man agreed. The dining table was long, meant to seat the captain and his advisors, but it was small enough that the two could talk comfortably. They stood up and switched seats.
“What’s your game here, xeno?” the prisoner asked, chewing on a leg of some Neldian beast of burden. “What’s your play?”
“Oh, I’ve no play,” Jedik lied. “I simply wanted to lend credence to the broadcast your ship received earlier.”
“That’s a play,” scoffed the prisoner. “And it changes nothing. Neither my skills nor my ship will not be used against humanity’s best interests.” It wasn’t his ship anymore, but Jedik felt it wiser not to tell him that.
“Then let’s just talk for a bit,” said Jedik, with no response. “Oh, come now,” Jedik told him, “Let us engage in a contest of wills. Pit your superior human mind against mine.”
“I will not be mocked,” his prisoner replied coldly. “Be silent.”
“That’s a poor way to address your host,” said Admiral Jedik. “Would you prefer I leave you in the brig?”
“Yes. Better that than to swap words with a filthy animal. Mankind is master of the stars, mongrel, and do not forget that.”
“The stars are the birthright of those who claim them,” Jedik replied. “And we’ve done well for ourselves at that.” Silence. “Humor me for a moment, if you will.”
“I will not.”
Admiral Jedik sighed. It seemed to him that some people had no manners at all. “What would you have done, if I was your prisoner?”
“You know it as well as I.” Torture. Ineffective as an interrogation method, but it was kept in place nonetheless. Evil had to be maintained, and the law of the Alliance ensured it was maintained well enough. The use of torture was just one of the many ways it desensitized its subjects to their lives as cogs in a fascist machine.
“What if I were human?”
“Then you’d be a traitor, and you’d deserve the same fate as your xeno allies. Be silent, wretch.” Jedik would not.
“I have bested you,” he said. “Our fleets were relatively equal, and mine bested yours. Does this not make me your superior?” The man Jedik spoke to was a mere captain. The admiral of the fleet had perished with his command. But the point stood nonetheless.
“I am human, wretch,” the prisoner spat. “One true master of the galaxy, rightful heir to the stars in the sky, and a thousand other titles the greatest of your race could never hope to hold. Crush as many fleets as you wish, but never shall you rise to my height.”
“What makes you superior?” asked Jedik.
“I am human.”
“What makes humans superior?”
“We’ve ten worlds. Ten cradles. No other species can boast such a thing.”
“It does seem a bit small of a thing to start a war over, don’t you think?" asked Jedik. "Seems a bit petty in the grand scheme of things.”
“My kind was made master of the stars, not yours,” the prisoner spat. “The Humanity Codex decreed it.”
“If I wrote an Ierad Codex that said the opposite, would it be true?” asked Jedik. His prisoner was silent. “Exactly.”
“Mankind is more intelligent,” countered the prisoner. “More creative. This, among other facts, proves the Codex as true.”
In response, Jedik flicked out his talons. He cut a shred from the tablecloth, which was probably very expensive, and held it up. “You can’t do this.” The prisoner cringed. His tablecloth was definitely expensive. “And, might I add, I have no mental deficit. My mind is the equal of any human’s.” There was no response to that. “Would it still be just to treat me as lesser?”
“Your species are lesser,” the prisoner snapped, “even if you are not. On Neldia, we have a hive insect that builds mounds larger than some houses, but they are still insects. Still inferior.”
“And yet, if you had captured me, I would have been treated like any other of my species. Is that right?” Decades of rallying troops and arguing with politicians had made Admiral Jedik into a very eloquent speaker when he wanted to be. “Is that right?” Now, he was proving it.
“It’s the doctrine.”
“Is it right?” The prisoner shook his head no. “Then why do you follow it?” Jedik knew he was very close to winning over his enemy’s trust. So very close.
“I follow orders because it is my duty,” said the captain. Even in prison garb, at the mercy of his enemy, he sat up straight and ate with dignity. It was not hard to imagine this man in command of a warship. “You of all people should understand that.”
“Your duty is to the human race,” Jedik countered. “To advance its interests, and secure its future.” His prisoner nodded. He was beginning to see Jedik’s side of things. “The Alliance cannot do this any longer.” The man at the other end of the table was silent, deep in thought. Admiral Jedik helped him along. “Why do you think Admiral Dama joined our cause?”
“Is it true that your ships defended Earth?” asked the man.
“It is true,” said Jedik. “Even if Earth were not vital to the war effort, it is against my personal tenets to allow the slaughter of innocents. It would be better if only soldiers died, no?”
The other man was silent for a very long time. That was all right. Jedik could wait. “Agreed,” he finally said. “Am I to assume you’ve set this up to recruit me to your cause?”
Once a soldier of the Alliance was taken out of their natural environment, exposed to something other than a constant stream of dogmatic propaganda, it was very much possible to convince them to turn traitor. Though their former home would never accept them back, as their seditious ideas could not be allowed to spread, the intelligence and knowledge they provided was invaluable.
This was neither the first or the last time a man of such stature had been captured. It would, however, become the most important.
“Actually, yes,” said Jedik. “You see, many among us believe that you and yours cannot be redeemed. They feel it best to scour Neldia, Sevran, Gendia, and every Alliance world clean from the galactic map.” He spoke sympathetically, to win his enemy’s trust. “You have the power to prove them wrong. To serve humankind in the most crucial way imaginable.”
“Why in hell would I do that?” the prisoner asked. “We’re winning the war.”
“Are you?” Jedik bluffed. “In two years, we’ve gone from a squabbling flock of worlds to a coherent, organized fighting force. In two years, we’ve marshaled a navy that made Janus Ora himself tremble on his crimson throne. His armada may have armed itself well, but what of the Anesian one? Or the Gendian Armada? I tell you, given six months’ time, every ship in the Coalition fleet will have an arsenal that is the equal of mine.”
Jedik’s prisoner nodded. He knew that would be a formidable arsenal. “And you think ours will not?” he bluffed. This time, it was seen through.
“No.” Admiral Jedik tapped his talons on the table. He had barely touched his food. “If every ship of the fleet could mount such weapons, they would have. We’d have lost already.” This was a battle of wills, not warships, but his opponent now realized he was outclassed in both. “And five hundred ships cannot be everywhere at once. Admiral Dama saw the truth, captain.” Addressing the man by his rank was meant to build a rapport between them. Admiral Jedik knew many such tricks. “He knew humankind was not meant to rule alone.”
“Give me your word that civilians will not be harmed.”
“I swear it,” said Jedik. “Only legitimate military targets will be struck.”
“Put me on a channel with Admiral Dama,” his prisoner commanded. Jedik, seeing no other choice, obeyed. He made a few calls to Interion, where the newly repaired Peacemaker lay in drydock, and it was done. A projection of the traitorous former admiral Sheparda Dama, visible from the torso up and still clad in his crimson uniform, appeared from a projector in the ceiling and hovered in front of the captain.
“Sir.” He rose and raised his fist to his forehead in salute, moving purely out of custom. “Is it really you?”
“As always.” Dama returned the salute. “Do you doubt my resolve, Captain Ralg, or my allies?”
“Both, sir,” Captain Ralg confessed. He had served alongside Admiral Dama for many years, and that was the first time his trust had ever wavered. “How may I know it is you?” he asked again. Even through tinted lenses, he saw the Ierads as crafty foes.
The hologram of Admiral Dama thought for a moment. “You were overjoyed when you graduated from the Neldian School of Space Warfare,” he finally said. “You wanted to name your first command Tyrant, but I suggested Inexorable.” Captain Ralg’s face lit up, like a prisoner whose cell had just unlocked. “I felt it was a fitting name for a man of your stature. I now hope it is not.”
Captain Ralg rose and saluted again, this time much more enthusiastically. “Sir! You are real! By the nine worlds, you’re the noblest traitor I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he chuckled.
“Sometimes, treason is a noble crime.” Admiral Dama turned and stepped aside, his hologram moving similarly, and waved a hand at Admiral Jedik. “Yegel Jedik, admiral of the Republic fleet and undisputed king of the airless abyss,” he introduced the Ierad. “The only alien, nay, the only being I will admit I have been humbled by.”
“I half thought you were dead, sir. I hoped so. Better to die than betray humankind.” A pause. Captain Ralg reconsidered his stance. “Now, I hope the same goes for your armada.”
“Better death than treason, but better life than both,” said Admiral Dama. “This war is undecided, Calixus. One major move today can tip the scales irreversibly in one side’s favor.” He paused. “The only question remaining is which move you will choose to make.”
Calixus Ralg sat down. The room was silent for a very long time.
“I’ll do it,” he finally said. “Admiral Dama, if you wish me to act, I’ll jump into hell itself should that be my task.”
Admiral Jedik produced a data cache. He looked warmly upon the face of his newest ally. “Welcome to the right side.”
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I was feeling on edge today and panicking cus I was late to therapy and had to take a new bus route. Around the end of my session my sister kept calling me so I had to pick up and we had a heated conversation where she was Doubting me and she kept getting upset with me. I started crying in front of my therapist. After we were done I went to the lobby but I could feel a meltdown coming, it started in front of my therpist but i tried playing it off so i could just leave. I ran to the bathroom, I dropped my phone on the way I didn't even realize, one of my clothes ripped and I kept hitting myself. I feel so terrible right now and now I have to see my sisters in a place that already overstimulates me so much. Idk how I'm gonna get through the day. I'm still panicky cus of my meltdown and I have no energy to go out and socialize and be in the worst place ever for me. I just wanna go home, I wanna cry. I have to get through the day though. I'm dreading the rest of the day

I hate it here. I'm so damn envious and bitter of everyone around me after the past few months of life. Little things are begining to set me off time and time again. A simple conversation can turn into me silently spiraling just from the mere mention of what I don't or no longer have. Every day now Im wondering just what someone will say, or who I'll see that will trigger a reaction in me. One that I'll try to keep hidden for the most part to save face or keep me from bludgeoning someone.
I hate seeing people with their families. A wife, a husband, a kid or a few. I hate them because I can no longer be them. Happy and together. My mother passed away after a brutal fight with multiple complications on new year's eve. Happy fucking holidays to me I guess. And this is all after things were looking better as well. Everytime I see some of my manager I'm reminded of their two perfect daughters recently married and now with grandkids. They're happy and living a life I wish I got more of. I wanted so much to give that to my mom along with a whole bunch of other things. We don't have a lot here as is but at least we had eachother. Now we don't even get that. I do still have family but we're heavily wounded due to this event.
I know everyone's got it rough. But this is a fresh wound and I'm every negative emotion under the sun and then some. I know I probably shouldn't be venting via backtalking others. Especially those I genuinely care about and want the best for. I'm an asshole for even writing this but honestly fuck everyone right now. Fuck their happiness and fuck their success. It's really a night and day situation even if you're going through similar. I hate 90% about my time here on this planet but more so the past 6 months have really been grinding me down to insanity. My religious outlooks have been in shambles and I feel both guilty and upset beyond belief whenever it is mentioned. Even more so cause my mom grew me in my faith heavily.
Do I have it the worst? No. Does this make it better? Also no. Not to my fixated mind that is hellbent on seeing the worst in things. And even when I do try to see the silver lining and things begin to looks even a smidge better, the feeling of any joy is ripped the fuck away from me over a minor inconvenience or again, just watching someone else live their life without this trauma on their back. Every day is like this. A drag, a burden.
Respectfully, when is it my turn to be fucking happy? Cause every positive moment Ive had in the past seems like a drop of fresh water in a polluted ocean. An insignificant win. Nothing changes from that one time I got an A in math till now.
I don't even think I'm properly suicidal or depressed or whatever medical label I can't be asked to get checked out for anymore. Im just miserable and often times downright sad. I no longer want to pursue the dreams I had in life anymore. Going back to college, learning to drive, dating, getting married, having kids. What's the point? Key moments that both my parents would be overjoyed to see me achieve and yet I didn't. That's my own fault for being too afraid, too hesitant, too broken. I can't form romantic relationships with people. Every attempt ends in a miserable failure and God forbid someone else show me a slight chance of being midly interested, I'll just burn it to the ground with my dogshit mentality of never being good enough anyways.
All my friends who were in rough spots are finding their way in life. And rightfully good for them. Theyre making connections, getting education, forming romantic relationships. Becoming better human beings. And Im stuck here with my shitty head start on it all cursing how I so royally fucked up my existence and how existence royally fucked up me to the point where I can never properly complete a fair bit of my aspirations. Not happily anyways, not with my mom here. No disrespect to my remaining family but still. I wanted it to be perfect. I wanted us all to be here.
All my drive to do anything in this life died with my mother. And they'll very likely stay dead.
Why couldn't I be the one to have a healthy relationship her grandchildren? Why can't I form deeper connection with people beyond limited contact and a negative outlook within me? Why can't I date someone without ruining both our lives? Why did my mother have to die?
All questions that I don't think Ill every get answers for or at the very least not an answer I care to accept.
Future me if you're reading this, just give the fuck up. This shit is not fucking worth it.

Archana stepped off from the bus, pulling the shawl even more tightly against herself, taking care to wrap the woollen garment around her ears to protect against the bustling wind. Even with her full saree, socks, a cardigan and the shawl, she had been shivering in the rickety bus, with the broken glasses and wooden window shutters letting more of the cold air in than keeping it out.
Kunidanga was not the most crowded village in the district to begin with, and now at the end of December, with the temperatures hovering in the single digits, the roads wore a deserted look in the fading light of the dusk. Situated on the banks of the Torsa river in North Bengal, it was a tiny little hamlet which was barely a speck on the map. Archana was the only one who got off the bus, which left immediately for the final stop at Dinhata - nearly ten miles due south near the border with Bangladesh.
The bus stop, with its tin roof having long lost its shine, the mandatory stray dog lying in a corner in a ball of old newspapers, the walls completely covered in graffiti and posters of everything from the latest theatrical releases in the one movie theatre of the district in CoochBehar, the latest political agenda for the upcoming elections, ones extolling the virtue of the famous palmist Sri Abhaynanda while others that extolled the brilliance of D K Lodh - the infamous ‘sex doctor’.
Even with the musky odour of too many sweat stained bodies, months of public urination and defecation which hadn’t been washed away since the last rains, Archana sat down on the stone bench - just to balance herself for a moment.
She slowly patted her belly, calming the little one inside.
It was just the first trimester, actually the very beginning of it. Today was her first visit to the doctor in the district hospital. Archana had been experiencing the tell-tale symptoms of pregnancy for the past few days and Nakul was absolutely, joyously certain, that they were going to be parents! They had gone to the doctor together in the first bus from Kunidanga, starting at the break of dawn. Nakul had fidgeted the whole way there, nervous excitement bubbling through at every second while Archana simply tried to control her nausea - made worse by the rolling motion of the rickety old bus on the untarred roads. Waiting for the first consultation with the doctor, going for the blood tests, then another long wait for the reports and then the final confirmation from the doctor had taken them the whole day.
A quick meal at the hospital canteen, they had to rush to catch the last bus departing for Kunidanga. Nakul had gotten down from the bus at the last stop, he needed to visit the government depot there to collect some documents for his job as Kunidanga’s public works superintendent.
Their small government issued bungalow was not too far from the bus stop and Archana was confident that it was a distance she could cover well enough on her own - having taken the same short route countless times in the past. She stood up, clutching her small purse with some spare change and the regulation IDs, a bit tired, but with the additional spring in the step which happiness sometimes brings you!
Archana had only gone a few steps when she stopped, her senses overwhelmed by the unique smell of burning incense, fresh flowers and freshly cut fruit and milk - that typical combination which filled the air around all hindu temples - a smell so common and deeply ingrained among the god fearing Bengalis.
A few more steps along the dusty corporation road, and the source of the smell became clear to Archana. A sadhu - a kapalika to be more precise from the way he was dressed - had set up a small tenement on the empty plot of land just off the road, hardly a hundred feet from the bus stand.
A large man, well toned but not really muscular, the skin tanned with constant exposure to the elements, a thick beard and wrapped in the regulation red dhoti and uttariya sat in prayer.
It was a deep plot of land, opening up into the forested shrubbery at the back, butted on one side by the road and the bus stand, the other end a good two-three hundred feet away - completely empty except for a few shrubs and bushes, till Kanai’s small stationary shop.
In the middle of this huge plot of land, there stood an old Ashwathama tree, perennial, huge, imposing! The sadhu had created a small clearing at the base of this tree, burning away the shrub and the grass, the soil blackened and charred by the fire. He had planted his ornamental trident - the trishul - on the ground, the tips reddened with what seemed by red chandan powder. A small cloth tote bag hung from one of the low hanging branches - evidently containing all his worldly possessions.
The sadhu sat with his back to the tree, his eyes closed in prayer. Even in the dim light of the dusk, he seemed to have extremely sharp features, even though his face was gaunt and he had the emancipated look of someone who seldom has a proper meal. However, there was a sense of strength in him, an unexplainable aura of dark power, which however inspired more fear than fealty.
The normally god-fearing Archana instinctively folded her hands, palms touching, with that well known gesture of respect - in this case - somehow tinged with fear.
She stood rooted to the spot, trying to decide in her mind whether to approach this godman or not. On one hand, with the new pregnancy, she instinctively wanted the blessings and comfort from divine sources - and this one seemed to have quite literally fallen on her lap; on the other hand, there was a small tug of fear, a deep unnatural cold grasp of terror from deep within her which warned her to turn away from this man - and never catch his attention - ever.
Archana was brought out of her indecision by a sudden deepthroated fierce growling. A brown stray - so common on the streets of India, had entered the open land from the bush in the back. Perhaps this is where it slept during the night, finding a comfortable resting spot amidst the shrubbery and hedges. Having found an intruder who had taken over what the dog must have considered to be its own territory, he had reacted the only way he knew how - baring its canines and letting out a low fiery growl to warn the human away.
Archana was shocked by what happened next. She was about to shout out a warning to the meditating godman, when the man opened his eyes and with a cruel and brutal swiftness picked up his trishul from where he had fixed it to the ground and threw it at the crouching canine nearly fifty feet away. It happened so quickly that the poor creature barely had a moment to react, its growl dying away as the trident easily found its mark - cracking his skull open and breaking its jaw. The sadhu approached the fatally injured animal, picking up his formidable weapon once again, ostensibly to finish the job.
Archana didn’t wait around to witness the horrific aftermath. Shocked to her very core by the swift brutality and instinctive boorish behaviour of the sadhu, she gave credence to the tightly coiled fear in her stomach and moved as quickly as she could, past Kanai’s small stationary shop and beyond the bend in the road which lead to the barb wire compound of the government superintendent - Nakul’s official workspace as well as the small living quarters in the back.
She reached the sanctuary of her house, securely fastening the door behind her, breathless not only due to the sudden enforced exercise, but more so because of the sudden brutality which she had just witnessed.
Suddenly exhausted and drained, Archana went into the tiny bedroom, most of the space taken up by the large king-size wooden bed. A wedding gift from her grandparents, the huge bed covered almost three quarters of the room, leaving just enough space to fit in the old fashioned steel almirah and a mirror fixed on a hook on the wall to serve as a makeshift dresser.
Archana lay down on the bed, nauseated and deeply troubled by the sudden violence she had witnessed. She could still hear the crunching noise when the heavy iron trident hit the leaping canine, its yelp of pain. She grabbed the thick woollen blanket from the top of the almirah, wrapped it around herself, and curled up on the bed. Suddenly wracked by deep sobs, Archana wept. Wept in sympathy for the poor stray dog which was just doing what stray canines are supposed to do. Wept perhaps due to the sudden change in hormones in her body. Wept due to exhaustion and all the changes happening and about to happen. But mostly Archana wept in fear. Fear of the Sadhu who had suddenly appeared at the edge of the village, perhaps promising piety and salvation, but also promising a deep, dark violence.
X
Life moved at a breakneck pace for Archana and Nakul. Busy with Nakul’s work as the government administrator of public works, Archana’s work at the nearby primary school as a clerical staff and of course, getting ready to welcome the new addition to their family. Soon, the horrifying encounter with the Sadhu was an almost forgotten memory in Archana’s mind.
The first time they had to go back to the district hospital for a check up, Archana was worried. She hadn’t shared the incident of her first meeting with the Kapalik with Nakul. She didn’t see the point of unnecessarily worrying him and on top of that she wanted to push the memory of that incident as far away from her mind as she could.
However when they walked down the road to the bus stop early in the morning to visit the hospital, Archana was relieved to see that the godmans encampment was empty. The small camp had grown, it had a look of permanence about it now. A makeshift wooden fence created a border around the clearing around the tree. A small but sturdy wooden shed with a thatched roof had been built, a place for the worshipper to shelter in during the cold nights of the north. The large tree at the centre of it all bore various vermillion marks of sindur and sandalwood - the common symbols of hindu worship. However the man himself was nowhere to be seen.
By some strange twist of fate, Archana never ran into the man on her many visits to the clinic, passing by his ever expanding house of worship. There were obvious signs of his presence, and Nakul mentioned having seen him nearly every day, but luckily through some mystical working, Archana never had to face the strange sadhu who had taken up residence in their village.
She heard about him quite often. The young girl who came in twice a day to help with the household chores, the old bearded vegetable seller who came tooting on his van each morning, her few friends and the infrequent neighbour who dropped by, all had news about Kripali Baba.
He was known to be extremely pious, a follower of the goddess Kaali, he was known to keep the most difficult penances for himself as he tried to get closer to his venerated deity.
He was powerful too, quite capable of curing even the most incurable diseases, helping treat cancerous growth in an old coolie, treating the deadly lung infection in another. He was also known to be particularly partial to helping mothers - whom he considered to be an embodiment of his revered deity - Maa Kaali.
He was known to sit on long fasts right before every new moon, on which night he would disappear from his makeshift ashram and be away for days at a time.
Archana listened to all these tales with only half a mind, as she was completely occupied with the process of becoming a mother.
With every passing week, the small foetus growing inside of her grew more into a human and neither Archana nor Nakul could wait to get their newborn out in the world. They spent long hours planning for the baby’s name - Rabi if it was a boy and Nisha for a girl.
Their little island of happiness got a new inhabitant soon enough, when a handsome little boy, healthy and hale, was born to them at the turn of autumn. Rabi had arrived.
A precocious child, he was truly the Sun of his parents’ lives - the angel around whom Archana and Nakul spent doting around forever. Born during the auspicious Durga Puja, Rabi got the first glimpse of the majestic goddess Durga when he was barely a day old, the ecstatic parents taking him to the Durga Temple in the village to get him blessed and anointed.
The first few days of the young Rabi’s life were filled with joy, with the joyous grandparents, various aunts and uncles all coming to visit the newborn and celebrating the auspicious blessings of Maa Durga quickly followed by the Bengali Laxmi Puja - the celebration of the goddess of wealth and good fortune!
However, after a few days, the relatives all left, leaving the newborn and the new parents to their own schedule. Nakul had to rejoin his office, having used up his vacation days, and right the next week, was asked to go to the district office for some new instructions. Even though Kaali Puja was the next day, Nakul had to make the early morning journey leaving the sleeping Rabi and anxious Archana behind.
Promising her that he would come back right after the urgent meeting called by the new superintendent, Nakul left for the bus stop. Even though winter was still a few months away, the days were shorter and the morning Sun wasn’t fully up, the road lit by the reddish glow of dawn filtering through the mist which was still slowly receding.
As he passed by the ever expanding adobe of Kripali Baba, as he had done a hundred times over the past year, he saw the sadhu sitting in the traditional lotus pose - deep in meditation.
Nakul brought his hands together clasping them briefly against his forehead in the traditional show of respect, before hurrying on his way to catch the bus from Dinhata.
Archana and Rabi had a pleasant morning, the mother son duo enjoying the sunshine in the small garden which they had just outside their cottage. Rabi lay on his back on the small plastic crib - a gift from an indulgent uncle, while Archana sat on a blanket next to him, singing him lullabies, laughing at the various expressions the newborn unwittingly made.
After giving him a massage with the baby oil, Archana gave him a quick bath in lukewarm water before feeding him and putting him down for a nap in their bedroom. She sat for a moment staring at her sleeping son, her heart full of joy and satisfaction.
However she had to get moving soon, the time the baby slept being the only window when she could get any of the household chores done. Even though the girl who helped out with the household chores took care of the more manual work, Archana still had to cook for herself and Nakul. She also washed all of baby Rabi’s clothes and knickknacks on her own, unable to trust anyone else with her baby’s things.
Finishing all the household chores took a while - Archana always had an ear cocked for the slightest stirring sound. Rabi was a light sleeper and would cry his eyes out if he woke up and didn’t find his mother next to him.
Finally done with all the chores, taking a quick min long bath, and scarfing down her lunch, Archana went to bed, lying down exhausted next to her baby.
Rain in the autumn months in Kunidanga isn’t unheard of, but it isn’t a common occurrence either. Thundershowers are definitely a more uncommon sight.
Archana woke up disoriented and scared at the clap of thunder which had crashed somewhere close by.
She hadn’t realised when she had dozed off, tired from the constant crushing routine which she had as a new mother. Now, awake, she was scared at the dark cloudy sky outside, the gusting wind, the clapping thunder.
She suddenly turned - where was Rabi? The small infant was nowhere on the bed! Archana let out a wail of despair, probably her precious baby had rolled over and fallen from the bed. But then why was he silent? Why was he not crying? Was he hurt?
She scrambled off the bed, searching for Rabi, but he wasn’t there.
He was hardly old enough to turn on his belly, so it wasn’t likely that he had crawled out of the room.
Desperately, with an anguished cry, Archana searched all around the tiny house, darkened by the storm approaching, with no power. The only source of light was the now near constant flashes of lightning.
The house was empty.
There was no Rabi.
Now completely panic stricken, Archana ran outside, ignoring the large drops of icy rain drenching her, the uneven unpaved road striking her bare feet.
The road was empty, no one had ventured out in this weather. The wind and the rain made it really hard to see anything.
Not knowing which way to go Archana ran towards the bus stop, for no good reason other than knowing that’s the direction Nakul would come back from.
She passed by Kripali Baba but he was nowhere to be seen. The rain was pouring down now and there were small puddles forming on the sodden ground around the thatched hut which Kripal Baba had built for himself.
Somehow drawn in by some irresistible fear and a deep sense of foreboding, Archana turned off the road and into the venerated plot, taking trepidation filled steps towards the drenched hut. The makeshift abode didn’t have a door, just a heavy rug hung from a string like a curtain.
Archana flung the curtain aside and stepped inside - it was empty. No sign of Kripali Baba. No sign of Rabi.
There was a rolled up mattress on one corner of the tiny space, a few change of clothes on a wooden pallet, acting as a cupboard, and a few odds and ends lying here and there.
Archana didn’t know what she was expecting but she ran back out, somehow relieved to have not found her son there in the sadhu’s hut but also more scared wondering where he might be.
Much later that evening Nakul came back to find a comatose Archana wailing while a few neighbouring women tried to console her. Shocked and desolate, Nakul rushed into the house, convinced that their little boy was hiding somewhere. He turned the entire cottage upside down but alas there was no sign of the missing child.
Minutes stretched to hours, hours into days. The hapless parents remained comatose, completely clueless about what might have happened to their child. Neighbours, relatives, well wishers all had some sort of advice or the other, but none which did anything to alleviate the pain and suffering the distraught couple was going through.
Even though Nakul was fraught with an unbearable sense of loss, Archana was comatose wracked by an overwhelming sense of guilt which sat like a suffocating weight on her chest. She had been castigating herself for falling asleep and not even realising that her baby wasn’t next to her anymore.
When she heard someone saying to go to Kaali temple near Salmara, the last village on the banks of the Torsa river before it entered Bangladesh, she made up her mind to go. She had heard that the deity in that temple was particularly powerful and particularly keen to the plight of mothers - apparently the temple had been built and consecrated by a mother in memory of her child who had drowned in the river many years ago.
Nakul didn’t object. Even though he had given up hope and accepted it in his mind that their Rabi was lost, he didn’t want to dissuade Archana. They started off that very afternoon, taking a rickety old van from a kind neighbour, taking the long winding muddy roads along the bank of the river.
The Kaali Temple was old and bore a deserted look. It didn’t live up to its reputation of hosting a powerful deity who never let mothers return empty handed. There was no rush of devotees, no sound of clanging bells, no smell of incense or cut fruits - all the common sensitivities which one found afflicted near a temple.
Archana and Nakul hadn’t given any thought of bringing any offerings, they did not come here for any elaborate ritual, just to pray to a powerful deity to help them find their child.
As they walked towards the temple, they were surprised to see a lone figure sitting on the entrance steps, smoking a beedi.
Kripali Baba seemed to be equally surprised to see the couple, though he didn’t really seem to acknowledge their presence. If he had a flicker of recognition for them, he hid it well; neither did he raise an eyebrow at the couple’s dishevelled, unkempt appearance.
It was getting dark, seemingly the beginnings of another storm. Nakul hurried Archana inside the temple, they had a long way to go back.
Archana sat in front of the deity, elevated on a black stone. The deity was different from the others of the same goddess which she had ever seen. It seemed to be carved out of the same black rock as the base on which sat, the features carved out of stone. Even though the masonry was excellent, the features of the goddess had harsh edges - harsher than normal perhaps. What was most striking was her eyes. They seemed to be glowing, a strange lifelike quality quite astonishing to see in a stone carved idol.
Archana poured her heart out, dry eyed as there were no more tears left in her, she prayed to the goddess as only a mother can. She promised all that she had and all that she hadn’t, promised her own life and an eternal servitude to the goddess to have her child back.
All she wanted was for her Rabi to be back. Back to his mother’s embrace - where he belonged.
The stone deity had no answer. There was no sign, no crash of thunder as a prompt from the almighty that her deepest entreaties were heard.
Dejected, desolate Archana couldn’t control herself as she felt that the last vestiges of hope which she was nurturing in her heart were now broken. Her Rabi was not going to come back to her.
Nakul held Archana up, tears of a deep inconsolable grief flowing down his own face.
They stepped back out of the temple to dark skies. The wind had picked up and the heavy rain laden cumulonimbus clouds were racing in from the horizon shading the scenery with a dark hue.
Nakul suddenly shrank back, pulling Archana back as well. Kripali Baba lay on the ground, face up, eyes open, not breathing.
Quite dead.
There was a gaping wound in his stomach, a bloody, raw puncture.
Inside out.
As if something inside his stomach had tried to crawl out. Crawl out in a hurry. As if, that something, was being summoned. Summoned by a mother.

Book One: Edge of Madness - Chapter One Previous Next
I could pretend to be a whore. That's what Masutap thought as she stood before the gate leading to the fortress of the Highlord of the Eastlocal. Pretense was a thing she indulged in back when she'd been an ordinary woman, with ordinary ambitions. But as of now, things had changed. Things had changed drastically, for she was now a champion of the Goddess of Order. A champion who would do anything in her power to mock the very being that fed her power.
Power, yes. It was what she felt. Every time her eyes turned upon the world, she saw Order. Like bees in a hive, working towards a similar objective. Survival. Yes, they all wanted to survive. And that's where the power lay, in her ability to deny a thing's chance at survival, for when her eyes flashed red, things died.
"Pardon me sir." A man dragging a cart of coal said. She was standing in his way, she knew this of course, she'd known it since the time he'd decided to deliver the coal. She saw the strings of prophesy in the smallest of things, and oh what power lied in discernment, to see the past and the future in absolute clarity, the secret lay in following strands of Order. The Highlord of the Eastlocal always received a cart of coal at around this time every fifth day. He would serve as her witness. Coal. She smiled, remembering how Orgeeg had managed to penetrate into the Palace of Binoria, on a stack of coal. She recalled how Orgeeg thwarted her plans, then she remembered how small her plans had been.
"Pardon me... Uh lady?" She removed her cowl as the Coal merchant spoke. Her hair was longer now, she'd let it grow, it dangled askew of her ears. Dark and rich as her mother's once was. Masutap smiled at the man whose face was caked in coal dust.
"Today Shama dies! Tonight the Highlord of the EastLocal is no more!" Masutap said.
Twin daggers she had strapped to her waist were suddenly in her hands. The coal merchant stumbled back several steps, dragging the cart with him. The sun was dipping into the horizon, becoming a smeared red smudge upon the canvas of her perception. Her eyes flashed red, and the smeared smudge's light brightened, blanketing everything, making her see.
She spun and threw the dagger in her left hand. The knife whirled in the air and met the throat of a guard who was just cresting the upper walkway of the gate, he wore red leather that marked him as one of the royal guards of the Highlord. A shout sounded. The guards at the gate turned their attention to her. They were six of them, each of them dazed with the slow reception of understanding. The bubble they lived in, understanding it enabled her to see how blind humanity is. Like sheep, no wonder the Vigons ruled them so easily.
She was in their midst before they drew their swords from their scabbards. She drove the dagger into the throat of the first one, danced in a pirouette, thrust free the dagger and hurled it into the throat of another guard. Her hands were free, she curled her fingers into fists.
The Goddess Meena, Goddess of Order, spoke to her. **What is the purpose of this?*
"Oh, you'll see." Masutap said and drove a fist into the chest of one guard, her hand caved through the chest cavity, snapping the spine in half and emerging free of the Guards back. She paused for effect, the three remaining guards gawked at her. She pried her arm free of the corpse and met their panicked gazes. "Sound the alarm, you're too few to make me sweat. I need all of you. Gods! Come on you fucking cowards!"
Two of the three guards charged her, one took a swing at her head with a flat blade, the sharp edge missed her by a hair's breadth as she ducked. She brought up her knee and connected with the man's groin, raising him off the ground, legs held apart, face contorted in pain. He collapsed on the ground with a squeal akin to that of a dying rabbit. The other guard put on a stance of Grind, legs parted, right foot before the left. Knees bent. He brandished his sword before him, and the guard behind him ran off to sound the alarm. Masutap smiled.
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He slept on a bed filled with whores. Talisi women with their dark skin and white hair, Remu women with their sandy peppered hair and copper skin, Binorian women with their blonde hair and pale milky skin. He was their God and they flocked to him in worship. He owned all of them, from the frailest to the most able bodied. From the smartest to the daftest. They were all his.
The Highlord of the Eastlocal observed the head of the Talisi woman resting on his thigh, her breathing was deep, her dark naked breasts rising and falling with every inhale and exhale. Five other women slept around him, each as beautiful as the last.
Of all the men in the realm, I alone am the honored one. Shama thought. He caressed his bulging belly with his pudgy fingers the size of sausages. His appearance did pass as grotesque. Bloated, balding with a cleanly shaven head, wide of girth and bow legged. Yet, no man has conquered the bodies of women as he had done. Women who lusted after tall handsome men. Women who sought capable men with astounding intelligence. They all gave in to him, none could deny him and when they did, well, there were ways to make them yield.
An orgy at noon. That was the gist of it, and another orgy before the midnight bell. Life was good, life was beautiful. Shama had thought that after the death of King Vayin Vigon in the hands of the infamous Kolotian, Ishar, that his wealth will dwindle, that his status will come down a step. That the might of Binoria will be a fickle thing after their first loss at war. But of course, this wasn't to be. The Queen, Dahli Vigon, had received the blessing of Meena, passed down from her father. As long as one with the Jojoh Meena, the blessing of Meena, still ruled, then things will stay as they've always been. Dahli had taken over, ensuring that Binoria didn't fall into anarchy, ensuring the Vigon name remained revered. The beautiful blonde haired girl was now the most potent soul upon the realm. How he longed to have her in his bed, parting those pale thighs sinuated with muscle. She'd become quite the fair lady. And her presence oozed power.
Shama wanted her but a thought kept his desires at bay. She'd frowned at him at the recent Highlords meeting with the throne. Apparently, his tastes and businesses didn't bode well with her. The selling of flesh, that is what he partook in with the zeal of a drowning man reaching for a floating oar. Importing women from all over the realm, some came willingly, others reluctantly. But in the end they all came. Their dignity thrown away for the promise of gold vigons. They filled the whore houses and men flocked to them in throngs, lining his pocket with gold vigons
It was his inventiveness that brought him to the top, the Highlord of the Eastlocal was once a position few envied. But his eye, trained in the art of commerce, enabled him to transform the east of Binoria. Creating a network that not only benefited him, but also the crown. And in so doing, despite her frowns and her reluctance to treat with him, she still couldn't voice her displeasure. Dahli needed him, she needed him for the coin necessary to maintain her position upon the crown. To line the pockets of her Legions. She needed him, and one day he will have her. No woman can deny him, and if they did, there were ways to make them give in.
Suddenly, the twin oak doors leading to his bed chambers flew open. The Captain of the Red Guard, in charge of his safety, Shang, walked in. "Highlord." He said with a bow, the women around him stirred. Outside, a bell started ringing, slowly at first then with extreme vigor. Something is wrong. Shang's obvious panic was clear to see. The opened door allowed him to see several Red guards crowded at the door.
"What is the meaning of this?" Shama asked, his beady eyes on Shang. An inhuman scream sounded somewhere within the fortress. Shama's blood chilled in his veins.
"There's an intruder." Shang said while ravaging through the clothes on the floor. He lifted a red jerkin, two sizes too large, the right size for the Highlord. He threw it at Shama and the Highlord hastened to put it on. He ignored the bewildered looks of the naked whores.
"Intruders or intruder?" Shama asked as Shang led him out of his bed chambers. Another scream sounded, closer. The guards at the door, seven of them, crested around him as Shang led the way.
"A woman, she's alone." Shang said.
Shama gripped Shang's arm, halting him. "What do you mean by this? A singular woman causing... causing... this?"
"She's..." Shang hesitated.
"Speak! You fool!"
"She seems to be inhumanly strong and fast. I only saw her fight through a blockade of my brothers, without a sword. She tore my brothers— the Red Guards, to pieces." Shang's eyes became glazed, as if his mind was replaying the mayhem he'd bore witness to. Shama let go of his arm. The trembling was taking him again, starting at the soles of his feet, up his spine around his neck to his hands. It had been so long since he felt this, the animalistic fear confounded on the existence of an unknown, an unknown that sought to see him dead.
"Captain, what is your course of action?" Shama asked.
Shang seemed to shake himself free of his trance. "We're going to take you to the stables, get you on the fastest steed and—" A scream echoed through the halls of the fortress of the Highlord of the Eastlocal. Checking everyone in place.
"What of provisions?"
"There's no time." Shang said. He drew a flat blade from the scabbard at his side. The Guards all around mimicked him, the rustling of steel could be heard, and there, at the Western end of the fortress, screams sounded.
Shang started a brisk walk towards the East end of the Fortress. His boots, soles lined with metal, clancked upon the ground. Shama shuffled close behind Shang, panting like a mare in heat. The Red Guards around him stole glances to their rear, sweat woven with fear formed a sleek mask upon their startled faces. And in those eyes Shama was able to weigh how dire matters were.
A shout sounded from ahead, bringing Shang to an abrupt stop. "How—" His words caught in his throat as a woman caked in blood and gore emerged from the bend linking the hallway they were in to another hallway that led to the stables.
She stood before them and spread out her bloody fingers at Shama. "Highlord, nice to meet you." She waved. "Say, I hear you can show a woman a good time and I'm in quite the mood for a good time tonight."
Shama trembled, the woman seemed vaguely familiar. The angles of her cheekbones , that nose, those eyes. She resembled Dahli.
"Moran and Jesul to me!" Shang commanded. Two of the guards behind Shama moved forward to flank Shang on either side. "Employ any forms, ensure I get close to her so I may employ the form of Awe."
Awe— the grappling technique that ensured the limbs were pinned. Shama saw Shang's ploy. He needed to contain the woman so Shama could move past them and head for the stables. Shama cursed himself for the design of his fortress that allowed for only one route to the stables.
Shang, Moran and Jesul raised their broad swords. One raising it above the head in a form of Rage, the other bringing the blade level with his face in the form of Pride. Shang lowered his blade and the guards flanking him charged, he followed close behind. The woman let out a cry that could only be translated as one of glee. She charged them.
Moran brought his sword down on the woman but she slid on her knees, allowing momentum to push her beyond the reach of his blade. Jesul thrust at her, raising his right leg and angling the sword downwards at her face. But the woman dodged, spun upon the ground on the small of her back and kicked Jesul's leg from under him. Jesul fell and as he raised his head he met with the woman's fist, there was a loud crunch as his face caved in. His hand let go of the sword as his body became limp.
Shang saw the opening and dived at the woman before she could stand. The woman spread her arms wide, welcoming. Shang pounced but instead landed on the woman's upraised knees, she grabbed his leather armor by the collar and flung him behind her and onto Moran. Both of them collapsed on the ground.
She stood up and smiled at Shama.
"Who are you?" Shama asked.
"I'm Masutap, the sister of Queen Dahli." The woman answered.
"Men! Turtle formation! Swords out, save the Highlord! Move you fools!" Shang said as he picked himself up from the ground behind Masutap.
The men around Shama compacted closer. Their swords pointing at Masutap who regarded them with a smirk upon her face. They inched forward, hesitantly at first, then with confidence as they saw their Captain pick up his sword. They all came to a stand still when the eyes of the woman glowed a fierce red, as if she held the Jojoh Meena. And Shama, the Highlord of the Eastlocal, trembled before her gaze.
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Intuition, the immediate cognition without the use of conscious rational processes. It was simple for her, she dodged the sword thrusts and swipes easily. She turned either way, always beyond reach of the blades, always within striking distance. Her strength was a thing of beauty, somehow her frail wrists held the power necessary to crush a throat and crush a throat she did. She didn't tire, she didn't require forms of combat. The power of the Goddess of Order coursed through her veins and with it came rejuvenation.
The Red Guards pounced on her, seeking to put in place the form of Awe. But their efforts were in vain, she side stepped them easily, always on her feet. She saw an opening and like a river emptying into the Rankf sea she took it, delivering a punch to the side of a Guard's chest, feeling as ribs broke and punctured the lung.
**What is the purpose of this?* The Goddess Meena spoke within her mind. An ever present being whose words sought to throw her off, to calm the tempest raging within her. Masutap didn't want calm, she wanted fire and brimstone, she wanted Binoria to burn so their precious Queen will rule nothing but ash. She decreed this with a war cry, plunging into the midst of the Red Guards. She kicked two, flinging them across the hallway. One thrust with his blade but she caught it between her arm and side, she twisted the blade free of his grasp, gripped the hilt and decapitated the man in one swift motion.
She parried a strike to her left, danced free of two thrust then brought the blade down onto a Guard's head. She felt as the blade bit bone and she wasted no time in pulling it free. **What is the purpose of this?* Meena asked once more.
Masutap took three steps back to widen her periphery. "An inferno." She said as she flexed her sword hand. Suddenly, the Guard who was definitely their Captain, reached into the mass of clustered Guards pressed to the wall, away from her. And pulled the Highlord free of the men surrounding him.
"Form a blockade!" He screamed as he tagged and pulled at the distraught Highlord, leading him towards the end of the hallway. The remaining Guards blocked her vision of them. Like a fool she'd been too enthralled by the battle, allowing the Highlord to slowly slip past her, cocooned in the safety of the Guards in their turtle formation. He was making clear his escape and somehow, this aroused her, blowing upon an ember lodged deep within her until it sparked.
**What is the purpose of this?* Like a parrot, the Goddess repeated her question.
"An inferno." Masutap answered and lunged.
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He was sweating profusely, his breath caught in his throat, causing him to choke on air. He followed Shang, feeling the Captain of the Red Guard's displeasure at his inability to keep up. They descended a flight of stairs, taking three at a time. He almost collapsed but the Captain steadied him.
"Not far now my Lord. Just at that bend before us." Shang said. They took the bend and ran clear of the fortress. The horses were just ahead, they rushed to them. Shama took delight in the open air. The stables were void of people, Shama wondered where the stable hands were. They entered the stable and Shang dragged him to the first cubicle on the right where a saddled horse stood.
Shama hastily climbed onto the saddle with the aid of the Captain. Shang placed his Highlord's feet in the stirrups and moved to flank the horse. "Lord." He said, fighting for solid ground that will enable his words to come forth easily. "It has been an honor to serve under you." Shama smiled but his smile proved too little a gesture to carry the weight or their current predicament. "Ride hard for the Capital, ensure the Queen knows of all that's gone down here. I will stay back and hold her for as long as I can." Shang concluded with a crisp salute. The Highlord nodded and with the guidance of his captain upon the horse's reins, they exited the stable "She is a good steed, see the mark of her coat? She can take you far." Shang said once free of the stables. A scream sounded from within the fortress, horrid in its guttural screech. "Go now my Lor—" Shang's words died in his mouth as an explosion erupted at the first floor of the fortress, stone parted, breaking as easily as a clay vase, the window panels and the glass set in place erupted outwards with the stone. Three figures tumbled free of the eruption, tangled in the air, twisting with the fall. They landed, the woman on her feet, knees bent and a fist pressed to the ground, the other two guards lay insensate upon the ground, their bodies a mangled mess. Shang slapped the horse's hide and Shama took of in a gallop.
The Highlord turned back, watched as the woman rose free of the debri and charged Shang. The captain employed a form of Grind but the Highlord's view was hindered by a sharp turn around the cobblestones towards the gate of his fortress. The blood and bodies upon the ground unsettled the horse, forcing its pace to be more hurried and Shama was all the more grateful for it.
She has the Jojoh Meena! Shama thought with awe as the horse broke free of the fortress in a quick gallop that had him bouncing upon the saddle. His thighs felt the brunt force of his escape but he could do nothing but hold on for dear life. This is what I'm reduced to, at the end of the line dependency thrives, in old age your children are those you depend on. I never thought I'd come to rely on anyone throughout my life. Yet here I am, depending on a horse to save my skin. He turned his head back and heaved a sigh of relief. The fortress was dwindling within his periphery, he had made quick his escape. Shama will live to see another day. And when the sun rises and sets, I will bring judgment upon the woman whose very existence rivals my own. Masutap. I will hunt her, she will know no safety within the realm, she will never know peace or a good night's slee— Something unnerved him. There, at the entrance to the fortress, a figure appeared. Following the path charted by his horse. She hopes to outrun my horse? He tilted his head back and laughed. There is faith and delusion and she seems to be enamored by both. To think her capable of outrunning a horse. What a fool what a— His thoughts halted when he turned back, his mouth dropped, his jaw hanging loose. Masutap was catching up, he did not know how but she was gaining on him. She'd been a speck in the distance, barely visible against the backdrop of the fortress. But now her features were getting more defined and her limbs, they were a blur as she pushed forward with inhuman speed.
Panic drove Shama into action, he kicked his heels at the horse's flanks. Willing it to go faster. "Run you fool! Run!" He was frothing at the mouth as the horse went downhill, cutting his view of the one in pursuit. He gripped harder at the reins and screamed, slapping the horse's neck. He looked back to see Masutap emerge upon the hill and start a quick descent after him. He thought about guiding the horse into the wilderness and thought against it seeing that a gallop won't be possible with trees in the way. His only hope was in outpacing her for surely, even one with the Jojoh Meena must tire. He hoped Masutap would relent, he hoped her bloodlust would have proved sated by the guards who'd met their end by her. He hoped that he would live to see the sun climb into the sky one more time. Darkness was setting in and suddenly thoughts of the sun and it's warmth sprouted a yearning within him that made him weep. He turned his head back, she was a hundred paces away. The horse was tiring, it's gallop lazed in vigor. This is the end then, all those afternoons spent indoors hosting orgies. I should have spent them beneath the sun, I should have spent them in the sun He looked back once more, his horse barely keeping pace. The horse threw a shoe and Shama was flung off it. He tumbled onto the ground, his weight rested upon his twisted knee, the sharp pop of the joint led him into an anguished wail. The horse screamed, its fore limbs oddly twisted. The horse thrashed upon the ground and Shama rolled away. He felt weak, he felt defeated and most of all, he felt hopeless.
He lay there, watching the sky, the moon was up, barely half of it adorned the night. He wished it had been full, all those nights when he'd regarded the sky as one would a thing of no consequence. Now he found himself wishing he'd appreciated it more. In the end regrets rule the mind, for in its dying wails no sound of gratitude can be heard.
She came and stood above him, her face blocking the view of the sky. She breathed loudly and for a moment the only sounds around them were from the injured horse and her.
"Dahli will come for you." He opined despite the throbbing pain within his twisted leg.
"Shama, darling," Masutap said as she lowered herself to lie beside him. She chuckled. "Darling, that word. The Goddess Meena loves that word. She uses it a lot. I find it distasteful yet here I am. Calling you darling."
"I have not time for pleasantries." Shama interjected. "Cut my throat and be done with it."
Masutap sighed. "That's not a creative way to kill someone you know. No, how many women have suffered pain beneath you? I have to give answer to that and that means a show. I will drag you to your fortress, there I will strip you naked and castrate you. I will feed you your cock as the women whom you took advantage of watch. Then we'll douse you in Rankf Oil and set you alight."
Shama started weeping. And a new voice joined the fray, he wept, she heaved and the horse screamed.
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It's not a surprise that Demon Slayer isn't known for its writing. Even Demon Slayer fans will defend their show with "well, just because it's simple doesn't make it bad", which is a valid point. I personally do find Demon Slayer to be a poor show that fails to deliver on what a lot of modern shonen should see as a standard. Demon Slayer fills the bare minimum when it comes to its plot, but that's not what I wanted to discuss.
Something that Demon Slayer fans, and even people outside the community, will agree on is that Demon Slayer has good backstories. I strongly disagree. Now, there are a few good ones. But when there are dozens of backstories in such a short story, you're bound to get one or two right.
Disclaimer: The best backstory in Demon Slayer, as far as I remember, is Akaza's. I have not read his backstory in a while, though, and am unwilling to reread it for this post. I will not be mentioning him much, for that reason, because I'll end up not doing him justice. He is an example of a well written character with a great backstory, at least as far as Demon Slayer goes.
Okay so the biggest problem with Demon Slayer's backstories, in my opinion, is that it prioritises quantity over quality. And this can be seen in episode one. Tanjiro's tragic backstory is that his family is killed. He is the main character, and the person we're going to be following for 5 seasons. If we don't understand why he's doing what he's doing, that's step 1 immediately failed.
So Demon Slayer introduces us to Tanjiro's family. His mother, his sister and x siblings. I have no idea how many siblings he has- had. I don't know their names. We spent around 2 minutes with them. Tanjiro referred to all of them by name, almost without a break, and pairing this with the fact that they all have the same face with no distinguishing features creates the perfect recipe for a group of characters that no one will remember. I challenge a non-avid Demon Slayer fan to name even one of Tanjiro's siblings, apart from Nezuko.
In the end, they're all just faces. We knew from the start that they weren't going to be plot relevant, but we have negative reason to even care about these characters. The only one that was slightly upsetting was Tanjiro's mother, since she got a few more lines and is also... well... Tanjiro's mother. Call it controversial, but I think that just puts her in higher status by default.
Nobody was sad when they saw Tanjiro's family killed. If you were sad, I'd bet you were only sad for Tanjiro, not because you were actually upset that his family died. Now, being sad for Tanjiro is fine, and Demon Slayer got that point across very well, but it means that we have to fill in the gaps ourselves regarding how we're meant to feel about Tanjiro's ex-family. All we know is that they seemed to like each other, so at least we know not to feel happy (if Tanjiro's mother was abusive, this scene would not be as sad in the slightest). With that in mind, we apply what we've experienced from other forms of media to determine how we feel about this. Because Demon Slayer gives us little to work with. Because we don't know these people.
My solution? Cut down the family. All of them have no purpose existing apart from Tanjiro's mother. So do that. A family of 3, and Tanjiro returns to find his mother killed and Nezuko a demon. This allows Tanjiro's mother to become a more fleshed out character, and her relationship with her son can be put into focus. As the only son, Tanjiro feels a greater sense of responsibility for her, rather than just being the oldest child. Instead of cluttering the massacre with names and faces that we don't care about, the audience would feel much more attached if they could actually remember the person that died. It also allows the opportunity for more drama and conflict. Perhaps, in episode 1, Tanjiro's mother expresses worry that, with no brothers, Tanjiro will struggle to provide for his entire family when she's older. Tanjiro now has a more realistic reason to swear he'll protect his family, and that builds up to the massacre even better. Compare this to when he has 2-3 brothers that are able to back him up. I don't think it works as well.
You could argue that Tanjiro's siblings are the reason he's so kind, and having one sister would change his core character, but many shonen protagonists are only childs, such as Deku and Naruto, and they're still kind. His siblings serve no purpose.
The reason I've gone through Tanjiro's backstory in detail, regardless of him being the main character, is that we see similar backstories three times (off the top of my head). A family of way too many people to be cared for die, and this drives the survivor forward.
First up is Gyomei, though I can give him a pass. The deaths of his adoptive children weren't the traumatic part of his backstory (surprisingly). I'd argue being blamed for the deaths is what really shook him, and that's something we can relate to without being formally introduced to every child.
Tengen had 9 brothers and he had to kill them. This was part of his training as a ninja. It's presented as something we're supposed to care about, but it serves more to explain his status as a shinobi rather than actually make us feel sympathy. 9 brothers is a clutter, just like Tanjiro, and the fact that we don't even see any of them makes it really difficult to care. We kinda feel sad for Tengen, but it'd be a lot easier to quantity a single other brother, or maybe two. That's a lot more relatable.
That's what it comes down to, to me. Massive families of 5+ children do exist, but they're not so common that every viewer should be able to relate to it. Think about how, in massive friend groups, you'll often see sub-groups forming. The human brain can only maintain so many strong connections. The more friends you have, the less likely you are to be close to any of them. It's just how we work. We cannot have a single, united group of so many people. And I'm talking in terms of people that we've known for years. Demon Slayer gives us minutes, if that, to know these characters and then kills them.
The third person who has a backstory featuring way too many canon-fodder is the biggest culprit in my opinion. It's two people, actually. Genya and Sanemi. We see this through Genya's eyes. The backstory begins with Genya as a child. The camera shows us him in a room with 9 other kids.
Okay it might not actually be a total of 10 but it's something close to that stupidly high number. All of them have forgettable faces, no names and serve no purpose other than to die when Genya's mother turns into a demon and no diffs them. Their deaths are so sudden that I'm left wondering why the author sat down and decided "Yes, 10 children is the perfect number." Why? What is the point?
Imagine it was just 3 siblings in the room. Genya, Sanemi and Victim. With just 3 brothers, the audience is immediately able to more easily relate to their dynamics. None of them feel like empty faces. And this means that Victim's death hits even harder. Smaller groups of people are even closer, so Sanemi and Genya will have lost someone they were very close to, alongside their mother. As it is, whilst we can imagine that Sanemi and Genya are mad that their siblings died, not only do we not see this, but we can't relate to that feeling in the slightest because we don't know any of them.
And this brings me onto my next point. Take a water break, if you need to.
The consequences of some of these backstories do not carry on the way that they should. The fact that none of these characters ever talk about, or hardly reference, their past makes it seem like just an attempt to pull at our heartstrings.
Take Tokito as an example, who does a backstory exactly right. Instead of 17 siblings, he has one brother. We get to spend time with this brother. We learn his name, Yuichiro, his personality, his goals and motives, his fears, his relationship with Muichiro and their conflicts. We get to understand Yuichiro, and when he dies to a demon and we hear his final words to Muichiro, that actually carries weight because this is an actual character that has died. Tokito nails the backstory department.
So why is it that Yuichiro's death isn't brought up more? It is relevant at one single point, which is during Gyokko's fight. You could also argue his death was relevant after Muichiro... you know... died. Because we see him.
But Muichiro has a great setup, after he gets his memory back, for his character to be fleshed out. "Muichiro means unlimited" were his brother's final words. Why not have Muichiro, after regaining his memory, fight to prove those words? He thinks about how his brother believed in his potential, so he makes strives to prove him right. He thinks about how his brother was a good person all along, and only appeared harsh for the good of Muichiro. Just like how Muichiro's blade is about to mercilessly slay demons, all for the good of humanity, just like his brother. Give him that motivation. As it stands, it doesn't look like current Muichiro is even thinking about his brother until his final moments. Change that. Give him a purpose.
Another character whose backstory is irrelevant to the actual ongoing story is Iguro, which is a surprise given that he's in a perfect position to have many references to his tragic past. Iguro has a great backstory. Nobody dies, but he's essentially in the clutches of a snake demon. His mouth is cut open, hence the bandages, and he's ultimately saved by Shinjuro, unless I'm mistaken.
This is the most consequential backstory in Demon Slayer because Iguro's very face is ruined thanks to that demon. Given that he's got a romance subplot with Mitsuri, why not build on that? Have her ask him why he always hides his face, and that she wants to see what he's like under the mask. He shows a weak side, where he's insecure about his face. Maybe fighting demons infuriates him, because he's been so traumatised by them. PTSD, perhaps? In the Muzan fight, maybe Iguro envisions the snake demon that he never got to kill, proudly ripping off his bandages are looking more demonic than actual demons. I'm just throwing ideas out there, and I'm not saying all of them are good. I'm trying to point out that Iguro expresses 0 signs that he's been through something like that. Why doesn't his past influence his behaviour in any way?
So we've covered two major problems. Backstories with too much fluff, and therefore hard to sympathise with. Backstories that don't impact the story. And for the third and final category, backstories that aren't affected by the story. By the worldbuilding .
What I mean by this is that these backstories appear to exist in a vacuum. There is no connection between them and the rest of the world aside from the actual character they're focused on. Most backstories are like this in Demon Slayer, but here's a couple that do this well.
Zenitsu's backstory features Kaigaku, who is relevant in the Infinity Castle arc and therefore he passes the second criteria I had. It'd be nice if we saw more of him, but that's fine. Kaigaku is also a link between Zenitsu's backstory and Gyomei's. He creates a chronology and makes the world feel more alive. Zenitsu's gramps, who I unfortunately cannot remember the name of (began with a J) sadly does not have any link to the rest of the world. Despite being a former Hashira, we have no clue what he was like as a fighter and no one ever mentions him from within the Demon Slayer Corps. I understand that he's probably been retired for a while, but it feels like he's just spawned in with random lore.
Giyu's backstory features Sabito, who we obviously knew was dead, but it's a nice callback to a character that we havent seen since Season 1. I had the idea that Giyu's backstory would have been way better if this is when Sabito's death was confirmed. Maybe in Season 1 he genuinely appears to just be a guy that shows up and leaves, and Urokodaki only expresses surprise that Sabito had appeared (without elaborating as to why). This would get the readers awaiting Sabito's return, and make us care more for him because we're excited. His death would be revealed in Giyu's backstory, recontextualising Season 1 and, whilst it would feel like a scam, it would also be an actually upsetting death. We'd relate to Giyu. As it is now, though, the backstory is still fine. It connects to the rest of the story. I'm just nitpicking.
Anyway, if you want specific backstories that exist in a vacuum, there's a lot. Most of the demons. Muzan, though that one's pretty obvious. Characters like Rengoku, Obanai, Zenitsu and Inosuke should also be here, though these backstories each have a living character in them that exists in the main story. In fairness, very few backstories feature 0 characters from the main storyline. It sounds like it should be a standard, but for Demon Slayer it's quite impressive.
The final thing I want to cover is the one that you probably expected me to open this rant with. It goes back to quantity over quality. Not only are the quantity of deaths excessive, but the quantity of backstories is overwhelming. I had a feeling this would be a problem when Kyogai of all demons got a backstory. I think even the hand demon got one, though I could be wrong. Every single relevant character in Demon Slayer has some kind of backstory except Gyokko. All the Hashira. All of the kamoboko squad. All the Upper Moons (except Gyokko). This is about 20 characters and all of them (except Gyokko) have a past that's worth covering. Or at least, that's what would make it okay.
In practice, it feels like the author is being far too insistent on giving everyone a flashback, even if it's really not necessary. This leads to some backstories feeling forced.
Take Mitsuri as an example. Everyone agreed her backstory, relative to everyone else, is really happy. With that in mind, what was it's purpose? It tells us that Mitsuri has trouble finding love. Cool. Now answer me this. Did that message require a 10 minute backstory? Mitsuri already told Tanjiro, prior to this backstory, that she became a Demon Slayer to get married. She could have added the words "I've had trouble finding love, because men don't want a wife stronger than them." Add in a comment about how much she eats and boom. You're done. Mitsuri did not require a flashback in order to tell us about her. I understand that "show, don't tell" is a universal guideline. But you do not need to show us every single little event that has even a mild bearing on this character's motivations. All it does is drag on the story and ruin the pacing. There's a reason Season 3 is criticised for its poor pacing. Between Muichiro and Mitsuri, over an entire episode is spent on past events that, as mentioned earlier, do not ultimately influence the story beyond this moment.
By cutting down on backstories, the ones that remain can feel a lot more important. Every time a demon dies, we wait to hear their backstory because we know its coming. That something tragic is about to happen. It can make us numb. Did we care about Hantengu's execution when he was human? Did you even remember it?
Other backstories that could have been cut are Rengoku's, who essentially boils down to his mother telling him to do his best, and almost every demon Tanjiro fights. It almost became an expectation for every demon to have a tragic past, hence the surprise that Gyokko never got a chance to tell his story. The demons are also giving their backstory after they've already died, so the new perspectives we get of them are entirely useless. They're already gone.
TLDR:
Between the quantity of backstories, lack of connections to the rest of the world, and stupid amount of faceless deaths, Demon Slayer feels like a person had skimmed a Watchmojo list of the best backstories and come to the conclusion that a backstory needs people to die in order to be good. And that a person needs a backstory in order to be well written. The failure to understand that this isn't the full picture is why I think Demon Slayer has shallow and uninteresting backstories.

Hello my dear Charlotte! I'm so glad you created this thread. I really couldn't wait to share with you my MIL from hell storIES as my first post ever. Sadly this have to wait for another time. I have to apologize for any mistakes on writing. English is not my first language. With that said,let's get to it. I (36f) quit my job of 2 months 2 days ago. For some context I'm working since I was 16 girl. My first job was on a 5 star hotel group company as a waiter. Became a manager at the age of 19 and quit at the age of 24. I just had met my now husband and I wanted a less demanding job. I was working 12-14hours a day, maybe 16 on Sundays, 7 days a week 11 months of the year and had to relocate every now and then. After that I worked at a restaurant and at sales for a know (in my country) clothing company. I was not enjoying it at all but I stayed till 2 1/2 years ago. It is clear to everyone that meets me that I'm not afraid of work and I work HARD! Me and my husband made the decision to move again in a rural area. Here I found a job in a grocery store (of all places) as I wanted to try something different. I LOVED that job and my employers. They were very happy with me and gave me a pay raise the first month and a second at 6 months. All was perfect except 3 things. 1) I had to drive one hour to get there. 2) Again I found myself working 7 days a week again 3) on paper I was working only 4 hours a day 5 days a week. Lots of companies do this in my country to save money. It wasn't anything new to me. I stayed there for a whole year. Anyway 3 months ago I got a job offer from a local bar-restaurant 5 minutes from where I live. My husband encouraged me to accept as this would save me a lot of time and energy being so close. 6 days a week both on paper and reality and just morning shifts after Easter. (They waited for the owners sisters retirement so I could get her place) Safe to say I was over qualified for this job. So I gave a months notice to my beloved employers, they tried to keep me by offering me more money and when I declined they told me that if I ever need anything or want to go back, they would be there for me. My heart melted but I left them. This was a bad decision after all.. 1 week on the job had passed (they called it a trial period) and they haven't given me any papers to sign.. YES, I was working there illegally!!! The owners (39f and 63m married couple!! Lets call them Ann and Anton) came to me and asked me if I could be "so kind " as to wait for Anton's sister to leave before they make this legal because it was too much for them to pay the gov. for 2 people working there. Easter was just a month away so I said yes. 2 days after that Ann came to me complaining about how hard it was paying salaries of 2 people working full-time so she suggested I work for 6 hours until her SIL leaves. Again it would be for a month and I needed some rest to be honest so I said yes. 1 week after that Anton came to me acting like something was bugging him and asked me if I could take days off every other Saturday until his sister leaves because she was giving him a hard time about it... again... I said it's just for 3 weeks .. I agreed.. I got really bored there.. the place didn't work as a restaurant 99% of the time. So I was just a bartender!! There was no workload compared to what I'm used to all these years. So one day at the bakery I was chatting with the bakery owner and he asked me how things are going in my new job and I told him that it's boring as hell. I don't know what came over me.. I asked him if he knew anyone offering a part time job I could do on the side and he referred me to a wedding venue owner. The lady there interviewing me was very kind and a professional, but when I told her where I'm working and I would be full-time morning shift there soon she laughed... She told me that his sister was "leaving " for the past 10 years that she knows her. It wouldn't be just a month. I was speechless.. anyway I got that job too for the weekends starting right after Easter..left and went to the bar-restaurant to start my shift. I informed Ann and Anton about the new job and both were displeased with me because they wanted the weekends to rest and there wasn't someone to cover my shifts..( they didn't cover any shifts themselves..just to clarify)we argued for some time they decided to "LET ME" work at the venue just for 2 weeks!! Fast forward to last week.. that's then I realized how bad of a decision working there was... Bored as I was I had cleaned every surface in there except the ceiling!! One of the regular folks (we had almost become friends by then) commented on that and said "look up you might find something there to clean " pointing right above my head on the ceiling.. I laughed but when I did look up my blood froze! There was a microphone directly above my post so tiny and juuuust peeking through the air went.. I panicked! This is sick!! I said I wasn't feeling ok and left earlier. Talking with my husband over this and we both agreed that I should start looking for a new job and I did!! I didn't confront them about the microphone, I wanted to stay there until I find something better without fighting or anything, but that wasn't going to happen.. 3 days ago there was a funeral at the church that's 200m from the bar "restaurant". Family and friends came to us for "the bitter coffee " after. (That's a thing here at funerals) It was very busy and I wouldn't be able to do everything by myself like every other night so Ann and Anton came to help out too. All the sudden I smell something familiar.. something I should never have smelled inside a bar.. I go over to Anton who was in dishwasher duty (yes that's inside the bar not the kitchen) and I say "there is a weird smell" "It's nothing" he replied and continued chatting with a dude that was there. I'm like ok... so I drop it. 1 minute after that the dishwasher was done and I thought of helping Anton by unloading it as he has a bad knee after an accident some ages ago. I opened the dishwasher door and almost died!! Fumes came out and I inhaled everything!!! I felt dizzy. Instand headache hit me. I was shocked! This wasn't just the regular thing we used for the dishwasher!This smelled and tasted like VIAKAL!!! If you don't know what that is, it's a spray we use for the water stains in the BATHROOM!!! FOR THE TOILETS!!!!! a loud greek version of a WTF came out of my mouth and Anton gave me a look like he would kill me if I keep being loud like that. I try to calm down and asked him about it. He confirmed that he used viakal in the dishwasher and told me "it's fine" after the funeral he made a comment something along the lines of "good thing people die and we get more work and money!!!! WTF?? I should mention that all this time my stomach was upset more times than not. I thought I was stressed but now I know why!! I spoke to Ann about it. She said "I know Anton does this sometimes but I can't do anything to stop him. He used to put aquaforte in it. Now it's better." Google aquaforte to find out what kind of acid that is.... I told her if she can't fix that issue I will no longer work there and she laughed it off!! The next day she called me to go to work. I went there just to announce that I will no longer be working there in case that I wasn't clear enough and left. Today one of the regulars in the bar (not the same guy with the microphone) drove by my house and told me that Ann is talking about how I "left them without a notice" and how "unprofessional" I am for leaving them like that!! I didn't want to say anything to anyone about all this but calling me unprofessional has struck a nerve.. A PETTY NERVE!! Yes I worked there illegally for 2 whole months and this might effect me too but I can't just let this be.. So would I be the A-hole if I tell everyone about the microphone (That's 100% illegal) and the toxic things they use on plates and glasses WITHOUT EVEN RINCING ANYTHING???

“Before I met the Savior, I was a worthless piece of garbage, barely a human being,” Lovebug droned at the front of the enormous room. Lovebug was a monster of a man, two-hundred and fifty pounds of hard tattooed muscle. Like myself, he was a high-ranking member of the Church.
His flat gray eyes scanned the room with a fanatical gleam. I sat in the first row, watching and waiting. Followers of the Savior would tell their stories, how the Savior had reached down and lifted them out of sin and filth to bring them up to the divine. The bright fluorescent lights overhead droned on with a low hum. Thousands of men crammed together in seats or stood at the back of the room.
The Savior taught only two commandments: to murder is holy, and to die for the Savior is the highest bliss. An army of warriors followed the Savior, knights on a holy crusade, priests who wouldn’t hesitate to burn the foul bodies of any witches or demons we encountered. I thought of myself as a knight for the holy king, our Savior, the mouthpiece of the eternal.
“Now, it is like the hand of God has reached into my heart and loosened all the knots there, the knots of anxiety and fear and uncertainty.” He raised his black, military-style rifle into the air for emphasis. “I never realized the true nature of reality before- the fact that we are living in a simulation where the final battle of good versus evil is playing out before our very eyes. And I will be on the side of the good, until my dying breath. I will be on the side of the Savior and of God!”
The crowd roared and clapped. Men got to their feet, sweating heavily in the boiling hot conference room. I felt the surge of energy pass through me like a tidal wave, the pure confidence and iron will of truth. Lovebug lumbered down off the stage as the Savior came out from behind the red curtains, walking with the straight spine of a soldier. He wore a silky black robe that fluttered softly around him, the hood pulled back.
The Savior had horrific burns running the length of his body. His arms had melted folds of keloid scars visible all the way to the tips of his fingers. His scalp had also melted, and the Savior had no hair except for his eyelashes and eyebrows. But the fire that had nearly killed him had spared his face, an aristocratic visage with ferocious green eyes like those of a cat. That face seemed like it had been sculpted out of marble by DaVinci himself, the high cheekbones jutting out over a chin so sharp that it looked like it could have hammered nails into boards. He stared out at the crowd for a long moment, his gaze unblinking.
“The final battle has begun,” he said in a low voice, no more than a whisper. Yet, in the deathly silence of the hall, his words rang out loud and clear. “Those in charge of this illusory world know that we see them. We see them very well, how they hide behind the curtain. They control the world economy, the justice system. Every government, whether they call themselves communist, authoritarian or democratic, is no more than a puppet in their dancing fingers.
“When anyone tries to stand up and lead the masses of suffering people towards freedom from slavery, they are vilified by the mainstream media, brought up on false charges or killed, their bodies staged to look like a suicide. Look what they did to Jesus, and for what? For telling people to love God more than their rulers? And those who speak out today are also crucified, murdered in prisons or killed by their governments. Truth is the most precious commodity, after all. It is one that can only be purchased with blood.
“So what can we do? How can we fight against such evil?” There was a quiet muttering among the pale, frozen faces that stared up at the stage with adoration and love.
“We can fight it by using their own weapons against them!” the Savior said, his voice rising in speed and pitch. He raised his fisted hands to his chest, accentuating each syllable with a back and forth stab of his hands. “Fight fire with fire, and pay back blood with blood! The only thing these global terrorists understand is greater levels of force. We must show them death on a scale they have never before imagined.” I felt nervous as the Savior delivered his message. I saw other men shuffle anxiously in the crowded auditorium, most of them having high-caliber rifles slung around their shoulders.
I felt the rising violence and bloodlust in the air like electricity before a lightning storm. At that moment, I knew we would all have to fight before too long.
***
The Savior called me and Lovebug back to his office after the speech had ended, sending his squirrely assistant over to deliver the hand-written note in the Savior’s blocky, copperplate handwriting. For a long moment, I simply watched the crowd filtering out of the doors, heading back towards the complex where all the holy soldiers of the Savior lived. Feeling dissociated and light-headed, I followed behind the massive muscular form of Lovebug, the heavy weight of the M16 bouncing against my chest. We pushed through the blood-red velvet curtains, winding our way past stage equipment and down a hallway of pure marble.
Mystical paintings similar to those of Alex Grey covered both walls, showing the inside workings of the human body through art. It was as if the painter had X-ray vision and could see the heart chakra and the countless thin vessels that spiderwebbed up to the crown. But, unlike Alex Grey’s hopeful depictions of mysticism, these showed men and women being burned alive, crucified, decapitated or strangled. Dark colors composed the paintings: the dark blue of a suffocating face, the clotted red of an infected stab wound, the black of death. They captured the essence of struggle perfectly.
The Savior’s office had a thick mahogany door with silver engravings of leaves and vines running the length of it. At the top stood a single staring eye with twelve wavy tentacles emerging from the perimeter of it- the symbol of God, who the Savior had seen personally. God would sometimes speak through the mouth of the Savior, always during times of great tribulation or suffering. Lovebug knocked at the door. The Savior’s deep voice echoed out faintly.
“Come in.”
We entered slowly, the sprawling desk of the Savior filling half of the room. He sat in a comfortable chair behind it, reclining. On the walls behind him, he had pictures of Jesus, Saint Stephen, Gandhi, Hitler, Jim Jones, Shoko Asahara and others who he taught had fought against the world elites and been killed for it.
The Church of the Final Rapture was not a church in the conventional sense. The main teachings didn’t revolve around the divinity of Christ or the nature of original sin. What the Savior taught was far more profound- an illusory or simulated world where every single person could become their own Christ, could awaken to the truth and perform miracles, but only if they believed fully and followed the Savior.
“Sit down, please,” he said in his gravelly voice. “I have a mission I would like to discuss, and you two are the only ones competent and loyal enough to carry it out.”
***
“There is another anomaly spreading,” the Savior said, staring between me and Lovebug with his fanatical emerald eyes. “It is located in a rural part of the United States, in a town called-” he glanced down at the sheet of paper in front of him- “Frost Hollow. Supposedly, there are black-ops sites located nearby, secret alphabet agencies experimenting with magnetic distortion systems and creating rips in the fabric of spacetime with micro-wormholes.
“I don’t think it is much of a leap to say that the anomaly was likely started, either intentionally or unintentionally, by the government, as part of their research. The Cleaners would like to control that power, after all. They have been sending their men after it for years like sheep to the slaughter, expending billions of dollars researching it. If they and the US government end up being able to control the creation and spread of anomalies, they will use it to enslave the world. There is no question about it in my mind.” He leaned forwards towards us, his eyes growing cold.
“There is only one path forward I can see. We need to spread the anomaly, make it become unstable so the demons of Hell contained within it can spill out onto the real world. Perhaps it will awaken the downtrodden masses enough to begin the final revolution. We must fight terrorism with greater terrorism, and violence with greater levels of violence. For this mission, I am sending the two of you into Frost Hollow.
“Your job will be to find the Titan or Titans and lead them out to the border of the anomaly. These are horrendous beasts- indeed, the Church has seen them before. They are nearly impossible to kill. I want you two to go inside, bait it and have it follow you back to the edge, beyond the veil.”
“What’s a Titan?” Lovebug asked, his eyes flicking left and right nervously. The Savior stared at him stonily for a long moment. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, showing only the whites. All the blood seemed to drain from his face. His teeth chattered, his mouth opened, and through it, God spoke, the words pouring out like crashing stones. The voice did not sound anything like the Savior’s. It sounded much deeper, more mechanical, more alien somehow.
“I see you very well. I saw you when you were no more than a blood clot in your mother’s body. I see you even as corpses, rotted, putrefying, crawling with scavengers and insects. I see everything, every moment of time. But, in the anomaly, there are things I cannot see. For this, my holy ones must go forth.
“In the center of Hell, you will find a rose, a bird and a stone. These will be your salvation, if salvation can be found at all. Go with the blessing of Yaldabaoth.” The voice cut off abruptly, the silence deafening. I could hear my own heart pounding in my ears.
The Savior’s eyes came back down, looking confused and uncertain. His pupils were dilated and he was sweating heavily, even though it was cool and air-conditioned back here in his private office. We stared at each other across the table, a no-man’s land that protected me like a shield. For there seemed to be something dark in the Savior along with the light, and I didn’t know if any man could contain that power.
But there was no question of disobeying. Within the hour, Lovebug and I were on one of the Church’s private jets flying to the town of Frost Hollow.
***
The gently rolling hills of Frost Hollow loomed below us as the plane circled the small dirt airstrip in the middle of some cow farms. I looked up at Lovebug, trying to judge his stony expression. He had done many years in prison before joining the Church and finding salvation, even being the leader of one of the gangs. I knew he wasn’t afraid of violence. He had never told me what he did, what tortured him so much.
The Savior had told us much secret knowledge- how to find a Titan, a massive, bloated abomination that could come into being only within an anomaly, a combination of many rotted body pieces fused together in some sort of hellish black magic. The Savior had spies around Frost Hollow and the surrounding towns who had been monitoring the anomaly, watching the unstable gateways leading in and out and mapping them as best they could. We would be given a fast car, plenty of weapons and some body armor. I had no idea how nightmarish the journey would become, however.
“I’m driving,” Lovebug said as we descended the steps. A man in a black suit with the symbol of the eye and tentacles pinned on his black button-up shirt pulled up with a Mercedes AMG-One. It was a sleek, silver thing of immense luxury and power. The craftsmanship made it look like a work of art. I sighed, keeping my finger nervously on the trigger of my rifle as I glanced around the strange, empty town.
“If this thing won’t outrun a Titan, then nothing will,” I said, trying to break the tension. I looked at the speedometer, seeing it went up to 220 miles an hour.
“Damn fucking right,” Lovebug growled as we slid into the futuristic-looking leather seats. The engine turned on like a softly purring kitten. The GPS automatically turned on as well, the soft robotic voice leading us toward one of the more stable portals to the anomaly.
Lovebug sped down the empty forest roads of Frost Hollow, going twice the legal speed limit the entire way.
“The speed limit is only for the lowest common denominator,” Lovebug said pedantically, waggling a tattooed finger for emphasis. The GPS said we would reach the gateway to the anomaly in five minutes. Based on Lovebug’s speed, I thought it would be more like two. “Someone who actually knows how to drive and isn’t drunk or high can easily do 80 in a 40. Easily.” I glanced nervously at the speedometer, realizing he was going over 100 miles an hour now. The sports car hugged the tight corners of the winding forest roads with absolute precision.
“Turn right onto Snake Island Road Extension in five hundred feet,” the robotic female voice. Lovebug slammed on the brakes a few seconds later, the tires skidding and locking up. We looked around frantically, seeing no streets anywhere except the one we were on.
“What the hell?” Lovebug asked. The night was crawling in by now, the darkness covering the forests like a curtain. I squinted, looking at the thick grove of trees on our right, scanning it back and forth over and over. After a few seconds, I realized there was an overgrown dirt path there with no sign. It was nearly impossible to see at night, however, and calling it a road was somewhat of a joke.
“Oh, damn,” I said. “They should’ve given us an SUV.”
***
According to the GPS, our destination was only a thousand feet down Snake Island Road Extension. The low clearance of the Mercedes was a problem as Lovebug tried to navigate the flooded forest path. Deep tread marks flooded with black, stagnant water marked the entirety of Snake Island Road Extension. But ahead, the headlights illuminated something unusual.
Cutting straight across the trees and brush like a razorblade was a shimmering wall of translucent energy. It reminded me of a mirage, curving upwards in wavy spiral patterns. I could see through it easily, but it gave everything a dark, sinister covering. The forest seemed to be in constant motion as the grayish light distorted it.
“Look how huge it is!” I said in awe, staring up at the starry sky. The flat wall rose up seemingly forever, disappearing in the cold void of infinite space. Lovebug slowly ambled the car towards the anomaly, trying to keep the Mercedes from getting stuck with its low clearance.
“You ready for this, man?” Lovebug asked in a quavering voice as we inched towards the anomaly. It was only seconds away now. He grabbed my shoulder. “This is it. Remember the commandments.” I closed my eyes, concentrating my heart on the Savior’s words. Dying for the good is the highest bliss, he had told us.
“Let’s do this,” I said, my eyes flying open from my silent prayer as the hood passed through the anomaly. It disappeared in front of our eyes. We could see the forest on the other side, but the Mercedes looked like it was going through some sort of teleportation portal, being ripped apart layer by layer and sent somewhere else. Lovebug nervously grabbed my hand.
“For the Savior and for the Good,” he whispered as we passed through.
***
I heard screaming and wailing, full of agony and unimaginable horror, like the screams of those burning in Hell. My vision went white. A carpet of morphing dark colors covered everything as the shrieking intensified, until I thought my eardrums would explode.
“Stop!” I cried, feeling the pressure in my head like a splitting migraine. “Stop screaming!” I started kicking, punching, trying to get away.
“Calm the fuck down!” someone whispered, slapping me hard across the face. Stunned, I looked up, seeing Lovebug holding me down in the seat. He was covered in sweat, his face a blank mask of terror. “Don’t scream. There’s things outside that are looking this way.” I blinked fast, my senses coming back to me. I felt like a man waking up from surgery, confused and disoriented, my memories only returning in small trickles and drops.
We were sitting in the Mercedes on a road that looked like it had been made of human skin. The headlights showed the ragged patches of pale, leathery flesh sewn together with black thread. The road disappeared ahead of us in a straight line. The land here looked as flat as an ocean. Like a mirror world, it had houses and restaurants and churches lining both sides of the road, but they were all wrong.
The stone church looked like it was constructed of some kind of red volcanic rock. Baphomets and upside-down pentagrams covered the outer walls, engraved deeply into the glossy surface. Mutilated bodies covered the front lawn, impaled, crucified, skinned alive or burned at the stake. Hundreds of men, women and children lay dead in front of the Satanic temple.
Overhead, the sky bubbled and frothed with red clouds and constant explosions of blue lightning. Like missile flashes, the lightning illuminated the world around us, shining brightly before going dark. The incessant strobing gave the entire place a kind of circus freakshow vibe.
Many of the homes looked like they had been constructed from bones and covered in human skin, like some sort of hellish teepee. Arm and leg bones wrapped in razor-wire formed the pillars. Grinning skulls lined the top of the flat, rectangular roofs, thousands of bleached human heads staring down.
Staring out of the dark doorways, I saw gleaming, silvery eyes. They loomed eight or nine feet in the air on spidery bodies. Their limbs looked as thin as bones, jet-black and dull. The only color from these still revenants was from their unblinking eyes and grinning mouths, where teeth like those of a dragonfish jutted out. Every pair of eyes on that street was fixed intently on the Mercedes, the sick rictus grins on their alien faces never faltering.
“Jesus Christ, I’m sorry,” I whispered, feeling weak. “I thought I was in a nightmare for a minute there.” Lovebug shrugged his massive shoulders.
“Yeah, I felt it too, though I came out of it a lot faster than you did,” he said, glancing over at the Satanic church as we passed. It had protective black spikes rising high into the air all around it. The broken body of a child who had been burnt at the stake stood in front of the gates like a death omen, his small, withered hand holding a black rose. Lovebug choked, retching. He nearly rolled down the window, until his eyes met the silvery ones of a nearby abomination.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, looking closer at the church. On top of the roof, I saw an enormous statue of a black raven, its wings spread as if it were flying. It had three gleaming, silvery eyes embedded into the dark rock.
“That boy just reminds me of my son,” Lovebug whispered glumly, inching along the streets.
“I didn’t know you had a son,” I said, surprised. Lovebug had never mentioned a family. He shrugged.
“I don’t. Not anymore. I killed him. I got drunk and high one night back when I was selling drugs. Fell asleep in the living room with a lit cigarette and burned down the whole house. I killed my wife and son, burned them. They sent me to prison, but what did that matter? The prison up here is far worse.” He tapped the side of his temple.
I was about to say something, but at that moment, many things happened at once.
***
Lovebug was staring at the corpse of the child when an inhumanly long arm reached up from the side of the car. It had fingers like spikes, as sharp as a knife and twice as long as normal human fingers. I gasped, a warning shout welling up in my throat, but the hand came smashing down into the driver’s side window and grabbed Lovebug’s neck.
The window exploded in a shower of safety glass, shattering like brittle bones. Lovebug’s scream was cut off as he was dragged, kicking and screaming, out of the car. I swung open my door, leaping out and bringing my rifle around.
The Cheshire Cat grin of the abomination never faltered as it held Lovebug in front of its body like a human shield, holding him by the neck above the ground. Lovebug’s legs kicked and squirmed, his face turning blue as he slowly suffocated. His eyes bulged from their sockets, panicked and rolling, uncomprehending in their total animal panic.
I flicked on the laser sight. It danced over the ground, flashing over the body of Lovebug and the abomination. But I couldn’t aim for its torso or face, as I would probably hit Lovebug in the process. It was far too close.
I aimed for the monster’s thin, skeletal feet, the black toes twisting over each other like the roots of a tree. The gunshots rang out as a deafening counterpoint to the thunder blasts.
The monster gave a hissing gurgle as two bullets caught it in the right ankle. The creature seemed bloodless, and only dust and ashes rolled out of the exploded insectile flesh. It tried to skitter away, but its destroyed ankle caused it to fall forward, throwing Lovebug.
His body rolled across the road, the soft leather that looked like it was made from tens of thousands of human skins. Gasping, his lips still showing a faint blue cast, he struggled to crawl away.
I saw furtive movement from all around us. The creatures in the houses and doorways were moving forwards, drawn by the bloodshed or noise. Hundreds of glowing, silvery eyes surrounded us. I sprinted forward, dragging Lovebug to his feet.
“The church,” I hissed. “It’s the only place.” Still pulling the weak, confused Lovebug behind me, we staggered towards the black gates. They opened with a shriek of rusted metal.
***
The creatures stopped at the gates to the blood-red church, simply staring at us like statues. They didn’t even seem to breathe, their lidless eyes never blinking, the silvery glow never fading.
“I think this is the place we’re meant to go,” I whispered as we made our way towards the massive pointed doors. “When God spoke to us, he said something about a stone, a bird and a rose, that we would find the Titan through that.” I pointed back at the burnt body of the boy. “He’s holding a rose. On top of the building, there’s a bird. And the church is all stone. Maybe this is the place where God wanted us to go all along.”
“Maybe,” Lovebug muttered through heaving gasps, still grabbing at his bruised neck. “God, this hurts. It feels like I got hanged.” Side by side, we pushed open the doors to the Satanic church and walked inside.
***
Row after row of pews stretched out in front of us. Thousands of black candles were set up all around the perimeter of the enormous chamber. They sputtered and flickered constantly, throwing dancing shadows in every direction.
A small pair of bright eyes glanced up at us from under one of the nearby pews. I nearly jumped out of my skin, pointing the rifle at them and yelling.
“Show yourself! Come out now, or I shoot!” Lovebug looked at me, confused. He hadn’t seen it. But a few heartbeats later, a little girl crawled out, her eyes big and blue, her body an emaciated wreck. She wore ripped strands of what looked like leathery human skin to cover herself, tied together with black string. In one small, grime-streaked hand, she held a half-eaten raw mouse.
“Please, don’t kill me,” she said in a small voice. “I’m Emma. My mommy and daddy got dragged away and I’m scared.” I felt sick and weak looking at this small victim. I reached down and helped her up.
“I wouldn’t hurt you,” I said, kneeling down to her level. “I thought you were one of the bad guys. This is Lovebug, and I’m Jack.”
“This isn’t part of the mission, man,” Lovebug said nervously. “What are we supposed to do with her?”
“Well, we can’t just fucking leave her here,” I whispered back. “We need…” But I never got to finish that thought. Because, at that moment, the church woke up.
***
A red glow started at the front of the chamber, the altar where the priest would have stood and given speeches or holy communion. Here, they had a podium that looked like it was carved from a single block of obsidian. Reflected in it, I saw the screaming faces of people burning in Hell, grinning demons ripping off strips of human flesh and spiraling waves of flames, all sculpted by an artist who was able to capture the most miniscule details of agony and torture.
I looked around, realizing Emma had gone. I hadn’t seen her scurry away and hide, but her absence gave me a feeling of crushing dread in my chest.
“Lovebug, something’s wrong,” I whispered, still staring up at the altar. I heard a floorboard creak behind me. I glanced back just in time to see a man wearing full SWAT gear. I caught the flash of a pistol coming down, the butt aimed at my forehead. I heard the cracking, felt the immense pressure and pain. For a few moments, I swam in the currents of consciousness, trying to stay awake, but then the blackness crept in and stole me away.
***
I awoke suddenly, my hands tied so tightly behind my back that I couldn’t feel my fingers. I felt sick and wanted to throw up. I quickly choked those feelings back down. I tried to shake my head, to clear it, but that just brought jolts of pain like electricity shooting through my skull. Nearby, I heard a gunshot, then another.
“Bring it, fuckers!” Lovebug screamed in an insane voice. The explosion of a grenade rocked the building, and I smelled choking black smoke. I opened my eyes, seeing three men in SWAT gear laying dead, their bodies scattered haphazardly around the chaotic scene. One wall of the church had blown outwards, the stone still sending out gray wisps of wavy smoke into the air. I looked at my partner, seeing he had a bullet hole in his left arm and another one in his stomach. He was bleeding heavily, but the adrenaline and insanity seemed to keep him afloat- for now, at least.
I saw something walking towards us from the stage. It looked like a small boy, but black shadows spiraled up around his chest and face, translucent and shimmering darkly. He looked about five or six, his skin pale and smooth. As Lovebug’s face grew slack and distant, the boy abruptly erupted into flames.
“Don’t kill me again, Dad,” the small boy whispered in a hoarse voice choked with pain. The flames rose from his head and skin, melting his flesh, blackening it. Drops of boiling fat dribbled off his nose and chin. “Don’t send me to the dark place again, Dad…” He continued creeping closer to Lovebug, moving like a lion stalking an antelope.
“I didn’t know!” Lovebug cried, his face going paler. Tears streamed from his eyes as the rifle trembled wildly in his shaking hands. For a long moment, he looked torn, the finger tightening on the trigger as sobs escaped his chattering lips.
“Kill it, Lovebug!” I screamed. “Don’t let it get to you!” But as he dropped the rifle and knelt before the small boy, I knew it was too late.
The shadows spun faster and faster around the burning, dying body of the boy. He gave a scream of soul-shattering agony, reaching out to a small hand towards Lovebug.
“Help me!” the boy cried. Lovebug hesitated before bringing an arm up to take the boy’s hand.
“I missed you, Robbie,” Lovebug said before his fingers brushed the boys. The boy lunged forward, grabbing Lovebug’s hand with an iron grip. I saw Lovebug’s eyes widen in shock and surprise. A moment later, I heard the bones in his hand grinding together before breaking with a sound like snapping tree branches. The boy’s eyes darkened into jet-black orbs, the melted lips splitting into a sadistic grin.
“I missed you, too,” the thing hissed as its right arm changed, melting and reforming into something black and blade-like. The insectile limb swung forward in a blur, coming straight at Lovebug’s heart. He gave a panicked squeal a moment before it hit, trying to pull away with all of his considerable strength, his face turning chalk-white as the shattered bones in his hands ground together.
I closed my eyes, rolling away, trying to undo the knots that held my hands in place. Lovebug must have been greatly outnumbered. He would never have let that man tie me up. I heard the sounds of tearing meat and crunching bone nearby. Lovebug’s final breaths gurgled through the air, but I still kept my eyes closed, not wanting to look.
I felt a small tickle on my wrists, then heard a little voice next to my ear.
“I’ll get you out of here,” Emma whispered. I waited a few moments, then I heard the ropes snap. I looked back, seeing her holding a piece of sharp, broken glass in one tiny hand. In her other, she had the car keys. I wondered how she had gotten them, the little pickpocket.
“Thank God,” I said, rubbing my wrists. I looked around for my rifle, seeing it was laying next to the body of one of the SWAT guys. I wondered who these men were. I crawled towards it slowly, not wanting to draw attention.
“Don’t move another step,” a voice growled behind me. I glanced back, seeing the small boy, his features morphing into those of a demon. Curving horns spiraled from his temples. His jet-black eyes stared down at me with hatred and coldness. “You’ll follow your friend who killed my servants. His soul will stay alive forever within my body, a sickly thing wrapped up in an eternal shriek.”
“Fuck you,” I cried, lunging for my rifle. Emma disappeared behind a pew, running on all fours without looking back. I spun as I hit the ground, turning the barrel towards the morphing face of the shape-shifter. Its jaw unhinged, a snake-like tongue flicking out as it flew through the air towards me. Hollow fangs dripping clear venom grew from its mouth in a heartbeat, elongating and sharpening before my very eyes.
I fired twice, the bullets entering through its mouth and coming out the back of its head. Its flesh disintegrated in an instant, the body turning into light, gray ashes that disappeared in the breeze. Breathing hard, I waited, wondering if it was all over.
I heard a rumbling far below me, as if an earthquake were starting. A moment later, the church floor exploded upwards, sharp rubble and splintered boards flying in every direction.
***
“It’s coming!” Emma screamed, running over and grabbing my hand. I lay there, shell-shocked and unmoving for a long moment. In hindsight, the girl was a natural born survivor with much sharper reflexes than me. It was likely the only reason she survived as long as she had.
“The Titan,” I whispered grimly, trying to pull myself up to my feet. But it was like trying to walk on a heaving, sinking ship. Parts of the floor collapsed down into a seemingly never-ending abyss beneath us.
Near the stage, I saw hundreds of long, pale arms pulling something bloated and monstrous out of the ground. It was a Titan, and no explanation can ever convey the true horror of that thing.
It looked like countless human corpses had been melted together, fused into a ball with sagging, boneless chests, deformed faces and millions of writhing maggots. It groaned and gurgled with many lungs, exhaling a rotting, sulfurous breeze that made me want to retch. A soft susurration of many pained, muttering voices continuously emanated from the Titan.
“Emma, run!” I screamed, but she was already sprinting back towards the front door of the church. I backpedaled, afraid to look away from the creeping monstrosity, the juggernaut of rotting flesh moving towards us.
I heard the Titan closing the distance as I sprinted through the front door. The abominations with the silver eyes still slunk around the gate, blocking the car. I raised the rifle, firing blindly at the creatures, careful not to hit the little girl.
“Go to the car!” I screamed at Emma, feeling around for the keys. As the abominations saw the Titan, those still alive scattered, moving in a blur back into the shadows and homes of this rotten place.
The Titan broke the front wall of the church, sending splinters of red stone flying in every direction like bullets. It groaned and gurgled faster, its sickly cries more insistent. I ran to the Mercedes, starting it up and pressing the accelerator to the floor. I pulled a U-turn, heading back to the border of the anomaly.
***
The engine roared, the car bucking like a wild stallion as it pressed me and Emma back into our seats. But the creeping Titan continued gaining speed behind us, and for a few seconds, I feared we would be crushed to death under its massive weight.
The anomaly shimmered ahead of us. I crashed through it at two hundred miles an hour, skidding wildly as the Mercedes hit the dirt road. I nearly flew into a tree. I managed to right it at the last second, pulling onto the paved street as the Titan broke through behind us.
It followed us out. It’s in the real world now.

Archana stepped off from the bus, pulling the shawl even more tightly against herself, taking care to wrap the woollen garment around her ears to protect against the bustling wind. Even with her full saree, socks, a cardigan and the shawl, she had been shivering in the rickety bus, with the broken glasses and wooden window shutters letting more of the cold air in than keeping it out.
Kunidanga was not the most crowded village in the district to begin with, and now at the end of December, with the temperatures hovering in the single digits, the roads wore a deserted look in the fading light of the dusk. Situated on the banks of the Torsa river in North Bengal, it was a tiny little hamlet which was barely a speck on the map. Archana was the only one who got off the bus, which left immediately for the final stop at Dinhata - nearly ten miles due south near the border with Bangladesh.
The bus stop, with its tin roof having long lost its shine, the mandatory stray dog lying in a corner in a ball of old newspapers, the walls completely covered in graffiti and posters of everything from the latest theatrical releases in the one movie theatre of the district in CoochBehar, the latest political agenda for the upcoming elections, ones extolling the virtue of the famous palmist Sri Abhaynanda while others that extolled the brilliance of D K Lodh - the infamous ‘sex doctor’.
Even with the musky odour of too many sweat stained bodies, months of public urination and defecation which hadn’t been washed away since the last rains, Archana sat down on the stone bench - just to balance herself for a moment.
She slowly patted her belly, calming the little one inside.
It was just the first trimester, actually the very beginning of it. Today was her first visit to the doctor in the district hospital. Archana had been experiencing the tell-tale symptoms of pregnancy for the past few days and Nakul was absolutely, joyously certain, that they were going to be parents! They had gone to the doctor together in the first bus from Kunidanga, starting at the break of dawn. Nakul had fidgeted the whole way there, nervous excitement bubbling through at every second while Archana simply tried to control her nausea - made worse by the rolling motion of the rickety old bus on the untarred roads. Waiting for the first consultation with the doctor, going for the blood tests, then another long wait for the reports and then the final confirmation from the doctor had taken them the whole day.
A quick meal at the hospital canteen, they had to rush to catch the last bus departing for Kunidanga. Nakul had gotten down from the bus at the last stop, he needed to visit the government depot there to collect some documents for his job as Kunidanga’s public works superintendent.
Their small government issued bungalow was not too far from the bus stop and Archana was confident that it was a distance she could cover well enough on her own - having taken the same short route countless times in the past. She stood up, clutching her small purse with some spare change and the regulation IDs, a bit tired, but with the additional spring in the step which happiness sometimes brings you!
Archana had only gone a few steps when she stopped, her senses overwhelmed by the unique smell of burning incense, fresh flowers and freshly cut fruit and milk - that typical combination which filled the air around all hindu temples - a smell so common and deeply ingrained among the god fearing Bengalis.
A few more steps along the dusty corporation road, and the source of the smell became clear to Archana. A sadhu - a kapalika to be more precise from the way he was dressed - had set up a small tenement on the empty plot of land just off the road, hardly a hundred feet from the bus stand.
A large man, well toned but not really muscular, the skin tanned with constant exposure to the elements, a thick beard and wrapped in the regulation red dhoti and uttariya sat in prayer.
It was a deep plot of land, opening up into the forested shrubbery at the back, butted on one side by the road and the bus stand, the other end a good two-three hundred feet away - completely empty except for a few shrubs and bushes, till Kanai’s small stationary shop.
In the middle of this huge plot of land, there stood an old Ashwathama tree, perennial, huge, imposing! The sadhu had created a small clearing at the base of this tree, burning away the shrub and the grass, the soil blackened and charred by the fire. He had planted his ornamental trident - the trishul - on the ground, the tips reddened with what seemed by red chandan powder. A small cloth tote bag hung from one of the low hanging branches - evidently containing all his worldly possessions.
The sadhu sat with his back to the tree, his eyes closed in prayer. Even in the dim light of the dusk, he seemed to have extremely sharp features, even though his face was gaunt and he had the emancipated look of someone who seldom has a proper meal. However, there was a sense of strength in him, an unexplainable aura of dark power, which however inspired more fear than fealty.
The normally god-fearing Archana instinctively folded her hands, palms touching, with that well known gesture of respect - in this case - somehow tinged with fear.
She stood rooted to the spot, trying to decide in her mind whether to approach this godman or not. On one hand, with the new pregnancy, she instinctively wanted the blessings and comfort from divine sources - and this one seemed to have quite literally fallen on her lap; on the other hand, there was a small tug of fear, a deep unnatural cold grasp of terror from deep within her which warned her to turn away from this man - and never catch his attention - ever.
Archana was brought out of her indecision by a sudden deepthroated fierce growling. A brown stray - so common on the streets of India, had entered the open land from the bush in the back. Perhaps this is where it slept during the night, finding a comfortable resting spot amidst the shrubbery and hedges. Having found an intruder who had taken over what the dog must have considered to be its own territory, he had reacted the only way he knew how - baring its canines and letting out a low fiery growl to warn the human away.
Archana was shocked by what happened next. She was about to shout out a warning to the meditating godman, when the man opened his eyes and with a cruel and brutal swiftness picked up his trishul from where he had fixed it to the ground and threw it at the crouching canine nearly fifty feet away. It happened so quickly that the poor creature barely had a moment to react, its growl dying away as the trident easily found its mark - cracking his skull open and breaking its jaw. The sadhu approached the fatally injured animal, picking up his formidable weapon once again, ostensibly to finish the job.
Archana didn’t wait around to witness the horrific aftermath. Shocked to her very core by the swift brutality and instinctive boorish behaviour of the sadhu, she gave credence to the tightly coiled fear in her stomach and moved as quickly as she could, past Kanai’s small stationary shop and beyond the bend in the road which lead to the barb wire compound of the government superintendent - Nakul’s official workspace as well as the small living quarters in the back.
She reached the sanctuary of her house, securely fastening the door behind her, breathless not only due to the sudden enforced exercise, but more so because of the sudden brutality which she had just witnessed.
Suddenly exhausted and drained, Archana went into the tiny bedroom, most of the space taken up by the large king-size wooden bed. A wedding gift from her grandparents, the huge bed covered almost three quarters of the room, leaving just enough space to fit in the old fashioned steel almirah and a mirror fixed on a hook on the wall to serve as a makeshift dresser.
Archana lay down on the bed, nauseated and deeply troubled by the sudden violence she had witnessed. She could still hear the crunching noise when the heavy iron trident hit the leaping canine, its yelp of pain. She grabbed the thick woollen blanket from the top of the almirah, wrapped it around herself, and curled up on the bed. Suddenly wracked by deep sobs, Archana wept. Wept in sympathy for the poor stray dog which was just doing what stray canines are supposed to do. Wept perhaps due to the sudden change in hormones in her body. Wept due to exhaustion and all the changes happening and about to happen. But mostly Archana wept in fear. Fear of the Sadhu who had suddenly appeared at the edge of the village, perhaps promising piety and salvation, but also promising a deep, dark violence.
X
Life moved at a breakneck pace for Archana and Nakul. Busy with Nakul’s work as the government administrator of public works, Archana’s work at the nearby primary school as a clerical staff and of course, getting ready to welcome the new addition to their family. Soon, the horrifying encounter with the Sadhu was an almost forgotten memory in Archana’s mind.
The first time they had to go back to the district hospital for a check up, Archana was worried. She hadn’t shared the incident of her first meeting with the Kapalik with Nakul. She didn’t see the point of unnecessarily worrying him and on top of that she wanted to push the memory of that incident as far away from her mind as she could.
However when they walked down the road to the bus stop early in the morning to visit the hospital, Archana was relieved to see that the godmans encampment was empty. The small camp had grown, it had a look of permanence about it now. A makeshift wooden fence created a border around the clearing around the tree. A small but sturdy wooden shed with a thatched roof had been built, a place for the worshipper to shelter in during the cold nights of the north. The large tree at the centre of it all bore various vermillion marks of sindur and sandalwood - the common symbols of hindu worship. However the man himself was nowhere to be seen.
By some strange twist of fate, Archana never ran into the man on her many visits to the clinic, passing by his ever expanding house of worship. There were obvious signs of his presence, and Nakul mentioned having seen him nearly every day, but luckily through some mystical working, Archana never had to face the strange sadhu who had taken up residence in their village.
She heard about him quite often. The young girl who came in twice a day to help with the household chores, the old bearded vegetable seller who came tooting on his van each morning, her few friends and the infrequent neighbour who dropped by, all had news about Kripali Baba.
He was known to be extremely pious, a follower of the goddess Kaali, he was known to keep the most difficult penances for himself as he tried to get closer to his venerated deity.
He was powerful too, quite capable of curing even the most incurable diseases, helping treat cancerous growth in an old coolie, treating the deadly lung infection in another. He was also known to be particularly partial to helping mothers - whom he considered to be an embodiment of his revered deity - Maa Kaali.
He was known to sit on long fasts right before every new moon, on which night he would disappear from his makeshift ashram and be away for days at a time.
Archana listened to all these tales with only half a mind, as she was completely occupied with the process of becoming a mother.
With every passing week, the small foetus growing inside of her grew more into a human and neither Archana nor Nakul could wait to get their newborn out in the world. They spent long hours planning for the baby’s name - Rabi if it was a boy and Nisha for a girl.
Their little island of happiness got a new inhabitant soon enough, when a handsome little boy, healthy and hale, was born to them at the turn of autumn. Rabi had arrived.
A precocious child, he was truly the Sun of his parents’ lives - the angel around whom Archana and Nakul spent doting around forever. Born during the auspicious Durga Puja, Rabi got the first glimpse of the majestic goddess Durga when he was barely a day old, the ecstatic parents taking him to the Durga Temple in the village to get him blessed and anointed.
The first few days of the young Rabi’s life were filled with joy, with the joyous grandparents, various aunts and uncles all coming to visit the newborn and celebrating the auspicious blessings of Maa Durga quickly followed by the Bengali Laxmi Puja - the celebration of the goddess of wealth and good fortune!
However, after a few days, the relatives all left, leaving the newborn and the new parents to their own schedule. Nakul had to rejoin his office, having used up his vacation days, and right the next week, was asked to go to the district office for some new instructions. Even though Kaali Puja was the next day, Nakul had to make the early morning journey leaving the sleeping Rabi and anxious Archana behind.
Promising her that he would come back right after the urgent meeting called by the new superintendent, Nakul left for the bus stop. Even though winter was still a few months away, the days were shorter and the morning Sun wasn’t fully up, the road lit by the reddish glow of dawn filtering through the mist which was still slowly receding.
As he passed by the ever expanding adobe of Kripali Baba, as he had done a hundred times over the past year, he saw the sadhu sitting in the traditional lotus pose - deep in meditation.
Nakul brought his hands together clasping them briefly against his forehead in the traditional show of respect, before hurrying on his way to catch the bus from Dinhata.
Archana and Rabi had a pleasant morning, the mother son duo enjoying the sunshine in the small garden which they had just outside their cottage. Rabi lay on his back on the small plastic crib - a gift from an indulgent uncle, while Archana sat on a blanket next to him, singing him lullabies, laughing at the various expressions the newborn unwittingly made.
After giving him a massage with the baby oil, Archana gave him a quick bath in lukewarm water before feeding him and putting him down for a nap in their bedroom. She sat for a moment staring at her sleeping son, her heart full of joy and satisfaction.
However she had to get moving soon, the time the baby slept being the only window when she could get any of the household chores done. Even though the girl who helped out with the household chores took care of the more manual work, Archana still had to cook for herself and Nakul. She also washed all of baby Rabi’s clothes and knickknacks on her own, unable to trust anyone else with her baby’s things.
Finishing all the household chores took a while - Archana always had an ear cocked for the slightest stirring sound. Rabi was a light sleeper and would cry his eyes out if he woke up and didn’t find his mother next to him.
Finally done with all the chores, taking a quick min long bath, and scarfing down her lunch, Archana went to bed, lying down exhausted next to her baby.
Rain in the autumn months in Kunidanga isn’t unheard of, but it isn’t a common occurrence either. Thundershowers are definitely a more uncommon sight.
Archana woke up disoriented and scared at the clap of thunder which had crashed somewhere close by.
She hadn’t realised when she had dozed off, tired from the constant crushing routine which she had as a new mother. Now, awake, she was scared at the dark cloudy sky outside, the gusting wind, the clapping thunder.
She suddenly turned - where was Rabi? The small infant was nowhere on the bed! Archana let out a wail of despair, probably her precious baby had rolled over and fallen from the bed. But then why was he silent? Why was he not crying? Was he hurt?
She scrambled off the bed, searching for Rabi, but he wasn’t there.
He was hardly old enough to turn on his belly, so it wasn’t likely that he had crawled out of the room.
Desperately, with an anguished cry, Archana searched all around the tiny house, darkened by the storm approaching, with no power. The only source of light was the now near constant flashes of lightning.
The house was empty.
There was no Rabi.
Now completely panic stricken, Archana ran outside, ignoring the large drops of icy rain drenching her, the uneven unpaved road striking her bare feet.
The road was empty, no one had ventured out in this weather. The wind and the rain made it really hard to see anything.
Not knowing which way to go Archana ran towards the bus stop, for no good reason other than knowing that’s the direction Nakul would come back from.
She passed by Kripali Baba but he was nowhere to be seen. The rain was pouring down now and there were small puddles forming on the sodden ground around the thatched hut which Kripal Baba had built for himself.
Somehow drawn in by some irresistible fear and a deep sense of foreboding, Archana turned off the road and into the venerated plot, taking trepidation filled steps towards the drenched hut. The makeshift abode didn’t have a door, just a heavy rug hung from a string like a curtain.
Archana flung the curtain aside and stepped inside - it was empty. No sign of Kripali Baba. No sign of Rabi.
There was a rolled up mattress on one corner of the tiny space, a few change of clothes on a wooden pallet, acting as a cupboard, and a few odds and ends lying here and there.
Archana didn’t know what she was expecting but she ran back out, somehow relieved to have not found her son there in the sadhu’s hut but also more scared wondering where he might be.
Much later that evening Nakul came back to find a comatose Archana wailing while a few neighbouring women tried to console her. Shocked and desolate, Nakul rushed into the house, convinced that their little boy was hiding somewhere. He turned the entire cottage upside down but alas there was no sign of the missing child.
Minutes stretched to hours, hours into days. The hapless parents remained comatose, completely clueless about what might have happened to their child. Neighbours, relatives, well wishers all had some sort of advice or the other, but none which did anything to alleviate the pain and suffering the distraught couple was going through.
Even though Nakul was fraught with an unbearable sense of loss, Archana was comatose wracked by an overwhelming sense of guilt which sat like a suffocating weight on her chest. She had been castigating herself for falling asleep and not even realising that her baby wasn’t next to her anymore.
When she heard someone saying to go to Kaali temple near Salmara, the last village on the banks of the Torsa river before it entered Bangladesh, she made up her mind to go. She had heard that the deity in that temple was particularly powerful and particularly keen to the plight of mothers - apparently the temple had been built and consecrated by a mother in memory of her child who had drowned in the river many years ago.
Nakul didn’t object. Even though he had given up hope and accepted it in his mind that their Rabi was lost, he didn’t want to dissuade Archana. They started off that very afternoon, taking a rickety old van from a kind neighbour, taking the long winding muddy roads along the bank of the river.
The Kaali Temple was old and bore a deserted look. It didn’t live up to its reputation of hosting a powerful deity who never let mothers return empty handed. There was no rush of devotees, no sound of clanging bells, no smell of incense or cut fruits - all the common sensitivities which one found afflicted near a temple.
Archana and Nakul hadn’t given any thought of bringing any offerings, they did not come here for any elaborate ritual, just to pray to a powerful deity to help them find their child.
As they walked towards the temple, they were surprised to see a lone figure sitting on the entrance steps, smoking a beedi.
Kripali Baba seemed to be equally surprised to see the couple, though he didn’t really seem to acknowledge their presence. If he had a flicker of recognition for them, he hid it well; neither did he raise an eyebrow at the couple’s dishevelled, unkempt appearance.
It was getting dark, seemingly the beginnings of another storm. Nakul hurried Archana inside the temple, they had a long way to go back.
Archana sat in front of the deity, elevated on a black stone. The deity was different from the others of the same goddess which she had ever seen. It seemed to be carved out of the same black rock as the base on which sat, the features carved out of stone. Even though the masonry was excellent, the features of the goddess had harsh edges - harsher than normal perhaps. What was most striking was her eyes. They seemed to be glowing, a strange lifelike quality quite astonishing to see in a stone carved idol.
Archana poured her heart out, dry eyed as there were no more tears left in her, she prayed to the goddess as only a mother can. She promised all that she had and all that she hadn’t, promised her own life and an eternal servitude to the goddess to have her child back.
All she wanted was for her Rabi to be back. Back to his mother’s embrace - where he belonged.
The stone deity had no answer. There was no sign, no crash of thunder as a prompt from the almighty that her deepest entreaties were heard.
Dejected, desolate Archana couldn’t control herself as she felt that the last vestiges of hope which she was nurturing in her heart were now broken. Her Rabi was not going to come back to her.
Nakul held Archana up, tears of a deep inconsolable grief flowing down his own face.
They stepped back out of the temple to dark skies. The wind had picked up and the heavy rain laden cumulonimbus clouds were racing in from the horizon shading the scenery with a dark hue.
Nakul suddenly shrank back, pulling Archana back as well. Kripali Baba lay on the ground, face up, eyes open, not breathing.
Quite dead.
There was a gaping wound in his stomach, a bloody, raw puncture.
Inside out.
As if something inside his stomach had tried to crawl out. Crawl out in a hurry. As if, that something, was being summoned. Summoned by a mother.

“Before I met the Savior, I was a worthless piece of garbage, barely a human being,” Lovebug droned at the front of the enormous room. Lovebug was a monster of a man, two-hundred and fifty pounds of hard tattooed muscle. Like myself, he was a high-ranking member of the Church.
His flat gray eyes scanned the room with a fanatical gleam. I sat in the first row, watching and waiting. Followers of the Savior would tell their stories, how the Savior had reached down and lifted them out of sin and filth to bring them up to the divine. The bright fluorescent lights overhead droned on with a low hum. Thousands of men crammed together in seats or stood at the back of the room.
The Savior taught only two commandments: to murder is holy, and to die for the Savior is the highest bliss. An army of warriors followed the Savior, knights on a holy crusade, priests who wouldn’t hesitate to burn the foul bodies of any witches or demons we encountered. I thought of myself as a knight for the holy king, our Savior, the mouthpiece of the eternal.
“Now, it is like the hand of God has reached into my heart and loosened all the knots there, the knots of anxiety and fear and uncertainty.” He raised his black, military-style rifle into the air for emphasis. “I never realized the true nature of reality before- the fact that we are living in a simulation where the final battle of good versus evil is playing out before our very eyes. And I will be on the side of the good, until my dying breath. I will be on the side of the Savior and of God!”
The crowd roared and clapped. Men got to their feet, sweating heavily in the boiling hot conference room. I felt the surge of energy pass through me like a tidal wave, the pure confidence and iron will of truth. Lovebug lumbered down off the stage as the Savior came out from behind the red curtains, walking with the straight spine of a soldier. He wore a silky black robe that fluttered softly around him, the hood pulled back.
The Savior had horrific burns running the length of his body. His arms had melted folds of keloid scars visible all the way to the tips of his fingers. His scalp had also melted, and the Savior had no hair except for his eyelashes and eyebrows. But the fire that had nearly killed him had spared his face, an aristocratic visage with ferocious green eyes like those of a cat. That face seemed like it had been sculpted out of marble by DaVinci himself, the high cheekbones jutting out over a chin so sharp that it looked like it could have hammered nails into boards. He stared out at the crowd for a long moment, his gaze unblinking.
“The final battle has begun,” he said in a low voice, no more than a whisper. Yet, in the deathly silence of the hall, his words rang out loud and clear. “Those in charge of this illusory world know that we see them. We see them very well, how they hide behind the curtain. They control the world economy, the justice system. Every government, whether they call themselves communist, authoritarian or democratic, is no more than a puppet in their dancing fingers.
“When anyone tries to stand up and lead the masses of suffering people towards freedom from slavery, they are vilified by the mainstream media, brought up on false charges or killed, their bodies staged to look like a suicide. Look what they did to Jesus, and for what? For telling people to love God more than their rulers? And those who speak out today are also crucified, murdered in prisons or killed by their governments. Truth is the most precious commodity, after all. It is one that can only be purchased with blood.
“So what can we do? How can we fight against such evil?” There was a quiet muttering among the pale, frozen faces that stared up at the stage with adoration and love.
“We can fight it by using their own weapons against them!” the Savior said, his voice rising in speed and pitch. He raised his fisted hands to his chest, accentuating each syllable with a back and forth stab of his hands. “Fight fire with fire, and pay back blood with blood! The only thing these global terrorists understand is greater levels of force. We must show them death on a scale they have never before imagined.” I felt nervous as the Savior delivered his message. I saw other men shuffle anxiously in the crowded auditorium, most of them having high-caliber rifles slung around their shoulders.
I felt the rising violence and bloodlust in the air like electricity before a lightning storm. At that moment, I knew we would all have to fight before too long.
***
The Savior called me and Lovebug back to his office after the speech had ended, sending his squirrely assistant over to deliver the hand-written note in the Savior’s blocky, copperplate handwriting. For a long moment, I simply watched the crowd filtering out of the doors, heading back towards the complex where all the holy soldiers of the Savior lived. Feeling dissociated and light-headed, I followed behind the massive muscular form of Lovebug, the heavy weight of the M16 bouncing against my chest. We pushed through the blood-red velvet curtains, winding our way past stage equipment and down a hallway of pure marble.
Mystical paintings similar to those of Alex Grey covered both walls, showing the inside workings of the human body through art. It was as if the painter had X-ray vision and could see the heart chakra and the countless thin vessels that spiderwebbed up to the crown. But, unlike Alex Grey’s hopeful depictions of mysticism, these showed men and women being burned alive, crucified, decapitated or strangled. Dark colors composed the paintings: the dark blue of a suffocating face, the clotted red of an infected stab wound, the black of death. They captured the essence of struggle perfectly.
The Savior’s office had a thick mahogany door with silver engravings of leaves and vines running the length of it. At the top stood a single staring eye with twelve wavy tentacles emerging from the perimeter of it- the symbol of God, who the Savior had seen personally. God would sometimes speak through the mouth of the Savior, always during times of great tribulation or suffering. Lovebug knocked at the door. The Savior’s deep voice echoed out faintly.
“Come in.”
We entered slowly, the sprawling desk of the Savior filling half of the room. He sat in a comfortable chair behind it, reclining. On the walls behind him, he had pictures of Jesus, Saint Stephen, Gandhi, Hitler, Jim Jones, Shoko Asahara and others who he taught had fought against the world elites and been killed for it.
The Church of the Final Rapture was not a church in the conventional sense. The main teachings didn’t revolve around the divinity of Christ or the nature of original sin. What the Savior taught was far more profound- an illusory or simulated world where every single person could become their own Christ, could awaken to the truth and perform miracles, but only if they believed fully and followed the Savior.
“Sit down, please,” he said in his gravelly voice. “I have a mission I would like to discuss, and you two are the only ones competent and loyal enough to carry it out.”
***
“There is another anomaly spreading,” the Savior said, staring between me and Lovebug with his fanatical emerald eyes. “It is located in a rural part of the United States, in a town called-” he glanced down at the sheet of paper in front of him- “Frost Hollow. Supposedly, there are black-ops sites located nearby, secret alphabet agencies experimenting with magnetic distortion systems and creating rips in the fabric of spacetime with micro-wormholes.
“I don’t think it is much of a leap to say that the anomaly was likely started, either intentionally or unintentionally, by the government, as part of their research. The Cleaners would like to control that power, after all. They have been sending their men after it for years like sheep to the slaughter, expending billions of dollars researching it. If they and the US government end up being able to control the creation and spread of anomalies, they will use it to enslave the world. There is no question about it in my mind.” He leaned forwards towards us, his eyes growing cold.
“There is only one path forward I can see. We need to spread the anomaly, make it become unstable so the demons of Hell contained within it can spill out onto the real world. Perhaps it will awaken the downtrodden masses enough to begin the final revolution. We must fight terrorism with greater terrorism, and violence with greater levels of violence. For this mission, I am sending the two of you into Frost Hollow.
“Your job will be to find the Titan or Titans and lead them out to the border of the anomaly. These are horrendous beasts- indeed, the Church has seen them before. They are nearly impossible to kill. I want you two to go inside, bait it and have it follow you back to the edge, beyond the veil.”
“What’s a Titan?” Lovebug asked, his eyes flicking left and right nervously. The Savior stared at him stonily for a long moment. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, showing only the whites. All the blood seemed to drain from his face. His teeth chattered, his mouth opened, and through it, God spoke, the words pouring out like crashing stones. The voice did not sound anything like the Savior’s. It sounded much deeper, more mechanical, more alien somehow.
“I see you very well. I saw you when you were no more than a blood clot in your mother’s body. I see you even as corpses, rotted, putrefying, crawling with scavengers and insects. I see everything, every moment of time. But, in the anomaly, there are things I cannot see. For this, my holy ones must go forth.
“In the center of Hell, you will find a rose, a bird and a stone. These will be your salvation, if salvation can be found at all. Go with the blessing of Yaldabaoth.” The voice cut off abruptly, the silence deafening. I could hear my own heart pounding in my ears.
The Savior’s eyes came back down, looking confused and uncertain. His pupils were dilated and he was sweating heavily, even though it was cool and air-conditioned back here in his private office. We stared at each other across the table, a no-man’s land that protected me like a shield. For there seemed to be something dark in the Savior along with the light, and I didn’t know if any man could contain that power.
But there was no question of disobeying. Within the hour, Lovebug and I were on one of the Church’s private jets flying to the town of Frost Hollow.
***
The gently rolling hills of Frost Hollow loomed below us as the plane circled the small dirt airstrip in the middle of some cow farms. I looked up at Lovebug, trying to judge his stony expression. He had done many years in prison before joining the Church and finding salvation, even being the leader of one of the gangs. I knew he wasn’t afraid of violence. He had never told me what he did, what tortured him so much.
The Savior had told us much secret knowledge- how to find a Titan, a massive, bloated abomination that could come into being only within an anomaly, a combination of many rotted body pieces fused together in some sort of hellish black magic. The Savior had spies around Frost Hollow and the surrounding towns who had been monitoring the anomaly, watching the unstable gateways leading in and out and mapping them as best they could. We would be given a fast car, plenty of weapons and some body armor. I had no idea how nightmarish the journey would become, however.
“I’m driving,” Lovebug said as we descended the steps. A man in a black suit with the symbol of the eye and tentacles pinned on his black button-up shirt pulled up with a Mercedes AMG-One. It was a sleek, silver thing of immense luxury and power. The craftsmanship made it look like a work of art. I sighed, keeping my finger nervously on the trigger of my rifle as I glanced around the strange, empty town.
“If this thing won’t outrun a Titan, then nothing will,” I said, trying to break the tension. I looked at the speedometer, seeing it went up to 220 miles an hour.
“Damn fucking right,” Lovebug growled as we slid into the futuristic-looking leather seats. The engine turned on like a softly purring kitten. The GPS automatically turned on as well, the soft robotic voice leading us toward one of the more stable portals to the anomaly.
Lovebug sped down the empty forest roads of Frost Hollow, going twice the legal speed limit the entire way.
“The speed limit is only for the lowest common denominator,” Lovebug said pedantically, waggling a tattooed finger for emphasis. The GPS said we would reach the gateway to the anomaly in five minutes. Based on Lovebug’s speed, I thought it would be more like two. “Someone who actually knows how to drive and isn’t drunk or high can easily do 80 in a 40. Easily.” I glanced nervously at the speedometer, realizing he was going over 100 miles an hour now. The sports car hugged the tight corners of the winding forest roads with absolute precision.
“Turn right onto Snake Island Road Extension in five hundred feet,” the robotic female voice. Lovebug slammed on the brakes a few seconds later, the tires skidding and locking up. We looked around frantically, seeing no streets anywhere except the one we were on.
“What the hell?” Lovebug asked. The night was crawling in by now, the darkness covering the forests like a curtain. I squinted, looking at the thick grove of trees on our right, scanning it back and forth over and over. After a few seconds, I realized there was an overgrown dirt path there with no sign. It was nearly impossible to see at night, however, and calling it a road was somewhat of a joke.
“Oh, damn,” I said. “They should’ve given us an SUV.”
***
According to the GPS, our destination was only a thousand feet down Snake Island Road Extension. The low clearance of the Mercedes was a problem as Lovebug tried to navigate the flooded forest path. Deep tread marks flooded with black, stagnant water marked the entirety of Snake Island Road Extension. But ahead, the headlights illuminated something unusual.
Cutting straight across the trees and brush like a razorblade was a shimmering wall of translucent energy. It reminded me of a mirage, curving upwards in wavy spiral patterns. I could see through it easily, but it gave everything a dark, sinister covering. The forest seemed to be in constant motion as the grayish light distorted it.
“Look how huge it is!” I said in awe, staring up at the starry sky. The flat wall rose up seemingly forever, disappearing in the cold void of infinite space. Lovebug slowly ambled the car towards the anomaly, trying to keep the Mercedes from getting stuck with its low clearance.
“You ready for this, man?” Lovebug asked in a quavering voice as we inched towards the anomaly. It was only seconds away now. He grabbed my shoulder. “This is it. Remember the commandments.” I closed my eyes, concentrating my heart on the Savior’s words. Dying for the good is the highest bliss, he had told us.
“Let’s do this,” I said, my eyes flying open from my silent prayer as the hood passed through the anomaly. It disappeared in front of our eyes. We could see the forest on the other side, but the Mercedes looked like it was going through some sort of teleportation portal, being ripped apart layer by layer and sent somewhere else. Lovebug nervously grabbed my hand.
“For the Savior and for the Good,” he whispered as we passed through.
***
I heard screaming and wailing, full of agony and unimaginable horror, like the screams of those burning in Hell. My vision went white. A carpet of morphing dark colors covered everything as the shrieking intensified, until I thought my eardrums would explode.
“Stop!” I cried, feeling the pressure in my head like a splitting migraine. “Stop screaming!” I started kicking, punching, trying to get away.
“Calm the fuck down!” someone whispered, slapping me hard across the face. Stunned, I looked up, seeing Lovebug holding me down in the seat. He was covered in sweat, his face a blank mask of terror. “Don’t scream. There’s things outside that are looking this way.” I blinked fast, my senses coming back to me. I felt like a man waking up from surgery, confused and disoriented, my memories only returning in small trickles and drops.
We were sitting in the Mercedes on a road that looked like it had been made of human skin. The headlights showed the ragged patches of pale, leathery flesh sewn together with black thread. The road disappeared ahead of us in a straight line. The land here looked as flat as Kansas. Like a mirror world, it had houses and restaurants and churches lining both sides of the road, but they were all wrong.
The stone church looked like it was constructed of some kind of red volcanic rock. Baphomets and upside-down pentagrams covered the outer walls, engraved deeply into the glossy surface. Mutilated bodies covered the front lawn, impaled, crucified, skinned alive or burned at the stake. Hundreds of men, women and children lay dead in front of the Satanic temple.
Overhead, the sky bubbled and frothed with red clouds and constant explosions of blue lightning. Like missile flashes, the lightning illuminated the world around us, shining brightly before going dark. The incessant strobing gave the entire place a kind of circus freakshow vibe.
Many of the homes looked like they had been constructed from bones and covered in human skin, like some sort of hellish teepee. Arm and leg bones wrapped in razor-wire formed the pillars. Grinning skulls lined the top of the flat, rectangular roofs, thousands of bleached human heads staring down.
Staring out of the dark doorways, I saw gleaming, silvery eyes. They loomed eight or nine feet in the air on spidery bodies. Their limbs looked as thin as bones, jet-black and dull. The only color from these still revenants was from their unblinking eyes and grinning mouths, where teeth like those of a dragonfish jutted out. Every pair of eyes on that street was fixed intently on the Mercedes, the sick rictus grins on their alien faces never faltering.
“Jesus Christ, I’m sorry,” I whispered, feeling weak. “I thought I was in a nightmare for a minute there.” Lovebug shrugged his massive shoulders.
“Yeah, I felt it too, though I came out of it a lot faster than you did,” he said, glancing over at the Satanic church as we passed. It had protective black spikes rising high into the air all around it. The broken body of a child who had been burnt at the stake stood in front of the gates like a death omen, his small, withered hand holding a black rose. Lovebug choked, retching. He nearly rolled down the window, until his eyes met the silvery ones of a nearby abomination.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, looking closer at the church. On top of the roof, I saw an enormous statue of a black raven, its wings spread as if it were flying. It had three gleaming, silvery eyes embedded into the dark rock.
“That boy just reminds me of my son,” Lovebug whispered glumly, inching along the streets.
“I didn’t know you had a son,” I said, surprised. Lovebug had never mentioned a family. He shrugged.
“I don’t. Not anymore. I killed him. I got drunk and high one night back when I was selling drugs. Fell asleep in the living room with a lit cigarette and burned down the whole house. I killed my wife and son, burned them. They sent me to prison, but what did that matter? The prison up here is far worse.” He tapped the side of his temple.
I was about to say something, but at that moment, many things happened at once.
***
Lovebug was staring at the corpse of the child when an inhumanly long arm reached up from the side of the car. It had fingers like spikes, as sharp as a knife and twice as long as normal human fingers. I gasped, a warning shout welling up in my throat, but the hand came smashing down into the driver’s side window and grabbed Lovebug’s neck.
The window exploded in a shower of safety glass, shattering like brittle bones. Lovebug’s scream was cut off as he was dragged, kicking and screaming, out of the car. I swung open my door, leaping out and bringing my rifle around.
The Cheshire Cat grin of the abomination never faltered as it held Lovebug in front of its body like a human shield, holding him by the neck above the ground. Lovebug’s legs kicked and squirmed, his face turning blue as he slowly suffocated. His eyes bulged from their sockets, panicked and rolling, uncomprehending in their total animal panic.
I flicked on the laser sight. It danced over the ground, flashing over the body of Lovebug and the abomination. But I couldn’t aim for its torso or face, as I would probably hit Lovebug in the process. It was far too close.
I aimed for the monster’s thin, skeletal feet, the black toes twisting over each other like the roots of a tree. The gunshots rang out as a deafening counterpoint to the thunder blasts.
The monster gave a hissing gurgle as two bullets caught it in the right ankle. The creature seemed bloodless, and only dust and ashes rolled out of the exploded insectile flesh. It tried to skitter away, but its destroyed ankle caused it to fall forward, throwing Lovebug.
His body rolled across the road, the soft leather that looked like it was made from tens of thousands of human skins. Gasping, his lips still showing a faint blue cast, he struggled to crawl away.
I saw furtive movement from all around us. The creatures in the houses and doorways were moving forwards, drawn by the bloodshed or noise. Hundreds of glowing, silvery eyes surrounded us. I sprinted forward, dragging Lovebug to his feet.
“The church,” I hissed. “It’s the only place.” Still pulling the weak, confused Lovebug behind me, we staggered towards the black gates. They opened with a shriek of rusted metal.
***
The creatures stopped at the gates to the blood-red church, simply staring at us like statues. They didn’t even seem to breathe, their lidless eyes never blinking, the silvery glow never fading.
“I think this is the place we’re meant to go,” I whispered as we made our way towards the massive pointed doors. “When God spoke to us, he said something about a stone, a bird and a rose, that we would find the Titan through that.” I pointed back at the burnt body of the boy. “He’s holding a rose. On top of the building, there’s a bird. And the church is all stone. Maybe this is the place where God wanted us to go all along.”
“Maybe,” Lovebug muttered through heaving gasps, still grabbing at his bruised neck. “God, this hurts. It feels like I got hanged.” Side by side, we pushed open the doors to the Satanic church and walked inside.
***
Row after row of pews stretched out in front of us. Thousands of black candles were set up all around the perimeter of the enormous chamber. They sputtered and flickered constantly, throwing dancing shadows in every direction.
A small pair of bright eyes glanced up at us from under one of the nearby pews. I nearly jumped out of my skin, pointing the rifle at them and yelling.
“Show yourself! Come out now, or I shoot!” Lovebug looked at me, confused. He hadn’t seen it. But a few heartbeats later, a little girl crawled out, her eyes big and blue, her body an emaciated wreck. She wore ripped strands of what looked like leathery human skin to cover herself, tied together with black string. In one small, grime-streaked hand, she held a half-eaten raw mouse.
“Please, don’t kill me,” she said in a small voice. “I’m Emma. My mommy and daddy got dragged away and I’m scared.” I felt sick and weak looking at this small victim. I reached down and helped her up.
“I wouldn’t hurt you,” I said, kneeling down to her level. “I thought you were one of the bad guys. This is Lovebug, and I’m Jack.”
“This isn’t part of the mission, man,” Lovebug said nervously. “What are we supposed to do with her?”
“Well, we can’t just fucking leave her here,” I whispered back. “We need…” But I never got to finish that thought. Because, at that moment, the church woke up.
***
A red glow started at the front of the chamber, the altar where the priest would have stood and given speeches or holy communion. Here, they had a podium that looked like it was carved from a single block of obsidian. Reflected in it, I saw the screaming faces of people burning in Hell, grinning demons ripping off strips of human flesh and spiraling waves of flames, all sculpted by an artist who was able to capture the most miniscule details of agony and torture.
I looked around, realizing Emma had gone. I hadn’t seen her scurry away and hide, but her absence gave me a feeling of crushing dread in my chest.
“Lovebug, something’s wrong,” I whispered, still staring up at the altar. I heard a floorboard creak behind me. I glanced back just in time to see a man wearing full SWAT gear. I caught the flash of a pistol coming down, the butt aimed at my forehead. I heard the cracking, felt the immense pressure and pain. For a few moments, I swam in the currents of consciousness, trying to stay awake, but then the blackness crept in and stole me away.
***
I awoke suddenly, my hands tied so tightly behind my back that I couldn’t feel my fingers. I felt sick and wanted to throw up. I quickly choked those feelings back down. I tried to shake my head, to clear it, but that just brought jolts of pain like electricity shooting through my skull. Nearby, I heard a gunshot, then another.
“Bring it, fuckers!” Lovebug screamed in an insane voice. The explosion of a grenade rocked the building, and I smelled choking black smoke. I opened my eyes, seeing three men in SWAT gear laying dead, their bodies scattered haphazardly around the chaotic scene. One wall of the church had blown outwards, the stone still sending out gray wisps of wavy smoke into the air. I looked at my partner, seeing he had a bullet hole in his left arm and another one in his stomach. He was bleeding heavily, but the adrenaline and insanity seemed to keep him afloat- for now, at least.
I saw something walking towards us from the stage. It looked like a small boy, but black shadows spiraled up around his chest and face, translucent and shimmering darkly. He looked about five or six, his skin pale and smooth. As Lovebug’s face grew slack and distant, the boy abruptly erupted into flames.
“Don’t kill me again, Dad,” the small boy whispered in a hoarse voice choked with pain. The flames rose from his head and skin, melting his flesh, blackening it. Drops of boiling fat dribbled off his nose and chin. “Don’t send me to the dark place again, Dad…” He continued creeping closer to Lovebug, moving like a lion stalking an antelope.
“I didn’t know!” Lovebug cried, his face going paler. Tears streamed from his eyes as the rifle trembled wildly in his shaking hands. For a long moment, he looked torn, the finger tightening on the trigger as sobs escaped his chattering lips.
“Kill it, Lovebug!” I screamed. “Don’t let it get to you!” But as he dropped the rifle and knelt before the small boy, I knew it was too late.
The shadows spun faster and faster around the burning, dying body of the boy. He gave a scream of soul-shattering agony, reaching out to a small hand towards Lovebug.
“Help me!” the boy cried. Lovebug hesitated before bringing an arm up to take the boy’s hand.
“I missed you, Robbie,” Lovebug said before his fingers brushed the boys. The boy lunged forward, grabbing Lovebug’s hand with an iron grip. I saw Lovebug’s eyes widen in shock and surprise. A moment later, I heard the bones in his hand grinding together before breaking with a sound like snapping tree branches. The boy’s eyes darkened into jet-black orbs, the melted lips splitting into a sadistic grin.
“I missed you, too,” the thing hissed as its right arm changed, melting and reforming into something black and blade-like. The insectile limb swung forward in a blur, coming straight at Lovebug’s heart. He gave a panicked squeal a moment before it hit, trying to pull away with all of his considerable strength, his face turning chalk-white as the shattered bones in his hands ground together.
I closed my eyes, rolling away, trying to undo the knots that held my hands in place. Lovebug must have been greatly outnumbered. He would never have let that man tie me up. I heard the sounds of tearing meat and crunching bone nearby. Lovebug’s final breaths gurgled through the air, but I still kept my eyes closed, not wanting to look.
I felt a small tickle on my wrists, then heard a little voice next to my ear.
“I’ll get you out of here,” Emma whispered. I waited a few moments, then I heard the ropes snap. I looked back, seeing her holding a piece of sharp, broken glass in one tiny hand. In her other, she had the car keys. I wondered how she had gotten them, the little pickpocket.
“Thank God,” I said, rubbing my wrists. I looked around for my rifle, seeing it was laying next to the body of one of the SWAT guys. I wondered who these men were. I crawled towards it slowly, not wanting to draw attention.
“Don’t move another step,” a voice growled behind me. I glanced back, seeing the small boy, his features morphing into those of a demon. Curving horns spiraled from his temples. His jet-black eyes stared down at me with hatred and coldness. “You’ll follow your friend who killed my servants. His soul will stay alive forever within my body, a sickly thing wrapped up in an eternal shriek.”
“Fuck you,” I cried, lunging for my rifle. Emma disappeared behind a pew, running on all fours without looking back. I spun as I hit the ground, turning the barrel towards the morphing face of the shape-shifter. Its jaw unhinged, a snake-like tongue flicking out as it flew through the air towards me. Hollow fangs dripping clear venom grew from its mouth in a heartbeat, elongating and sharpening before my very eyes.
I fired twice, the bullets entering through its mouth and coming out the back of its head. Its flesh disintegrated in an instant, the body turning into light, gray ashes that disappeared in the breeze. Breathing hard, I waited, wondering if it was all over.
I heard a rumbling far below me, as if an earthquake were starting. A moment later, the church floor exploded upwards, sharp rubble and splintered boards flying in every direction.
***
“It’s coming!” Emma screamed, running over and grabbing my hand. I lay there, shell-shocked and unmoving for a long moment. In hindsight, the girl was a natural born survivor with much sharper reflexes than me. It was likely the only reason she survived as long as she had.
“The Titan,” I whispered grimly, trying to pull myself up to my feet. But it was like trying to walk on a heaving, sinking ship. Parts of the floor collapsed down into a seemingly never-ending abyss beneath us.
Near the stage, I saw hundreds of long, pale arms pulling something bloated and monstrous out of the ground. It was a Titan, and no explanation can ever convey the true horror of that thing.
It looked like countless human corpses had been melted together, fused into a ball with sagging, boneless chests, deformed faces and millions of writhing maggots. It groaned and gurgled with many lungs, exhaling a rotting, sulfurous breeze that made me want to retch. A soft susurration of many pained, muttering voices continuously emanated from the Titan.
“Emma, run!” I screamed, but she was already sprinting back towards the front door of the church. I backpedaled, afraid to look away from the creeping monstrosity, the juggernaut of rotting flesh moving towards us.
I heard the Titan closing the distance as I sprinted through the front door. The abominations with the silver eyes still slunk around the gate, blocking the car. I raised the rifle, firing blindly at the creatures, careful not to hit the little girl.
“Go to the car!” I screamed at Emma, feeling around for the keys. As the abominations saw the Titan, those still alive scattered, moving in a blur back into the shadows and homes of this rotten place.
The Titan broke the front wall of the church, sending splinters of red stone flying in every direction like bullets. It groaned and gurgled faster, its sickly cries more insistent. I ran to the Mercedes, starting it up and pressing the accelerator to the floor. I pulled a U-turn, heading back to the border of the anomaly.
***
The engine roared, the car bucking like a wild stallion as it pressed me and Emma back into our seats. But the creeping Titan continued gaining speed behind us, and for a few seconds, I feared we would be crushed to death under its massive weight.
The anomaly shimmered ahead of us. I crashed through it at two hundred miles an hour, skidding wildly as the Mercedes hit the dirt road. I nearly flew into a tree. I managed to right it at the last second, pulling onto the paved street as the Titan broke through behind us.
It followed us out. It’s in the real world now.

Taifuu, the Disaster Curse of Hurricanes

Appearance:

Taifuu is a small (about 5’4), shy, and feminine spirit with pale teal skin that almost seems to have something moving underneath her. There also seems to be CE floating around them as if it was smoke or steam coming off of her. Taifuu’s clothing seems to be made of pure winds that are extremely dark and change in appearance constantly. Her wind clothing can range from an ancient Greek appearance, Heian Era Japan, to modern American style clothing. This is the appearance of Taifuu as a Cursed Womb. When enough time has passed, Taifuu will transform into a much taller Cursed Spirit made out of wind. This version of Taifuu is much stronger in this form and can fully utilize the use of their CT. She now reaches a height of 6’0 and has a lot more visible muscles. Furthermore, she now has a singular horn on her head, dark gray accents on her arms and legs as if stained with ink, and the aforementioned CE winds surrounding her grow in size and seem to spread further. These CE wind tendrils can also be used to fight others.

Background:

Taifuu is a Special Grade Cursed Spirit that originated from humanities fear of tornadoes and hurricanes around the world.

Cursed Technique: Disaster Winds

This CT is the technique of Taifuu and allows her to create and control powerful winds. This technique is extremely powerful as Taifuu can surround opponents in powerful winds to then bring the target/s closer to her or away from her. This technique has a variety of uses besides that and can even create tornadoes of varying sizes, even being able to reach a category five tornado. Furthermore, Taifuu can create powerful gusts of wind at such narrow levels they can simulate the effect of Sukuna's slashes, but at a weaker level. This CT allows Taifuu to support her fellow disaster curses heavily as the combination of her winds can cause devastating attacks. These deadly combinations can be labeled as Maximum Techniques as they are the peak of the two CTs, but they can only be used if both users are present and cooperating.

Jogo

Maximum Technique: Burning Tornado When both Jogo and Taifuu are using their CTs in tandem, the Maximum Technique: Burning Tornado is born. This is exactly that, a giant flaming tornado that spreads fire everywhere and can cause a lot of long lasting destruction to anything unlucky enough to be caught in it. The tornado itself is a category five tornado with the added bonus of spewing fire in all directions as it tears apart the surroundings.

Mahito

Maximum Technique: Wind Demon When both Mahito and Taifuu are using their CTs in tandem, the Maximum Technique: Wind Demon is born. This Maximum Technique births a humanoid shikigami reaching up to 30 feet tall while being able to similar attacks to that of Taifuu. This massive demon can send out massive shockwaves of wind, causing massive destruction to a city if left untouched for too long.

Dagon

Maximum Technique: Swarming Hurricane When both Dagon and Taifuu are using their CTs in tandem, the Maximum Technique: Swarming Hurricane is born.

Hanami

Maximum Technique: Woodland Landslide

Domain Expansion: Eternal Living Cyclone

When this DE is opened, both the user and opponents are brought into the center of a destroyed city filled with rubble while powerful winds are surrounding them. These winds only get faster as Taifuu uses her CT, reaching up to that of a category five cyclone (157 mph). Taifuu can also shrink the size of this cyclone, forcing opponents into close combat or be ripped apart by the intense winds. Furthermore, Taifuu can send out powerful wind attacks to either crush or cut opponents all while the opponents are having to worry about the ruble, the devastating cyclone, and Taifuu herself closing in on them.

Long, sorry - there's a TLDR
I've always been a lonely person. About 2 years ago, I moved to a new country and my life got better here - I learned the language, made a group of female friends, started dating someone, got a pet(s, now) & a hobby. I'm a therapist, work online with people in my country.
I recently broke up with the someone. The relationship was toxic from the beginning - I actually think he's a really good-hearted person, but he has a drugs/alcohol problem, didn't treat me well & blamed his mental health problems, and I was so scared of being alone and so convinced that I loved him and that I should be understanding about it all that I didn't end it when I should have. We stayed together off and on (he kept breaking up with me every time the wind blew wrong, which made me feel pretty insecure) for 1.5 years and then broke up finally about a month ago because I finally put a hard stop on it.
Around the same time, my closest friend here, M, & I stopped talking. I don't really know why - we didn't fight, I almost never talk about my relationship problems (or any problems really) with her (I can be really private & also felt like my relationship issue had dragged on so long), and I worked pretty hard to just be fun & normal with her and not a bummer who talks about herself too much. About a month ago, we hung out in a group setting and that night she was enthusiastically suggesting all these activities to me that we could do together. Then I asked her to hang out like twice the next week and she said no both times. I haven't heard from her since. Our frequency before was like 1-2 times a week for over a year. That same week I'd organized a game night at my house and she told me a couple of times that it was fun - actually she said she was "surprised" it was fun and that hurt my feelings, but I didn't say anything because I knew she didn't mean it that way. She's gifted at making friends - outgoing, fun-loving, unafraid to show interest in other people- and I'm not, so maybe she just finally got bored with me.
Over the past few months, I have been feeling down and have stopped going to group activities. I forced myself a few times but felt disengaged and not very fun to be around so I've just stopped going to anything or seeing anyone. A couple people tried inviting me to coffee or dinner recently and I declined politely. I feel like there's no one I can hang out with or talk to in this state but also don't know how to get myself out of it anymore. I had this group of friends, but I wasn't really intimate with anybody except M; our friendships were about group activities/dancing/drinking & we didn't have the kind of relationships where I could talk to them about stuff.
I'm also feeling really unattractive physically and like I'm going through a low point in my career where I have a lot of days feeling like I'm not good at it. I just feel really tired. My house is a mess and I haven't been outside for a while. I'm having trouble getting motivated for self-improvement. I don't see the point anymore - I think I don't know how to connect with anyone, and that I'm always going to be alone. I feel like I have to make some new friends who I haven't already screwed things up with, but I feel like such an unlikeable loser that I don't want to try. Or not that I'm so unlikeable, exactly, but that I'm such a bland, un-connectable person that people just kinda don't feel interested or keep me around in more than a superficial way. I can see that other people (sometimes people I introduced) are building close relationships with each other. And I'm not.
I'm almost 40 and feel like I have nothing meaningful in my life - no relationships, no partner, no close friends. I hate the way I look, my personality, my clothes. I just feel like I have nothing to offer and that I can't change it and that I fuck up everything when I try. I'm in therapy (have been for years) and feel like there's no point anymore; I don't think my therapist believes me when I say that I think there's something fundamentally wrong with me that makes it hard for people to connect with me. I wanted to volunteer, but can't find a place to do it, even to wash dishes. Every time I improve on something, I screw it up again. I don't know what to do with myself anymore - I'm alone all the time and I tried working out, reading, but stopped feeling motivated and have been sleeping a lot and watching Netflix. Even when things were bad in the past I felt like I could improve somehow, fix myself, be better, and I don't feel that way anymore.
TLDR - Lifelong loner who finally made some friends then recently broke up with boyfriend and best friend. Feel hopeless, like I suck at relationships and there's no point anymore in trying. I can't get myself off the couch and feel stuck in life.

Now its ok if your into other things, but this is my opinion over here ok so please don't start hating me on this. I think the best type of fantasy films/visual media, are the old school ones from the 80s and 90s, because to me these types of visual media, video games, anime, movies, tv shows, etc. Really showed what fantasy really is, now most of them were bad yes but then their were films like Conan, The Dark Crystal, and so much more that did a better job than the tv shows. The best part about this im not even an 80s kids, im only 22 years old which some would say im old but compared to my father, ive seen people like me that are not as much as a nerd i am. But their were also shows like Robin of Sherwood that to me did a better job than allot of fantasy shows ive seen do nowadays. Anyway i remember a few years ago, i wasn't into the sword and sorcery genre, and it was because of Shadiversitys video where he said these films were garbage flicks
Now this was during covid so i was still learning allot of stuff, including words or how people talk so you would know my confusion to this. Especially when i asked people online and they were telling me the opposite, so eventually i got to watch the film shad was talking about and Conan and i got so addicted to Conan and many stories like it. A year later i figured out also that the beastmaster was my dads first fantasy flick, of course hes not a fantasy nerd like me hes just an 80s kid but still. So when i stumbled upon this film a week ago, ive seen it many times before and i remembered talking to one guy at Reddit and he told me to watch this. So its 2024 june, and i decided to watch it finally, this movie is like 4/10 and while its no the best film and i really think the female protagonist sucked. One thing i can tell you i had more enjoyment with the plot and the fighting and the music than the characters themselves.
I also felt the same way with the beastmaster, as for the film itself i wouldnt call this a generic sword and sorcery copy of Conan. Because yes their were some Conan vibes to this film, however most of the things reminded of DND rather than Conan, and i could see why some people like this film. Even the music itself has some He man vibes and western vibes, no im not a fan of He man or western but ive seen some of it. Anyway this film is one i would definitely would watch again, now would i call this a Conan rip off, in general NO. Now their were some conan vibes like the half naked blonde girl looking and acting like Valeria. However in general, i dont see this as a conan rip off, now it may have its bad acting and some other terrible things. But in general i feel like this is one of the best underatted adventures ive experienced, now i understand if its not for everybody. But don't let others tell you otherwise, watch the film at least

WA STATE: I have 2 children under the age of 5 years old. Their father is an undiagnosed narcissist. We split up when the children were 3 months old due to him cheating on me twice. We remained roommates and friends for years afterwards. This last year however, he chose to lie about why he needed money, where he was going + why he needed babysitting (I worked 12 hour shifts as I was the bread winner of the house) and at times wold be out until 8-10 am without any notice. Finally, truth came out. He was seeing a woman. He was using said borrowed money to pay for dates, was crashing at her house and sleeping with her if ya know what I mean and was actually going out with her. When I found out, I had requested that until I know she was safe, that the children don't get involved yet. He went behind my back and brought her around my kids for almost a month. (When I had been seeing someone, I was not allowed to bring my person around my kids until he felt comfortable with it and I respected that request). Now, this last year he has presented what is called a campaign smear. Anyone who told him he was wrong for the way he was handling things, he got angry. He cut off all of his family, destroyed our friendship and lost his job as he was her supervisor. He at one point told me he would be willing to sacrifice all of his relationships and job for a relationship with this woman.
Now, the father has a history of yelling at the children for very minor things, he has shoved my son by his head while he was only a year old (because he was "frustrated with him". He has a history of:

• falling asleep during random points of the day, leaving the children unsupervised and able to get into things they shouldn't like sugar, nail polish, flooding sinks etc....
• having headphones in/on nearly all day.
  
• Allowing children to answer front door when he is a different room without checking for who it is first.
  
• not brushing their haiteeth
  
• not giving baths when needed
  
• leaving them in dirty clothes the entirety of the day, even to sleep.
  
• Had a suspended license yet continuing to drive my children around
  
• leaving soiled diapers on flooon them without changing for extended times
  
• allows them to sit in pee soaked sheets/clothes.
  

In current times, he has moved in with this woman and is engaged to her in less than a year. Moved in within 3 months, engaged within 4 months. I live on my own. He Couldn't pay me child support after October. His fiancé paid me in December. I was donating plasma to make ends meet. We are supposed to have 50/50 but we have no legal plan or anything. We were never married. I get the kids early or I get to keep them longeasked to keep longer because of "stress" he has or no babysitter. So technically I have had them 70/30. Finances are a lot better now for me so im not as stressed about child support however, my kids are saying "daddy mean, daddy scary, daddy angry, daddy hit me, daddy hit me harder. I don't like daddy, I don't want to go to daddy's." They'll gesture to their cheek. In December, my son came back to me with odd bruises on the sides of his cheeks by his mouth. I only was told he hit his face at the park on his left side but he had a exact same bruise in the same spot on the other side of his cheek. I asked about that and he got very defensive and angry and tried to claim he hit his face on the monkey bars at the park then hit his other cheek by jumping on the bed. My daughter has said daddy hits them on the arms, feet and head. The bruises they come back with are hard to identify as them playing and being children or abuse. Whenever we do swap, they are quick to leave to come to me but fight me on going to their dad's. What can I do? I have witnesses to his neglect and abuse but not much evidence from the past. I have some and a ton from current. Ive been trying to keep screenshots, photos anything. I just want to do right by my kids. His fiancé keeps their apartment spotless as she had OCD. My kids sleep in a small bed together. They also prefer his fiancée over their father and this has been vocalized by them several times. Please help me. Also he had lost his job in February and finally got one about 1.5-2 months ago. I lost my job but had a new one within a week.

Im currently home on paternity leave and my wife is taking our new baby on last minute trip for 5 days starting tomorrow. Well yesterday our 2yr 2 month boy decided he was ready for potty training. For the last month or say he’s been telling us when he goes and we decided to wait a little longer to try and make the training easier. Well he decided he was ready yesterday by pulling out his potty, ripping off his clothes, and sitting on the potty and asking for blueberry’s as they are his favorite snack. So now I get to do this all on my own with no idea how to train him aside from how I’ve trained out dogs in the past 😂. My current plan is to be outside most of the day with him pant less ( we live in rural area) and just have him sit on the potty every 30min and give him blueberries when he actually goes. Then if he doesn’t go on the potty make it known he’s supposed to go on the potty. That’s basically all I can come up with. So here I am asking you all for help on short notice.
Thanks in advance for the help.

“Before I met the Savior, I was a worthless piece of garbage, barely a human being,” Lovebug droned at the front of the enormous room. Lovebug was a monster of a man, two-hundred and fifty pounds of hard tattooed muscle. Like myself, he was a high-ranking member of the Church.
His flat gray eyes scanned the room with a fanatical gleam. I sat in the first row, watching and waiting. Followers of the Savior would tell their stories, how the Savior had reached down and lifted them out of sin and filth to bring them up to the divine. The bright fluorescent lights overhead droned on with a low hum. Thousands of men crammed together in seats or stood at the back of the room.
The Savior taught only two commandments: to murder is holy, and to die for the Savior is the highest bliss. An army of warriors followed the Savior, knights on a holy crusade, priests who wouldn’t hesitate to burn the foul bodies of any witches or demons we encountered. I thought of myself as a knight for the holy king, our Savior, the mouthpiece of the eternal.
“Now, it is like the hand of God has reached into my heart and loosened all the knots there, the knots of anxiety and fear and uncertainty.” He raised his black, military-style rifle into the air for emphasis. “I never realized the true nature of reality before- the fact that we are living in a simulation where the final battle of good versus evil is playing out before our very eyes. And I will be on the side of the good, until my dying breath. I will be on the side of the Savior and of God!”
The crowd roared and clapped. Men got to their feet, sweating heavily in the boiling hot conference room. I felt the surge of energy pass through me like a tidal wave, the pure confidence and iron will of truth. Lovebug lumbered down off the stage as the Savior came out from behind the red curtains, walking with the straight spine of a soldier. He wore a silky black robe that fluttered softly around him, the hood pulled back.
The Savior had horrific burns running the length of his body. His arms had melted folds of keloid scars visible all the way to the tips of his fingers. His scalp had also melted, and the Savior had no hair except for his eyelashes and eyebrows. But the fire that had nearly killed him had spared his face, an aristocratic visage with ferocious green eyes like those of a cat. That face seemed like it had been sculpted out of marble by DaVinci himself, the high cheekbones jutting out over a chin so sharp that it looked like it could have hammered nails into boards. He stared out at the crowd for a long moment, his gaze unblinking.
“The final battle has begun,” he said in a low voice, no more than a whisper. Yet, in the deathly silence of the hall, his words rang out loud and clear. “Those in charge of this illusory world know that we see them. We see them very well, how they hide behind the curtain. They control the world economy, the justice system. Every government, whether they call themselves communist, authoritarian or democratic, is no more than a puppet in their dancing fingers.
“When anyone tries to stand up and lead the masses of suffering people towards freedom from slavery, they are vilified by the mainstream media, brought up on false charges or killed, their bodies staged to look like a suicide. Look what they did to Jesus, and for what? For telling people to love God more than their rulers? And those who speak out today are also crucified, murdered in prisons or killed by their governments. Truth is the most precious commodity, after all. It is one that can only be purchased with blood.
“So what can we do? How can we fight against such evil?” There was a quiet muttering among the pale, frozen faces that stared up at the stage with adoration and love.
“We can fight it by using their own weapons against them!” the Savior said, his voice rising in speed and pitch. He raised his fisted hands to his chest, accentuating each syllable with a back and forth stab of his hands. “Fight fire with fire, and pay back blood with blood! The only thing these global terrorists understand is greater levels of force. We must show them death on a scale they have never before imagined.” I felt nervous as the Savior delivered his message. I saw other men shuffle anxiously in the crowded auditorium, most of them having high-caliber rifles slung around their shoulders.
I felt the rising violence and bloodlust in the air like electricity before a lightning storm. At that moment, I knew we would all have to fight before too long.
***
The Savior called me and Lovebug back to his office after the speech had ended, sending his squirrely assistant over to deliver the hand-written note in the Savior’s blocky, copperplate handwriting. For a long moment, I simply watched the crowd filtering out of the doors, heading back towards the complex where all the holy soldiers of the Savior lived. Feeling dissociated and light-headed, I followed behind the massive muscular form of Lovebug, the heavy weight of the M16 bouncing against my chest. We pushed through the blood-red velvet curtains, winding our way past stage equipment and down a hallway of pure marble.
Mystical paintings similar to those of Alex Grey covered both walls, showing the inside workings of the human body through art. It was as if the painter had X-ray vision and could see the heart chakra and the countless thin vessels that spiderwebbed up to the crown. But, unlike Alex Grey’s hopeful depictions of mysticism, these showed men and women being burned alive, crucified, decapitated or strangled. Dark colors composed the paintings: the dark blue of a suffocating face, the clotted red of an infected stab wound, the black of death. They captured the essence of struggle perfectly.
The Savior’s office had a thick mahogany door with silver engravings of leaves and vines running the length of it. At the top stood a single staring eye with twelve wavy tentacles emerging from the perimeter of it- the symbol of God, who the Savior had seen personally. God would sometimes speak through the mouth of the Savior, always during times of great tribulation or suffering. Lovebug knocked at the door. The Savior’s deep voice echoed out faintly.
“Come in.”
We entered slowly, the sprawling desk of the Savior filling half of the room. He sat in a comfortable chair behind it, reclining. On the walls behind him, he had pictures of Jesus, Saint Stephen, Gandhi, Hitler, Jim Jones, Shoko Asahara and others who he taught had fought against the world elites and been killed for it.
The Church of the Final Rapture was not a church in the conventional sense. The main teachings didn’t revolve around the divinity of Christ or the nature of original sin. What the Savior taught was far more profound- an illusory or simulated world where every single person could become their own Christ, could awaken to the truth and perform miracles, but only if they believed fully and followed the Savior.
“Sit down, please,” he said in his gravelly voice. “I have a mission I would like to discuss, and you two are the only ones competent and loyal enough to carry it out.”
***
“There is another anomaly spreading,” the Savior said, staring between me and Lovebug with his fanatical emerald eyes. “It is located in a rural part of the United States, in a town called-” he glanced down at the sheet of paper in front of him- “Frost Hollow. Supposedly, there are black-ops sites located nearby, secret alphabet agencies experimenting with magnetic distortion systems and creating rips in the fabric of spacetime with micro-wormholes.
“I don’t think it is much of a leap to say that the anomaly was likely started, either intentionally or unintentionally, by the government, as part of their research. The Cleaners would like to control that power, after all. They have been sending their men after it for years like sheep to the slaughter, expending billions of dollars researching it. If they and the US government end up being able to control the creation and spread of anomalies, they will use it to enslave the world. There is no question about it in my mind.” He leaned forwards towards us, his eyes growing cold.
“There is only one path forward I can see. We need to spread the anomaly, make it become unstable so the demons of Hell contained within it can spill out onto the real world. Perhaps it will awaken the downtrodden masses enough to begin the final revolution. We must fight terrorism with greater terrorism, and violence with greater levels of violence. For this mission, I am sending the two of you into Frost Hollow.
“Your job will be to find the Titan or Titans and lead them out to the border of the anomaly. These are horrendous beasts- indeed, the Church has seen them before. They are nearly impossible to kill. I want you two to go inside, bait it and have it follow you back to the edge, beyond the veil.”
“What’s a Titan?” Lovebug asked, his eyes flicking left and right nervously. The Savior stared at him stonily for a long moment. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, showing only the whites. All the blood seemed to drain from his face. His teeth chattered, his mouth opened, and through it, God spoke, the words pouring out like crashing stones. The voice did not sound anything like the Savior’s. It sounded much deeper, more mechanical, more alien somehow.
“I see you very well. I saw you when you were no more than a blood clot in your mother’s body. I see you even as corpses, rotted, putrefying, crawling with scavengers and insects. I see everything, every moment of time. But, in the anomaly, there are things I cannot see. For this, my holy ones must go forth.
“In the center of Hell, you will find a rose, a bird and a stone. These will be your salvation, if salvation can be found at all. Go with the blessing of Yaldabaoth.” The voice cut off abruptly, the silence deafening. I could hear my own heart pounding in my ears.
The Savior’s eyes came back down, looking confused and uncertain. His pupils were dilated and he was sweating heavily, even though it was cool and air-conditioned back here in his private office. We stared at each other across the table, a no-man’s land that protected me like a shield. For there seemed to be something dark in the Savior along with the light, and I didn’t know if any man could contain that power.
But there was no question of disobeying. Within the hour, Lovebug and I were on one of the Church’s private jets flying to the town of Frost Hollow.
***
The gently rolling hills of Frost Hollow loomed below us as the plane circled the small dirt airstrip in the middle of some cow farms. I looked up at Lovebug, trying to judge his stony expression. He had done many years in prison before joining the Church and finding salvation, even being the leader of one of the gangs. I knew he wasn’t afraid of violence. He had never told me what he did, what tortured him so much.
The Savior had told us much secret knowledge- how to find a Titan, a massive, bloated abomination that could come into being only within an anomaly, a combination of many rotted body pieces fused together in some sort of hellish black magic. The Savior had spies around Frost Hollow and the surrounding towns who had been monitoring the anomaly, watching the unstable gateways leading in and out and mapping them as best they could. We would be given a fast car, plenty of weapons and some body armor. I had no idea how nightmarish the journey would become, however.
“I’m driving,” Lovebug said as we descended the steps. A man in a black suit with the symbol of the eye and tentacles pinned on his black button-up shirt pulled up with a Mercedes AMG-One. It was a sleek, silver thing of immense luxury and power. The craftsmanship made it look like a work of art. I sighed, keeping my finger nervously on the trigger of my rifle as I glanced around the strange, empty town.
“If this thing won’t outrun a Titan, then nothing will,” I said, trying to break the tension. I looked at the speedometer, seeing it went up to 220 miles an hour.
“Damn fucking right,” Lovebug growled as we slid into the futuristic-looking leather seats. The engine turned on like a softly purring kitten. The GPS automatically turned on as well, the soft robotic voice leading us toward one of the more stable portals to the anomaly.
Lovebug sped down the empty forest roads of Frost Hollow, going twice the legal speed limit the entire way.
“The speed limit is only for the lowest common denominator,” Lovebug said pedantically, waggling a tattooed finger for emphasis. The GPS said we would reach the gateway to the anomaly in five minutes. Based on Lovebug’s speed, I thought it would be more like two. “Someone who actually knows how to drive and isn’t drunk or high can easily do 80 in a 40. Easily.” I glanced nervously at the speedometer, realizing he was going over 100 miles an hour now. The sports car hugged the tight corners of the winding forest roads with absolute precision.
“Turn right onto Snake Island Road Extension in five hundred feet,” the robotic female voice. Lovebug slammed on the brakes a few seconds later, the tires skidding and locking up. We looked around frantically, seeing no streets anywhere except the one we were on.
“What the hell?” Lovebug asked. The night was crawling in by now, the darkness covering the forests like a curtain. I squinted, looking at the thick grove of trees on our right, scanning it back and forth over and over. After a few seconds, I realized there was an overgrown dirt path there with no sign. It was nearly impossible to see at night, however, and calling it a road was somewhat of a joke.
“Oh, damn,” I said. “They should’ve given us an SUV.”
***
According to the GPS, our destination was only a thousand feet down Snake Island Road Extension. The low clearance of the Mercedes was a problem as Lovebug tried to navigate the flooded forest path. Deep tread marks flooded with black, stagnant water marked the entirety of Snake Island Road Extension. But ahead, the headlights illuminated something unusual.
Cutting straight across the trees and brush like a razorblade was a shimmering wall of translucent energy. It reminded me of a mirage, curving upwards in wavy spiral patterns. I could see through it easily, but it gave everything a dark, sinister covering. The forest seemed to be in constant motion as the grayish light distorted it.
“Look how huge it is!” I said in awe, staring up at the starry sky. The flat wall rose up seemingly forever, disappearing in the cold void of infinite space. Lovebug slowly ambled the car towards the anomaly, trying to keep the Mercedes from getting stuck with its low clearance.
“You ready for this, man?” Lovebug asked in a quavering voice as we inched towards the anomaly. It was only seconds away now. He grabbed my shoulder. “This is it. Remember the commandments.” I closed my eyes, concentrating my heart on the Savior’s words. Dying for the good is the highest bliss, he had told us.
“Let’s do this,” I said, my eyes flying open from my silent prayer as the hood passed through the anomaly. It disappeared in front of our eyes. We could see the forest on the other side, but the Mercedes looked like it was going through some sort of teleportation portal, being ripped apart layer by layer and sent somewhere else. Lovebug nervously grabbed my hand.
“For the Savior and for the Good,” he whispered as we passed through.
***
I heard screaming and wailing, full of agony and unimaginable horror, like the screams of those burning in Hell. My vision went white. A carpet of morphing dark colors covered everything as the shrieking intensified, until I thought my eardrums would explode.
“Stop!” I cried, feeling the pressure in my head like a splitting migraine. “Stop screaming!” I started kicking, punching, trying to get away.
“Calm the fuck down!” someone whispered, slapping me hard across the face. Stunned, I looked up, seeing Lovebug holding me down in the seat. He was covered in sweat, his face a blank mask of terror. “Don’t scream. There’s things outside that are looking this way.” I blinked fast, my senses coming back to me. I felt like a man waking up from surgery, confused and disoriented, my memories only returning in small trickles and drops.
We were sitting in the Mercedes on a road that looked like it had been made of human skin. The headlights showed the ragged patches of pale, leathery flesh sewn together with black thread. The road disappeared ahead of us in a straight line. The land here looked as flat as Kansas. Like a mirror world, it had houses and restaurants and churches lining both sides of the road, but they were all wrong.
The stone church looked like it was constructed of some kind of red volcanic rock. Baphomets and upside-down pentagrams covered the outer walls, engraved deeply into the glossy surface. Mutilated bodies covered the front lawn, impaled, crucified, skinned alive or burned at the stake. Hundreds of men, women and children lay dead in front of the Satanic temple.
Overhead, the sky bubbled and frothed with red clouds and constant explosions of blue lightning. Like missile flashes, the lightning illuminated the world around us, shining brightly before going dark. The incessant strobing gave the entire place a kind of circus freakshow vibe.
Many of the homes looked like they had been constructed from bones and covered in human skin, like some sort of hellish teepee. Arm and leg bones wrapped in razor-wire formed the pillars. Grinning skulls lined the top of the flat, rectangular roofs, thousands of bleached human heads staring down.
Staring out of the dark doorways, I saw gleaming, silvery eyes. They loomed eight or nine feet in the air on spidery bodies. Their limbs looked as thin as bones, jet-black and dull. The only color from these still revenants was from their unblinking eyes and grinning mouths, where teeth like those of a dragonfish jutted out. Every pair of eyes on that street was fixed intently on the Mercedes, the sick rictus grins on their alien faces never faltering.
“Jesus Christ, I’m sorry,” I whispered, feeling weak. “I thought I was in a nightmare for a minute there.” Lovebug shrugged his massive shoulders.
“Yeah, I felt it too, though I came out of it a lot faster than you did,” he said, glancing over at the Satanic church as we passed. It had protective black spikes rising high into the air all around it. The broken body of a child who had been burnt at the stake stood in front of the gates like a death omen, his small, withered hand holding a black rose. Lovebug choked, retching. He nearly rolled down the window, until his eyes met the silvery ones of a nearby abomination.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, looking closer at the church. On top of the roof, I saw an enormous statue of a black raven, its wings spread as if it were flying. It had three gleaming, silvery eyes embedded into the dark rock.
“That boy just reminds me of my son,” Lovebug whispered glumly, inching along the streets.
“I didn’t know you had a son,” I said, surprised. Lovebug had never mentioned a family. He shrugged.
“I don’t. Not anymore. I killed him. I got drunk and high one night back when I was selling drugs. Fell asleep in the living room with a lit cigarette and burned down the whole house. I killed my wife and son, burned them. They sent me to prison, but what did that matter? The prison up here is far worse.” He tapped the side of his temple.
I was about to say something, but at that moment, many things happened at once.
***
Lovebug was staring at the corpse of the child when an inhumanly long arm reached up from the side of the car. It had fingers like spikes, as sharp as a knife and twice as long as normal human fingers. I gasped, a warning shout welling up in my throat, but the hand came smashing down into the driver’s side window and grabbed Lovebug’s neck.
The window exploded in a shower of safety glass, shattering like brittle bones. Lovebug’s scream was cut off as he was dragged, kicking and screaming, out of the car. I swung open my door, leaping out and bringing my rifle around.
The Cheshire Cat grin of the abomination never faltered as it held Lovebug in front of its body like a human shield, holding him by the neck above the ground. Lovebug’s legs kicked and squirmed, his face turning blue as he slowly suffocated. His eyes bulged from their sockets, panicked and rolling, uncomprehending in their total animal panic.
I flicked on the laser sight. It danced over the ground, flashing over the body of Lovebug and the abomination. But I couldn’t aim for its torso or face, as I would probably hit Lovebug in the process. It was far too close.
I aimed for the monster’s thin, skeletal feet, the black toes twisting over each other like the roots of a tree. The gunshots rang out as a deafening counterpoint to the thunder blasts.
The monster gave a hissing gurgle as two bullets caught it in the right ankle. The creature seemed bloodless, and only dust and ashes rolled out of the exploded insectile flesh. It tried to skitter away, but its destroyed ankle caused it to fall forward, throwing Lovebug.
His body rolled across the road, the soft leather that looked like it was made from tens of thousands of human skins. Gasping, his lips still showing a faint blue cast, he struggled to crawl away.
I saw furtive movement from all around us. The creatures in the houses and doorways were moving forwards, drawn by the bloodshed or noise. Hundreds of glowing, silvery eyes surrounded us. I sprinted forward, dragging Lovebug to his feet.
“The church,” I hissed. “It’s the only place.” Still pulling the weak, confused Lovebug behind me, we staggered towards the black gates. They opened with a shriek of rusted metal.
***
The creatures stopped at the gates to the blood-red church, simply staring at us like statues. They didn’t even seem to breathe, their lidless eyes never blinking, the silvery glow never fading.
“I think this is the place we’re meant to go,” I whispered as we made our way towards the massive pointed doors. “When God spoke to us, he said something about a stone, a bird and a rose, that we would find the Titan through that.” I pointed back at the burnt body of the boy. “He’s holding a rose. On top of the building, there’s a bird. And the church is all stone. Maybe this is the place where God wanted us to go all along.”
“Maybe,” Lovebug muttered through heaving gasps, still grabbing at his bruised neck. “God, this hurts. It feels like I got hanged.” Side by side, we pushed open the doors to the Satanic church and walked inside.
***
Row after row of pews stretched out in front of us. Thousands of black candles were set up all around the perimeter of the enormous chamber. They sputtered and flickered constantly, throwing dancing shadows in every direction.
A small pair of bright eyes glanced up at us from under one of the nearby pews. I nearly jumped out of my skin, pointing the rifle at them and yelling.
“Show yourself! Come out now, or I shoot!” Lovebug looked at me, confused. He hadn’t seen it. But a few heartbeats later, a little girl crawled out, her eyes big and blue, her body an emaciated wreck. She wore ripped strands of what looked like leathery human skin to cover herself, tied together with black string. In one small, grime-streaked hand, she held a half-eaten raw mouse.
“Please, don’t kill me,” she said in a small voice. “I’m Emma. My mommy and daddy got dragged away and I’m scared.” I felt sick and weak looking at this small victim. I reached down and helped her up.
“I wouldn’t hurt you,” I said, kneeling down to her level. “I thought you were one of the bad guys. This is Lovebug, and I’m Jack.”
“This isn’t part of the mission, man,” Lovebug said nervously. “What are we supposed to do with her?”
“Well, we can’t just fucking leave her here,” I whispered back. “We need…” But I never got to finish that thought. Because, at that moment, the church woke up.
***
A red glow started at the front of the chamber, the altar where the priest would have stood and given speeches or holy communion. Here, they had a podium that looked like it was carved from a single block of obsidian. Reflected in it, I saw the screaming faces of people burning in Hell, grinning demons ripping off strips of human flesh and spiraling waves of flames, all sculpted by an artist who was able to capture the most miniscule details of agony and torture.
I looked around, realizing Emma had gone. I hadn’t seen her scurry away and hide, but her absence gave me a feeling of crushing dread in my chest.
“Lovebug, something’s wrong,” I whispered, still staring up at the altar. I heard a floorboard creak behind me. I glanced back just in time to see a man wearing full SWAT gear. I caught the flash of a pistol coming down, the butt aimed at my forehead. I heard the cracking, felt the immense pressure and pain. For a few moments, I swam in the currents of consciousness, trying to stay awake, but then the blackness crept in and stole me away.
***
I awoke suddenly, my hands tied so tightly behind my back that I couldn’t feel my fingers. I felt sick and wanted to throw up. I quickly choked those feelings back down. I tried to shake my head, to clear it, but that just brought jolts of pain like electricity shooting through my skull. Nearby, I heard a gunshot, then another.
“Bring it, fuckers!” Lovebug screamed in an insane voice. The explosion of a grenade rocked the building, and I smelled choking black smoke. I opened my eyes, seeing three men in SWAT gear laying dead, their bodies scattered haphazardly around the chaotic scene. One wall of the church had blown outwards, the stone still sending out gray wisps of wavy smoke into the air. I looked at my partner, seeing he had a bullet hole in his left arm and another one in his stomach. He was bleeding heavily, but the adrenaline and insanity seemed to keep him afloat- for now, at least.
I saw something walking towards us from the stage. It looked like a small boy, but black shadows spiraled up around his chest and face, translucent and shimmering darkly. He looked about five or six, his skin pale and smooth. As Lovebug’s face grew slack and distant, the boy abruptly erupted into flames.
“Don’t kill me again, Dad,” the small boy whispered in a hoarse voice choked with pain. The flames rose from his head and skin, melting his flesh, blackening it. Drops of boiling fat dribbled off his nose and chin. “Don’t send me to the dark place again, Dad…” He continued creeping closer to Lovebug, moving like a lion stalking an antelope.
“I didn’t know!” Lovebug cried, his face going paler. Tears streamed from his eyes as the rifle trembled wildly in his shaking hands. For a long moment, he looked torn, the finger tightening on the trigger as sobs escaped his chattering lips.
“Kill it, Lovebug!” I screamed. “Don’t let it get to you!” But as he dropped the rifle and knelt before the small boy, I knew it was too late.
The shadows spun faster and faster around the burning, dying body of the boy. He gave a scream of soul-shattering agony, reaching out to a small hand towards Lovebug.
“Help me!” the boy cried. Lovebug hesitated before bringing an arm up to take the boy’s hand.
“I missed you, Robbie,” Lovebug said before his fingers brushed the boys. The boy lunged forward, grabbing Lovebug’s hand with an iron grip. I saw Lovebug’s eyes widen in shock and surprise. A moment later, I heard the bones in his hand grinding together before breaking with a sound like snapping tree branches. The boy’s eyes darkened into jet-black orbs, the melted lips splitting into a sadistic grin.
“I missed you, too,” the thing hissed as its right arm changed, melting and reforming into something black and blade-like. The insectile limb swung forward in a blur, coming straight at Lovebug’s heart. He gave a panicked squeal a moment before it hit, trying to pull away with all of his considerable strength, his face turning chalk-white as the shattered bones in his hands ground together.
I closed my eyes, rolling away, trying to undo the knots that held my hands in place. Lovebug must have been greatly outnumbered. He would never have let that man tie me up. I heard the sounds of tearing meat and crunching bone nearby. Lovebug’s final breaths gurgled through the air, but I still kept my eyes closed, not wanting to look.
I felt a small tickle on my wrists, then heard a little voice next to my ear.
“I’ll get you out of here,” Emma whispered. I waited a few moments, then I heard the ropes snap. I looked back, seeing her holding a piece of sharp, broken glass in one tiny hand. In her other, she had the car keys. I wondered how she had gotten them, the little pickpocket.
“Thank God,” I said, rubbing my wrists. I looked around for my rifle, seeing it was laying next to the body of one of the SWAT guys. I wondered who these men were. I crawled towards it slowly, not wanting to draw attention.
“Don’t move another step,” a voice growled behind me. I glanced back, seeing the small boy, his features morphing into those of a demon. Curving horns spiraled from his temples. His jet-black eyes stared down at me with hatred and coldness. “You’ll follow your friend who killed my servants. His soul will stay alive forever within my body, a sickly thing wrapped up in an eternal shriek.”
“Fuck you,” I cried, lunging for my rifle. Emma disappeared behind a pew, running on all fours without looking back. I spun as I hit the ground, turning the barrel towards the morphing face of the shape-shifter. Its jaw unhinged, a snake-like tongue flicking out as it flew through the air towards me. Hollow fangs dripping clear venom grew from its mouth in a heartbeat, elongating and sharpening before my very eyes.
I fired twice, the bullets entering through its mouth and coming out the back of its head. Its flesh disintegrated in an instant, the body turning into light, gray ashes that disappeared in the breeze. Breathing hard, I waited, wondering if it was all over.
I heard a rumbling far below me, as if an earthquake were starting. A moment later, the church floor exploded upwards, sharp rubble and splintered boards flying in every direction.
***
“It’s coming!” Emma screamed, running over and grabbing my hand. I lay there, shell-shocked and unmoving for a long moment. In hindsight, the girl was a natural born survivor with much sharper reflexes than me. It was likely the only reason she survived as long as she had.
“The Titan,” I whispered grimly, trying to pull myself up to my feet. But it was like trying to walk on a heaving, sinking ship. Parts of the floor collapsed down into a seemingly never-ending abyss beneath us.
Near the stage, I saw hundreds of long, pale arms pulling something bloated and monstrous out of the ground. It was a Titan, and no explanation can ever convey the true horror of that thing.
It looked like countless human corpses had been melted together, fused into a ball with sagging, boneless chests, deformed faces and millions of writhing maggots. It groaned and gurgled with many lungs, exhaling a rotting, sulfurous breeze that made me want to retch. A soft susurration of many pained, muttering voices continuously emanated from the Titan.
“Emma, run!” I screamed, but she was already sprinting back towards the front door of the church. I backpedaled, afraid to look away from the creeping monstrosity, the juggernaut of rotting flesh moving towards us.
I heard the Titan closing the distance as I sprinted through the front door. The abominations with the silver eyes still slunk around the gate, blocking the car. I raised the rifle, firing blindly at the creatures, careful not to hit the little girl.
“Go to the car!” I screamed at Emma, feeling around for the keys. As the abominations saw the Titan, those still alive scattered, moving in a blur back into the shadows and homes of this rotten place.
The Titan broke the front wall of the church, sending splinters of red stone flying in every direction like bullets. It groaned and gurgled faster, its sickly cries more insistent. I ran to the Mercedes, starting it up and pressing the accelerator to the floor. I pulled a U-turn, heading back to the border of the anomaly.
***
The engine roared, the car bucking like a wild stallion as it pressed me and Emma back into our seats. But the creeping Titan continued gaining speed behind us, and for a few seconds, I feared we would be crushed to death under its massive weight.
The anomaly shimmered ahead of us. I crashed through it at two hundred miles an hour, skidding wildly as the Mercedes hit the dirt road. I nearly flew into a tree. I managed to right it at the last second, pulling onto the paved street as the Titan broke through behind us.
It followed us out. It’s in the real world now.