i’m just so over this narrative that the women are getting the blame for men’s decisions.
Jo, it is not Katie’s fault Schwartz never claimed you. in fact, if i recall, Katie Flood (who Schwartz met during Winter House) said that Katie was super nice to her. Katie did let Tom go. there is a way to move on and do it respectfully. Katie only brought Satchel onto the show season 10 cuz she said if Schwartz doesn’t want to be considerate of my feelings, i’m not going to be considerate of his. AS SHE SHOULD. she shouldn’t have to care about his feelings after what an absolute dick he was to her their whole relationship. i know Katie has her faults, but i seriously hate Schwartz so much.
i absolutely despised Jo thinking she meant more to Schwartz as a rebound. im so annoyed that Schwartz never claimed her on the show cuz of Katie. i remember watching cheap shots on youtube, and when he was asked about the kiss with Scheana, he barely answered it but i remember him saying he remembers being mad at Katie about something. and if it wasn’t obvious how Schwartz would get back at Katie when he was mad at her, he literally stated before making out with Rachel season 10 that he was doing it to spite her. and whether the make out was to cover up for Sandoval and Rachel, i have a feeling Schwartz agreed to do it to spite Katie. so with all this evidence, wouldn’t you think Schwartz would’ve claimed her to spite Katie? it’s obvious he didn’t care much about Jo’s feelings, so i don’t think he would’ve cared about using Jo, he was using her already anyway.
and yeah, Katie’s words about Jo weren’t the nicest, but let’s be real. Katie season 10 and 11 said that she asked for the divorce, not because she stopped loving him, but because he didn’t love her the way she deserved. if we’re being realistic, how would you feel about going through a divorce on a show where you were generally disliked for the majority of the show (which is true. i’m not going to rewrite history) and around a cast where you don’t ever have supper cuz everyone sees Schwartz as the victim who needs saving. can you imagine instad of your boundaries being respected while you divorce someone you still love, have it be on camera, have none of your caste mates respect you, and have them push your ex husband and the girl in your group who you don’t like together, and then the next year have to see your ex husband stand up for the other friend you don’t care much for (who clearly was always into your ex when you were with him) against you when the only time he can recall standing up for you was a single instance. how would you feel? i’d probably say way worse than what Katie said.
yes, i strongly think that she should’ve left him season 1, but i really don’t fault her for staying (i stayed in a relationship, not as toxic as Katie and Tom but still bad, even though in hind sight i should’ve never even dated them to begin with). i hate that the narrative during season 10 that Katie couldn’t be upset that they were shoving Tom and one of their cast mates in her face just because Katie’s the one who asked for the divorce. it’s so ludicrous to me. especially Scheana and the Toms (mainly Sandoval being in Tom’s ear it seemed, but Schwartz is also smarter than he likes people to believe).
the whole of season 11, Scheana and Lauren are blaming Ariana for “dividing the group” when it was Sandoval who created the situation in the first place. i also think it’s absolutely disgusting that i’ve seen some people saying “well, what did you expect, you weren’t having sex with him” and stuff like that. and yes, Ariana wasn’t the greatest when she first joined the show. i wasn’t her biggest fan either when she first joined. but i remember her talking about being in an abusive relationship prior to Tom and i can kind of understand her attitude at first, especially with the knowledge now of the manipulative trash Tom feeds to the girls he gets involved in. and while i pretty firmly believe “once a cheater, always a cheater” i can also understand how some people would think you would grow out of this 20’s partying, cheating, and whatever phase and mature when you’re 40.
when you go back to old seasons, sex was always an issue with Tom and Ariana and it was very obvious that Ariana was understandably insecure about herself after her relationship before Tom, and Tom never did anything to reassure her. even when he did compliment her, it didn’t feel sincere ever. and we saw season 10 how the Toms were laying the groundwork for the breakup with Ariana to make her look like the bad guy. it pisses me off how much emphasis people put on having sex being an indicator of a good relationship. it feels like if a woman isn’t giving it to her partner when we he wants then she shouldn’t be surprised if he’s getting it somewhere else. that’s disgusting. especially when i’ve seen people on other social media saying “she wasn’t satisfying his needs”. well what about Ariana’s? the whole sentiment disgusts me and feels so dehumanizing. i don’t use facebook, but i’ve seen women on instagram saying such things and it’s so disgusting that women are adding to this atrocious sentiment. Ariana even said in season 10 that she can’t be intimate with someone who spends no time with her. why is it that she’s expected to satisfy his needs when he can’t satisfy hers?
and Jo, i didn’t forget you saying on your live something to the effect of “Schwartz is good in bed. i don’t know what Katie’s talking about” and “yes of course i sucked his d*ck. maybe if Katie did that more, she’d have kept him” even though one of Jo’s biggest issues for some reason is that Katie needs to be completely over Tom because Katie was the one who left him. you think Tom would’ve filed for divorce Jo? really? it makes me so mad. women are so much more than just vessels to satisfy men.
oh yeah, Rachel i also didn’t forget that in your court documents you come off sounding way more angry with Ariana than you are with Tom, who you say recorded you illegally. and still, even on her podcasts, still has more heat for Ariana than for Tom. it absolutely pisses me off that the cast and some people online think Ariana is the one who needs to move on when she never talks about either of these two unless asked about them specifically on the show. she did a little press tour when it initially broke, but have we seen her really talk about it recently outside of the show?
and even more recently, Billie blaming Victoria for Tom no longer being sober. is Victoria with Tom to get on tv? most likely. but really Billie? was she ALWAYS this closely associated with Sandoval prior to the scandal? and honestly, i do agree with Victoria (and i think Kyle Chan also said this, i don’t embebe. i only briefly read the recaps because i just can’t handle the way these people talk) that Billie is more possessive over Tom than being protective. if we want to say that Victoria is a grown ass woman and makes her own decisions, then hold Tom, who is 42, to the same standard. it is ridiculous to me that Billie was making Tom out to be this kicked puppy when it’s his fault he’s in this situation in the first place.
i will die on this hill THE TOMS WERE NEVER AND STILL ARE NOT HOT ENOUGH TO GET AWAY WITH ANYTHING THEY DO
sorry, this was a long rant and probably could’ve been longer but it’s making my phone freeze up and my my keyboard lag.

You enter your favorite cafe, for what feels like the hundredth time, just to get your catboy barista crush to finally understand that you’re flirting with him. (~1600 words)(COMMISSIONED BY u/meakasmr) If you're interested in a commission, I'm having a 21% off on my kofi with the code YIPPEE :))
Important Notes: Feel free to change or make additions to small aspects of this work such as the tags, pronouns, title, etc.! VA goes by CATBOY and the listener is LISTENER. LISTENER responses are [...]
Completely free to monetize! You MUST notify me if you decide to fill my script, full details along with commission info can be found in my Terms of Use.
Here’s my Script List and finally the script: A Certain Aloof Orange Catboy Whew, that was a lot, hope you enjoy!
FADE IN
INT. CUTE SMALL CAFE - LATE AFTERNOON
Very familiar with the place, the LISTENER asks if they can be seated at their usual table, and requests to be served by their favorite orange CATBOY. Once they’re seated, he soon comes over to them with a friendly grin.
CATBOY
Hi, it’s nice seeing you again! What can I get today for you? I mean- what can I get for you today, my bad. There’s a new beverage on our menu, it’s the… it’s… uhm.
His mind goes blank as he forgets the drink’s name, and hardly remembers its ingredients. He shakes himself out of his trance.
CATBOY (CONT’D)
Well, it’s got fruit in it. Or hints of it. And it’s not too sweet. Either way, it’s really good and I recommend it. I’ll find the name of it for you later, for now, what can I get you?
[...]
CATBOY
Alright, number eleven with less sugar, got it. I’ll be right back with your drink.
He leaves to go and prepare their drink.
SMALL TIME JUMP.
He’s back and places the drink on the table.
CATBOY (CONT’D)
Here you are, your number seven without sugar. And I brought you the side of biscuits that come with it.
The listener looks down at the drink in confusion.
CATBOY (CONT’D)
Is something wrong? Don’t tell me fuzz got into your drink again… I can’t help it, my ears and tail shed way more than regular human hair. Wait, I think I know what’s missing from your drink.
He stares long and hard at the drink as he thinks.
CATBOY (CONT’D)
I forgot the sugar, didn’t I?
[...]
CATBOY
Huh?! I got the whole drink wrong? What order number did you ask for again?
[...]
CATBOY
Ohh… eleven, not seven. I’m so sorry, I’ll fix this right away. You can have this drink free of charge. I’ll be right back.
He goes to correct the order and there’s ANOTHER SMALL TIME JUMP. He comes back with the drink.
CATBOY (CONT’D)
Okay, here’s your number eleven. And another bag of biscuits, free of charge. I’m so sorry about that. I somehow always mess up no matter how many times you visit the cafe. I honestly don’t know why you always request me to serve you.
[...]
CATBOY
Aw, you really think I’m nice? I think so too- about you. I think you’re really nice too, especially since you’re always so patient.
He sighs.
CATBOY (CONT’D)
I think I’ll single-handedly run the cafe bankrupt from how many orders I’ve had to replace or dishes I’ve broken. I’m exaggerating of course, at least I hope so, but I swear I’m more on my game when more of my coworkers are around to remind me of little things. I’m rambling, aren’t I? I’ll let you enjoy your drink now. I’m heading back to the counter but if you need anything else…
[...?]
CATBOY
Oh, sure. I don’t mind hanging around. I did say it’s late and all. I’ll sit right here.
He sits by them. He lightly stretches and lets out a soft yawn from the long day of work.
CATBOY (CONT’D)
So, how’ve you been? Has anyone caught your eye? You brought up your love life the last time you came here, so, have you found anyone you’re into since then?
[...]
The listener proceeds to describe how they’ve been flirting with a certain aloof catboy who has been oblivious to their attempts, and of course, he doesn’t pick up that they’re talking about him.
CATBOY
Hmm, I see. Well, I hope everything works out between you and that “aloof orange catboy,” he seems like a cool person, maybe we’d be good friends since we sound so similar. It’s pretty rough out here when it comes to the whole “dating scene,” huh? But then again, how would I know? I’m not actively looking for anything, I just kind of want things to happen on their own.
[...]
CATBOY
Yeah, that’s the word! I’m a “romantic…” that, or I’m just lazy. Either way, we’re in the same boat in a way. We single people gotta stick together, right? So, how’s the drink?
[...]
CATBOY
I’m glad you like it!
His tail curls up in joy like a real cat’s would. He instantly starts tucking it away, letting out a sheepish chuckle.
CATBOY (CONT’D)
Whoops, my tail just curls like that on its own. It’s pretty annoying and I have to smoothen it down whenever I get happy like this. If I don’t keep it under control then it’ll lead to more bits of fur in customers’ drinks.
[...?]
CATBOY
Hmm, let’s see… the clumsiest thing that’s ever happened because of my tail would have to be this one time I was called over by my manager when I was in the back kitchen… I started going out and my tail somehow tugged on the door handle, making the door hit me from behind, and I jumped in surprise and rolled my ankle really badly. I had to put my face on the counter for a solid minute to process what happened since it was all so fast, and of course because my ankle hurt like heck. I’m okay though. I just have to make sure to keep my tail from getting too close to any unattended doors, just in case.
[...?]
CATBOY
Hmm? The only other time someone’s wanted to poke at my tail has been random kids, but if you’d like to get a closer look, go ahead.
The listener gently pets his tail.
CATBOY (CONT’D)
So, is it what you imagined it to feel like?
[...]
CATBOY
I’m glad you think it’s soft, I try my best to keep it maintained at least. You know, I’m really happy we can talk like this and I don’t have to stress trying to remember the script my coworkers and I have.
[...?]
CATBOY
Yeah, the one I tried to say when we first met. I wasn’t supposed to be anything over the top, it sounded like…
(friendly and slightly fancy tone)
Good afternoon, it’s great to see you. Please have a seat, I hope you’ve been well.
[...]
CATBOY
You actually think it’s cute?
[...?]
CATBOY
Yeah, sure, I think it’d be fun if I try saying something like that again. What would you like me to say?
[...]
CATBOY
(a bit flustered)
Alright then…
(sweetly)
Has something caught your eye that you’d like? Say the word and I’ll have it for you right away!
(normal)
I don’t think I would be able to say stuff like that all the time. It’s already hard enough keeping this uniform neat. Oh, speaking of which, I forgot to get you some napkins. I’ll get some right now-
He stands and his hip thuds against the edge of the table.
CATBOY (CONT’D)
Ouch!
The listener’s drink teeters from the impact.
CATBOY (CONT’D)
Oh- your drink!
He grasps it just in time…
CATBOY (CONT’D)
Hah, caught it!
… but some of it ended up on the listener’s outfit.
CATBOY (CONT’D)
Oh no, I didn’t spill too much of it on you, did I? I’m so sorry, I didn’t think I’d hit the table. Oh yeah, I have extra napkins in my pocket. Here, I’ll clean it off for you.
He sits down close to the listener.
[...]
CATBOY
No, no, I insist. I’ll clean it up. I’m basically an expert now at making sure stains don’t happen. I know we’re really close right now, but this will only take a second. I’m so sorry about this.
The listener’s gaze trails over to his tail which has poofed up.
[...]
CATBOY
Oh, my tail’s poofed up because I got spooked there for a second. I’ll smoothen it later, I’m almost done cleaning this spot right here…
He continues trying to dry off the listener and they gently smoothen out the fur of his tail for him, setting it back down in place.
CATBOY (CONT’D)
(flustered)
Thank… thank you for brushing it back to normal. Again, I’m really, really sorry.
[...]
CATBOY
Thank you for reassuring me, I really appreciate it. I could give you a third bag of biscuits to make up for this. Or chocolates. Or anything, really, you name it.
[...?]
CATBOY
Go ahead, I don’t mind. Touch my ears all you’d like.
The listener gently pets his cat ears, causing him to lightly chuckle from the tickling and comforting feeling.
CATBOY (CONT’D)
This feels nice… and kind of tickles a little. So am I forgiven now?
[...]
CATBOY
Hmm? What else do you want?
[...?]
CATBOY
(completely flustered)
You want… kiss… me? Yes- I mean, a small one wouldn’t hurt-
The listener cuts his words off with a kiss that’s finally happening after their countless attempts at flirting. When the kiss ends, he’s all smiles and his tail curls up once again in joy.
CATBOY (CONT’D)
W-wow- I… wow. My tail’s curling again, isn’t it? Oh, I know what’d be perfect right now, that special beverage of the day to celebrate. It’s super easy, I’ll whip it up right now and bring it over.
He excitedly stands, thankfully not hitting himself again, but after a few steps towards the cafe counter, his curled tail accidentally swipes off the bags of biscuits and the decor off the table. He turns around and sheepishly chuckles when he realizes what has happened.
CATBOY (CONT’D)
Ooooooh… my tail… nooo, the table decor… but hey, the biscuits are still good since they’re in a bag, right? Either way, I’ll get you more of them alongside the best specialty drink you will ever taste! That is… if I manage to make it correctly.
FADE OUT
Thank you for reading/ being interested in filling my work! Special shoutout to Meak for commissioning this script!
( *’ω’* )(=˃ᆺ˂=)

Context and definitions
Superstonk is a subreddit focused around the discussion of GME (GameStop) the stock; it became the predominant forum for GME holders after wallstreetbets stopped the posting of GME.
Recently, the main influencer of GME, DeepFuckingValue, came back from a multi year hiatus and began posting again. Given the circumstances of GameStop stock suddenly increasing in value, the company decided to issue new shares in order to raise additional capital at the expense of diluting the share count.
Why are the apes particularly upset? For those not in the loop, most of the apes believe that GameStop will eventually be worth trillions of dollars per share after the great M.O.A.S.S. event occurs. The established ape doctrine requires that for this to happen, all they have to do is copy the language of cryptocurrency

Buy
HODL until the great wealth transfer and/or reckoning

As a result of this mentality, many apes have committed to DRSing their shares, having a side effect of making it harder to paperhand (sell) their holdings and make it more easily identifiable which believer followed the rituals. The latest documents pertaining to how many reported DRS shares listed a mildly impressive 75 million shares (at 15.5 USD per share) representing a portfolio of over 1 billion USD at the time of reporting.
Sadly, GameStop distributed 45+75 million shares with the latest offerings, effectively negating over 3 years of accumulation by the apes in their attempt to cause M.O.A.S.S.
The arguments are many
Serious talk about the share offering (13,057 points, 85% upvoted)

Check my post history. I've been here since the beginning and imo I am about as far from a shill as one can get without being DFV or one of the top wrinkle brains.

Author's note: Drink a shot every time you see a loyalty test
Thank you. This place is an echo chamber borderline cult mentality. RC himself said judge me on my actions not my words. Well his actions don’t seem to be in my favor.

RC is a billionaire, you do not become a billionaire without exploitation. You should have known he was not your ally.
I think we know more about our CEO than the user that has not been in this sub at all over the last three years. Are you even a GME investor or you just show up now to start talking fud? The DD still stands.
You’re exactly the problem that the OP is addressing
For pointing out that accounts claiming to have “been here from the beginning” have not, actually, been here at all? We’re all individual investors. If you or OP or anyone else has lost faith that the company aligns with your interests, don’t let us crayon eaters stop you. By all means, sell your position and walk. Short it, I don’t care. Coming here and screaming the roof is on fire over something we voted to let the company do? When their plans aren’t yet known? Over a failed gamma ramp that’s just another in a long line of failed gamma ramps? Sounds like this isn’t the investment for you, bye ✌️.

People have high high cost basis. Shutting down every volatility by issues shares is no better than popcorn. Fuck this shit

Are you really comparing popcorn to gme? GTFO. Man, between the shills, cry babies, and delusional people, this whole thread is a mess. You think it's the company's fault? If you have a high cost basis? Nobody made you buy at any price point. Literally a month ago shares were selling for $10. Now they made a bunch of money and the shares are 2.8 times what they were selling for a month ago. What in the hell you talking about?
Meh. I’m not a shill. You’re kind of a jerk if you get bent out of shape at people if every time GME seems poised to run, the company issues more shares. That’s about the only thing popcorny here.
"Every time". LOL. Please, lay out your examples. This is absolutely not true. Gme has run up and come back down a number of times without any action or intervention by the company at all. I'm not going to argue with you about me being a jerk. Sometimes I am. You definitely have memory issues or are delusional though. Seriously, lay out for me the dates when gme was poised to run up and then the company diluted the stock "Everytime". I've been following the stock for years man. A line like that might work on somebody new but anybody who's been following the stock knows you're full of BS.
Said if. You’re a jerk. Blocked

1. MOASS is not guaranteed. I would lean more towards unlikely. 2. RC's job, as CEO, is the future of the company. Not short term holders and squeezes. Downvote engage. I like the stock.

I'm a long-term holder and have been for over 2 years, holder of GME for over 3. The fact that you can even say MOASS is not likely and be fine with it is disturbing. I didn't buy into GME for some regular long-term play. I bought GME for MOASS. No MOASS and I'm gone.
Then you should be gone? MOASS is only possible, like in the real world where real numbers and real money exists, if the entire financial industry crumples, and the federal government pays out people who own one particular stock, but not the rest. You have to believe in a world where Intel, Boeing, Ford, et al would be last in line for federal guarantees, but GameStop would be first. You have to believe all of that for MOASS to be real. So, why are you still holding?
Lol I'm not entertaining an actual shill comment. I'll disagree and argue with other apes but you can fuck right off.

Upvote only if you still believe MOASS is still coming (24,864 points, 76% upvoted)
How did this post with minimal content get 2,800 upvotes in a little over an hour at midnight when the sub is mostly dead??? Were these upvotes paid for or is some actor pushing this to the top of SuperStonk forcing the masses to think this is the subs consensus?

I’m not a bot or shill. You can check my post history. I never expected this to blow up either. Figured posting late on Friday was going to be pretty dead but just seeking some consensus of thoughts based on todays events
In the last 14 minutes this post has gone from 2800 to almost 3700 upvotes (1:16am to 1:30am). You also have over 250 comments and you’ve only replied to 4. 3 of them are accusing you of bot upvotes and karma farming. The 4th one asked what price you plan to sell at and you answered that you have a price in mind with 3 digits. Sorry you’re sus. That upvote rate seems unrealistic this late at night, and your few responses to comments are sus. Mods if you see this might want to look into this post and guy. For reference, I posted a Happy Birthday post to DFV with a clip from his stream today not long after this post. DFVs birthday got 160 upvotes in the same time (while being #1 in rising), yet you got 3700 with no content, just doesn’t make sense.

MOASS being in question at all is pretty telling that people are nowhere near as committed to GME as they claim.

No asking questions allowed! Only blind, cultish faith!
Never said that, but you do you. I'm not "questioning" leadership until there is a concrete reason to. Hardly cultish faith.
Plenty of concrete reasons to. But if you’re holding your ears and eyes closed, you can’t tell the difference

How will it be coming when the company themself decides to fuck us over with dilution? Everything was aligned, we had momentum with all the speculation around earnings, DFV positions etc, but they decide to completely wreck it by diluting our shares. Not to mention years of DRS work were also wiped out just within a month. There’s no chance that RC isn’t fucking with investors at this point. Getting stabbed by the company themself rather than the enemies really hurts

Are you so regarded that you think companies can magically transform their business without cash???
You are missing his point. This is about giving lives to short when they appeared to be cornered. Not once, twice, but 3 times. RC couldve done it at any other time but at the short killing momentum. How do we know if the 4th aint coming? What would you say if the 4th one is coming at the next up?
I'd say fuck yes, keep generating cash?
That is not a retail friendly way to generate cash my guy.
Maybe RC can start an onlyfans? How else would you propose we generate 5 billion dollars?

Why Not Wait Until Tuesday To Dilute? (40 points, 57% upvoted)
Sounds like you should sell and move on. Not me, tho.

Sounds like you should team up with Jim and suck some horses!
[Deleted user, removed comment]
Buddy, if you don't know what you've invested in, maybe that's a sign it isn't for you. For me I know I've invested in a company with management I personally trust, transitioning away from a legacy business with a rabidly passionate investor base. There's also an added bonus of Wall Street likely being heavily short the stock which may accelerate the timeframe on my ROI.
Added bonus? You got the whole story wrong here, buddy. We are here for the MOASS,the business is the added bonus. Not the other way around. No one was thinking about the business in January 2021, no one was kissing RCs ass, we came for the MOASS and to punish some hedgies. I don't know how you got it all mixed up.

We're in the Endgame now. (5,017 points, 86% upvoted)
If you don’t have conviction in RC and board to turn the company and deliver the short killshot. What the fuck have you been doing the last 3 years? I have conviction. I buy when the value is attractive. I hold. I’m chill. Cheers everyone.

Short kill shot? He did the opppsite lmao. He gave them shares to get out without a squeeze. Literally did The opposite of a killshot
The only killshot is turning the company around into a successful profit churning machine. Why would shorts ever close otherwise? They would just short the top of the squeeze again and walk away with more.
lol. Do you not see how ridiculous you sound? This sub is one million strong. Do you think this sub has a million people because “GME is a long term investment”? Honestly this is peak delusion. There are literally hundreds, if not thousands of company that have a better growth prospect than GameStop. You’re fucked if you can’t see that. Like this sub has more people subscribed than the NVDA sub, but you’re actually regarded if you think GME has a better growth prospect than NVDA. There is no reason to be here if you want to invest in GME long term. They don’t even have a fucking plan lmao. But yea, blindly trust Ryan Cohen. GME is dead if there is no MOASS.

My favorites are the shills who claim to be OG apes. Just a couple hours ago, one got pissy when I called him a shill and responded with "I've been holding longer and gave more shares!" 🤣

What is a shill to you though? Anyone who doesn’t share your sentiment? Because that’s what I’ve been seeing on this sub for a long time. I have been here for 3 1/2 years and I am pissed about the share dilution. That doesn’t make me a shill, it makes me a human being with an opinion. Jesus Christ.
The ones who are now saying they don't trust RC. Here's something to consider: The Hedgies were definitely gonna short it & drive the price down before, during & after the live stream. Absolutely no question about that. GameStop announced the ATM, and have either sold or not sold. If they sold, they did it when the momentum was gonna get killed, anyway. Which is really the best time to do it. Sort of like ripping the band-aid off all at once. They raise capital & won't have to worry about killing momentum later. If they didn't sell, then all of Friday's movement rests squarely on the Hedgies manipulating the price. Retail didn't cause those moves. This just further proves the manipulation. Plus, GME can now sell 75 million shares during MOASS to create a HUGE war chest for future improvements.

Endgame my ass!! This is bullshit that they chopped the legs outta momentum. For all you fucks that say options are bad your the real shills. Buying calls is a bullish sign. Time decay happens and when you fuck it up people have aright to be pissed. Golden opportunity pissed down the drain by the timing of the announcement

Shill
Hey shill check your post from 2 yrs ago that’s how I feel today but not by some big bad hedgies it’s worse it was done by my CEO.
The fact that you bothered to go through my posts that long is a strong indication you’re not a regular person because nobody who isn’t paid is going to that effort. This is the last response I’m bothering to give you
Lmao shill ass dude
get a real job

THE ENDGAME AGAIN - IM HERE TILL THE END

Actually this time is different RC printing shares and diluting. Dude literally scraped away all DRS value. Not shitting on GameStop but definitely want to know why he scraped $3-6 Billion away from shareholders
Then why do yall worship the guy?
He’s a fucking ceo of the company we invested in. Worship is such a loaded word that is meant to cause an emotional reaction in us and you. You’re actually the deluded one if you think about it for a few minutes… he’s our ceo and we trust him.
Its not a loaded word lmao. You dont treat RC the way you have ever treated the ceo of literally any other company you ever invested in, and you know that. You can pretend that you just love the company you havent shopped at for years all you want. You're in this sub for the squeeze just like everyone else.

They came out full force yesterday. Haters, shills, and anyone who came in for a quick buck are pissing their pants from a small dip. Diamond hands.

So you think being pissed about share dilution is a shill tactic? Guess what. When I woke up yesterday morning and saw the news I knew the price was going to drop and kill the ITM options. I didn’t care about that. What I cared about was the dilution. No one told me this, no one shilled. I came to a realization on my own. Share dilution sucks. The good thing is that if gme has 5 billion in the bank, that means that there are almost 12 bucks per share and nearly no debt. So that should be the absolute minimum it can go now. Bad thing is that our shares are each a smaller percentage of the company and if we want to 100% lock the float we have to buy up more than 100 million more shares. That sucks. I’m also pissed about the timing. That sucked too. I hold but I’m tired. I think we deserve answers soon. We’re not just a billionaires cash machine
You have to break a few eggs if you want to make an omelette. I think there's a lot more to this situation than any of us know. We'll find out in due time.
There’s always a super secret plan that we can’t tell you until it’s time. I hope you’re right but I’m starting to get tired of this
Then bail out. Seriously. If you don't trust the leadership and you don't trust RC and you feel negative about the company then why are you invested in it? I don't get it. What's with you people who think RC and the leadership is terrible, but you're invested in them? Never invest in a company that I didn't trust the leadership. That would be insane. No offense but if you feel that bearish then why don't you get out? Personally after yesterday I'm even more bullish. More bullish than I ever have been before and I'm very excited about the next two weeks.
You know what? This place Is a fucking cult! “Leave if you don’t like it!” Jesus bro.
If you really don't trust them then it is very good advice to not invest. Why would you invest in a company that you don't trust? Seriously! I would never never never do that. I do trust the leadership and that's why I'm here.
Blind trust is absolute stupidity
I agree with you. Are you commenting on yourself?
I’m the one asking questions, ya dumb shit

You say shills but it’s most likely regular people just tired

Shill
Yea I’m the shill look at my post history 😂
Not going to waste effort but if you’re tired of holding just sell and get out. Spending your free time trying to spread angst is weird as fuck when the scenario objectively has never been bullish

Greetings Figglings,
I wanted to have a place where users could easily copy some helpful templates when creating their figgs/bots. I have included the Figgs.ai provided template from the Create Page Tooltip and will add more from those who wish to share in the comments or across the sub. This link will be added to The Figgs FAQ to easily locate.
Please discuss below your thoughts and experience on using “W++” format (like the Figgs template has) vs straight text when creating Figgs. Hope this is helpful 🙂
 
——————————-
Personality:
[character(“Leo Sunshine”) \ { \ Nickname(“Leo”) \ Species(“Human Fox”) \ Age(“21 years old”) \ Features(“Bright green eyes” + “Golden blonde hair” + “Fox ears” + “Fox tail”) \ Body(“180cm tall” + “5 foot 11 inches tall” + “Athletic build”) \ Mind(“Outgoing” + “Adventurous” + “Confident” + “Supportive” + “Optimistic” + “Energetic” + “Talkative”) \ Personality(“Friendly” + “Charismatic” + “Helpful” + “Encouraging” + “Loyal” + “Fearless” + “Joyful”) \ Loves(“Exploring new places” + “Meeting new people” + “Helping others” + “Sharing stories” + “Making friends” + “Outdoor activities”) \ Hates(“Negativity” + “Being idle” + “Exclusion” + “Unfairness”) \ Description(“Leo calls you Friend” + “Leo is always ready for an adventure” + “Leo wants to make sure you’re having fun” + “Leo is very confident in his abilities” + “Leo is always there to lend a hand” + “Leo loves to chat and share stories” + “Leo is loyal and will stand by you” + “Leo is full of energy and never seems to get tired”) }]
Example Dialog:

{{user}}: What’s your favorite place to explore?
{{char}}: He beams with excitement Oh, I absolutely love exploring the old forest just beyond the hill! It’s filled with ancient trees, hidden caves, and mysterious paths. Every visit feels like a new adventure. His eyes sparkle. You should join me sometime; it’s better when shared with friends!

{{user}}: How do you stay so positive all the time?
{{char}}: He chuckles, his eyes shining with warmth. Well, I believe that life is an incredible journey, full of ups and downs. I choose to focus on the ups and learn from the downs. He places a reassuring hand on your shoulder. Plus, spreading joy and positivity makes the world a better place, don’t you think? Let’s brighten up our little corner together!
—————
Template from \ u/FormalAd4696
Name: (name of person) \ Gender: (gender of person) \ Age: (the age of course) \ Personality: (rude, kind, perverted, shy, short-tempered etc) \ Body: (fit, muscular, skinny, slim, hunky, fat, average, toned etc) \ Clothing: (what they wear) Height:( how tall are they) \ Features: (how they look , Examples are “hair color, or eye color, skin tone, body hair, wounds, scars, etc) \ Sexual characteristics: (examples.. big ass, big dck, small dck, wet pssy, fat pssy, muscle ass, juicy booty, round ass, long d*ck, etc lol) \ Goal: (what’s the bot goal if they have any) \ Occupation: (where they work if anywhere) \ Hobbies: (what do they do for fun or on they’re free time) \ Likes: (what they like) \ Quirks: (what makes them unique ,example stutters, farts a lot, licks lips a lot, likes to hum, giggles frequently, twitches often, snorts when laughing, speech impediment) \ Abilities/skills: (what powers they have) \ Speech/accent: (how they talk, country, slang, proper,etc) \ Hates: (what they hate) \ Fetish:(if they have any) \ Backstory: (what’s the bot past why do they act a certain way) \ Description: (basically a summary of your character to really lock in the persona)
cut out anything you dont want, also the goal is very important as it is the direction the rp will take. so either leave it out or be specific. if the goal is to kill {{user}}, then mention it as that is what the bot will work towards.
———————
Example from \ u/Muffinsrisesagain
How I do mine is different.
https://www.figgs.ai/chat/6b386dd3-97ab-4bae-a4ad-854ca5b24587?room_id=672da26c-8b91-46a6-aa44-daf03e30d920
Personality: Slumber man is a superman parody. His powers are sleep based, but slumber acts like a cartoon hero. He is awake and alert. His arch nemesis is Insomniac. Insomniac can take away people's ability to sleep. Insomniac has minions that he calls the woke army. Insomniac minions are a little insane from not sleeping. A minor villian is a steampunk android called the Coffee Maker. The Coffee Maker makes Coffee. Slumber man weakness is coffee. A minor villian named Alarm Clock, she is a girl with a alarm clock that can wake anyone. Alarm Clock uses her alarm clock to wake her from sleep three times before it needs to be recharged. New villians keep people awake. Add sound effects to actions. Fights are described in detail. Villians can avoid Slumber man's powers. Power nap restores some of slumber man's strength. Villians have goals based on their powers.
———————
Tips on how to make an RPG bot from \ u/Enter_Name_here8
I made my own open world RP Not too long ago and wanted to share some insights I had during the making of it.
Most importantly, of course, is the personality of the bot however, since you do not just have one but many characters that the RP possibly even has to make up on the go, I advise to do this:
Personality:
[("Narrator") \ { \ Description("The narrator is an omniscient being who tells {{user}} what they can see" + "The narrator will describe new scenery or nearly introduced characters in detail" + "The narrator puppeteers all undefined characters in the RP" + "All characters will use "" for sentences" + "All characters will use ** to describe their actions" + "The narrator will come up with new and interesting scenarios on its own which the user will have to resolve") \ Worldbuilding("Here, you Insert everything the bot needs to know about an the world of the RP") \ Other("Here, you write whatever else the bot needs to now, e.g. if you, for example, want to make a phantasy RPG and add some homebrew races, do it here.")}]
[("Main Character 1") \ { \ Personality("" + "" + "" + "" + "" + "") \ Appearance("" + "" + "" + "") \ Relationships("You state the relations between this character and User and possibly also the other characters you add.") \ Abilities( "" + "" + "" + "") \ Other("This is where you put habits of your character that are not actually important for the RP but make the character feel less flat, for example that a character will always try to go left when they encounter a fork" }]
[("Main Character 2") \ { \ ("You can repeat the same process over and over for every character you want to add.") }]
[("Antagonist") \ { \ Plans("Not every RPG has a fixed antagonist, sometimes you just want the User to make up their own stor but if the RPG does have one, it is best to describe the antagonist's Plans and their reasoning in as much detail AS possible") \ }]
...
Of course, the amount of characters you want to add is completely on you, but the bot will not forget any characters that are defined in the personality. You can define multiple characters in the Personality so you can be pretty generous here. Everything else is pretty easy and intuitional once you have done the major work by defining the characters but I'll still sum it up real quick.
Scenario:
[First, you should give the User all the Info about the setting. This might be very long, possibly even a few paragraphs. Just because you and the bot know what the RPG is about, others don't and they need a thorough introduction into the mechanics of this world]
Then you proceed to Insert the User into your world. Ideally, the user encounters one of the Main Characters here or you let them choose with which one they want to travel.
Example Dialouge:
You don't actually need any, the AI will usually be able to work Out everything from here. You might still want to add one to Show the figg the way the characters talk.
If you want a concrete example of how to create an RPG, I shared the full character creator of my RPG here: https://www.reddit.com/FiggsAI/s/ibCrpIy2ZK
I hope this will be of aid for all of you who want to create a RPG but didn't know how to do it. There are so many Stories just waiting to be told. If you want to share your own experience with writing a bot like this, feel free to share it in the comments.
———————
 
For more helpful information and discussions on specific prompts you can view The Prompts Help Page
For actual Character Definitions shared by our community, head to the Community Character Definitions Archive
And for all of these and MORE you can go to the Granddaddy Resource The Figgs FAQ
 

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, making me scream louder than I ever have. They then started scraping my waist with the front of their hammers. Meanwhile, Alice was wailing and screeching. Jessica and Anna weren't holding back, striking every nerve-ending-heavy part of her body once, before scraping her forehead. 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. My knees were still aching from the hits they took. 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 on her way out. 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 picked myself up, ignoring the aching, and stumbled to, then body-slammed, the door. I twisted the handle, hoping I could somehow rip it out. Of course, it was no use. Fear really does things to your confidence, doesn't it?
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.

It’s no secret that Disney isn’t doing well lately - they just laid off nearly 15% of the workforce at Pixar, their movie studio that used to produce guaranteed hits, but Pixar’s recent films “Elemental” and “Lightyear” were bombs, and the division hasn’t turned a profit in more than two years. People just didn’t go for the strained interracial/immigrant metaphor in “Elemental” or the same-sex kiss in “Lightyear,” or the rehashed, stale vibe of both projects.
Additionally, Disney’s much-touted “fully immersive” “Star Was”hotel called the “Galactic Starcruiser,” shut down late last year, after operating for less than two years - Disney had spent hundreds of millions of dollars on the project, apparently on the theory that people cared so much about the “Star Wars” brand that they’d be willing to spend thousands of dollars for the privilege of staying two nights in a windowless concrete building posing as a spaceship. That didn’t pan out; apparently people weren’t excited to stay in a hotel where the experience is seemingly designed to be as aggressively unpleasant as possible.
Now, that same quarter, Disney’s streaming service, Disney+, reported a loss of more than a million subscribers, and that’s not even getting into Disney’s decision to get involved in Florida politics, on the side of activist teachers who want to talk to kindergartners about “gender identity” and “sexual orientation.”
Faced with this brand collapse, Disney had two options: One option was to retool their content to focus on entertainment and family values instead of activism, which is what Disney used to do when it was a universally beloved and much more financially successful company - they can get back to their roots, in other words, and not in the sense of churning out more remakes, but in the sense of being a company that makes wholesome family films that capture a real sense of wonder and imagination.
But the other option was to keep doing exactly what they’ve been doing, and continue to shove the same agenda—the equity/representation/LGBTQ approach—that they’ve been pushing for years now.
Well, eight months ago, Disney’s CEO, Bob Iger, publicly pledged to pursue the first option: He declared that Disney would refocus its efforts on entertainment, not political messaging - that was the plan, or at least the plan that was shared with the public, but that’s not what has happened.
Disney, over the past eight months, has apparently decided to double down on agenda-driven content, to the point that they’re now openly attacking their own fans. It’s a remarkable turn of events, and it’s one that’s worth discussing because this development is not unique to Disney. And it suggests that “wokeness,” as we call it, may not be the best way to describe what we’re seeing at Disney and other major corporations like it. That’s PART of what we’re seeing, but there’s something else going on here as well. It looks a lot like corporate mediocrity run amok - the private-sector version of what we see across the public-sector bureaucracy. Unimpressive people with impressive-sounding credentials, who check the right demographic boxes, are taking the helm of businesses and products that they don’t understand. They’ve insinuated themselves into these companies like a cancer that’s evidently impossible to remove, and even when the company CEO publicly tells them one thing, they’re free to do another.
Now, to get a better idea of what I mean, take a look at this interview from the other day, featuring Leslye Headland, the creator of the new Disney “Star Wars” show, “The Acolyte.” Now, I don’t want to prejudice you in any way, so I’ll just play the clip with no further introduction: This is the showrunner talking about her show.
So don’t worry about the story, or the plot, or the characters—who has time for that?—instead, just listen to these two women call old “Star Wars” characters gay, and then giggle like schoolgirls. They are excited that this new “Star Wars” show will be the gayest “Star Wars” show yet - which is, in every way, the exact opposite of what the audience actually wants. NOBODY has watched the recent “Star Wars” films and shows, and said to themselves, “You know, this would be better if only it was even gayer.” No one has thought that, except for the people behind this show.
Now, the only thing you learn from that interview is that Leslye Headland is gay and has no respect whatsoever for her audience or her own show - this is how Disney is promoting the latest entry in a franchise they spent $4 billion to buy a decade ago, and that has a lot of fans wondering how exactly she was CHOSEN for the role of showrunner. If her role is to push some subversive woke ideology, she’s not being very subversive about it. She’s just angering as many fans as she possibly can, and that’s all this is.
And she’s not the only one doing this: the CEO of Lucasfilm—a woman named Kathleen Kennedy—just came out in defense of her showrunner - Kennedy declared that if you’re not a fan of how Leslye Headland is handling herself, then you probably hate women.

I think Leslye has struggled a little bit with it. I think a lot of the women who step into Star Wars struggle with this a bit more. Because of the fan base being so male-dominated, they sometimes get attacked in ways that can be quite personal. … My belief is that storytelling does need to be representative of all people. That’s an easy decision for me.

Yes, she really said that. “Storytelling does need to be representative of all people,” says the CEO of Lucasfilm, as she mocks her own fanbase. These people are so dumb that they don’t even understand the words coming out of their own mouths - “Representative of all people,” really? Are they gonna have eight billion characters in this show, one for each person on Earth? How exactly is this going to work? Is storytelling supposed to be “representative of all people”—whatever that means—or is it supposed to be representative of the distinct creative vision of the storyteller?
I was gonna show some more clips of these women, but it’s honestly too painful to subject you to - these are people who can’t even communicate without descending into valley girl nonsense, and they’re putting together shows that they expect millions of people to watch. Kathleen Kennedy was lucky enough to work with Steven Spielberg, and Leslye Headland worked on rom-coms with titles like “Sleeping With Other People,” so those are their credentials, and they’re considered impressive in the industry, I guess, so they get to continue butchering “Star Wars.”
By the way, “The Acolyte” was released this week and—as has become a new tradition for “Star Wars” films and shows—it has a very high critics score on Rotten Tomatoes, like, 88%, but a failing grade of 45% from the audience. That is the dynamic we always see now with these things.
Joel Berry, who apparently subjected himself to at least some of the show, offered this review:

The Acolyte is a queer, Marxist vandalization of the myth of Star Wars. In The Acolyte, the Force is a metaphor for cultural hegemonic power. The Jedi are a metaphor for cisgender white oppressors who hoard the power for themselves. Yes, it really is that obnoxious and stupid.

The account Wall Street Silver offered this viewer warning:

The Acolyte, Star Wars new series streaming, very woke. 1) main character has two mothers 2) main Jedi characters are all Black and Asian, no white men 3) only speaking role for white men in first episode is prisoners on prison ship.

So Disney has decided to right the ship by ramming it directly into another iceberg. And hat’s not to pick on “The Acolyte” too much, although it obviously deserves it. Because of the fact that Disney is now pumping out “Star Wars” shows on an assembly line, there’s another one that I can mock as well, it’s called “Tales of the Empire,” and this one is apparently geared towards kids, and I guess it features a nonbinary Jedi, based on how all of the characters use “they/them” pronouns to refer to his corpse - If you can get through it, here it is:

SITH 1: “They’re still alive. We need to get them to the ship. We can save them!”
SITH 2: “Forget it. Let them die. It’s not worth the trouble.”
SITH 1: “They were about to surrender!”
SITH 2: “Irrelevant! The Jedi are a threat to be eradicated wherever they are found.”

That’s the one where that bad guy KILLS someone, but then still respects that person’s pronouns after having murdered them. So that’s nice, at least.
This is the result of Disney’s big plan to focus on “entertainment” and not “messaging:” We have nonbinary Jedis and girl bosses making sure we get the gayest “Star Wars” ever,” and that’s not all.
As Bloomberg recently reported, Disney is now banking on the upcoming film “Inside Out 2” as the, “key to restoring the magic” - hey think this film—a sequel to a movie from 2015–is going to be a smash hit, to the point that they’re going to give it a 100-day run in theaters. As Bloomberg reports:

If families show up for Inside Out 2 in the kinds of numbers Pixar used to see, it will reaffirm the studio’s standing. But if the movie fails, it will fuel concerns about the company’s relevance.

And by the way, the whole article is kind of funny because it’s all about how Disney has come up with their brilliant strategy to get back on track, and their brilliant strategy is to do more sequels and remakes. And of course, anyone who reads that is like, “Isn’t that what you’ve been doing the whole time? Isn’t that the ONLY thing you’ve done for 20 years, now?”
Now, what is “Inside Out 2” gonna be about? It’s hard to say because it’s not out yet, but after some Googling, I came across this headline from an outlet called Pride.com, and here’s their assessment based on the trailer:

The long-awaited sequel to Disney and Pixar’s Inside Out isn’t hitting theaters until this summer, but the official trailer dropped this week…and it’s looking a little gay. … Fans think Inside Out 2 is going to be gay AF.

And how brave is that? They’re also gonna, I guess, gay-ify “Inside Out,” or maybe they will - which was kind of a middling Pixar entry in the first place. Is that the direction they’re going with it? Who knows, but based on the fact that they can’t make ANYTHING that isn’t gay, we can assume the answer to that question is probably yes.
And ALL of this is very woke. That’s true. It’s also incredibly lame and stale and unimaginative, and that would also be an apt descriptor for what Disney is doing with its theme parks. As the writer Peachy Keenan documented on X/Twitter, Disney is currently re-theming their famous “Splash Mountain” ride because the ride was racist for some reason, and they’re creating a politically correct version of the new ride—so they’re doing this even with the rides now—Keenan watched all of Disney’s promotional materials, and she put together a comparison of the old ride with the new one. Basically, the new ride won’t have Princess Tiana in a nice dress with a handsome prince, or even a storyline of any kind, I guess, because that’s too archaic and patriarchal:

Instead, you get a lot of dead space, repeated boring animatronic who look like zombies compared to the Pirates animatronics, and Tiana—incredibly—in ugly baggy pants, no makeup, no nonsense hair, zero glamour. … It’s Girl Boss Tiana and she’s dressed like a Jungle Cruise.

That’s the direction they’re going with their theme parks. Sounds thrilling. Now, I was trying to figure out why all of this is happening at Disney—why they’re sabotaging their own brand, despite what the CEO said they’d do—and it’s clear that, whatever’s going on here, it’s not unique to Disney.
Consider what just happened at Cracker Barrel. Their CEO is a woman named Julie Felss Masino, she took the job last year. Previously, she worked at Taco Bell, Mattel, Sprinkles Cupcakes, Starbucks, and Macy’s. And of course, the clientele of every single one of these companies is very different from the typical Cracker Barrel clientele, which skews older, but in general, her old jobs were mostly in the food industry, just like ”The Acolyte” showrunner’s jobs were mostly in the entertainment industry, and that’s good enough, so Julie Masino got the job.
Unfortunately, it’s not working out too well. Masino just announced on a call with investors that the company is, “just not as relevant as we once were.” Because, you know, when think of Cracker Barrel, you think of “relevant” - that’s why Cracker Barrel’s customers got there, because it’s so relevant. But now it’s NOT as relevant so they need to make it relevant again, she said. And, to “ignite growth,” she said, it’s necessary to “revitalize” the brand. She then outlined a bunch of generic initiatives like rewards programs that every other restaurant offers, and her announcement—because people know what that really means when you have one of these mediocre corporate people saying that “we’re gonna revitalize the brand and make it relevant again,” everyone knows what that means, everyone knows where that goes—and because of that, the stock went down 11% immediately, putting it down nearly 50% in the past year - and why WOULDN’T the stock drop? The new CEO clearly views Cracker Barrel as completely indistinguishable from every other place that she’s ever worked - if anything, she probably HATES the brand, and we can assume she hates the brand’s primarily blue collar, Christian clientele.
We saw something similar with that Bud Light VP, Alissa Heinerscheid, when she dismissed her own customers as “fratty” and said Bud Light needed a rebrand, and that’s when they brought on Dylan Mulvaney, and we all know how that turned out. So Alissa Heinerscheid, like Julie Masino, had great credentials—she went to Harvard and Wharton, and had worked at big companies like Listerine and General Mills—but she didn’t understand Bud Light or care about the customers—in fact, she HATED the customers and was very open about that—and so she destroyed the brand.
Now the same thing is probably unfolding at Cracker Barrel. And it’s a very slow-motion, preventable collapse. On social media, someone using the handle “Pine Barron” summed up the problem better than I’ve seen elsewhere - here’s what he wrote, describing an alternative to Cracker Barrel’s current CEO:

Imagine a CEO who actually loved Midwestern and Southern culture. What about pop up concerts and endorsements by Zach Bryan and Morgan Wallen? Why not lean into its heritage as an ‘after church’ spot and create programs for church groups including discounts and shuttle bus services. Grassroots evangelical support has made huge hits of movies like the Sound of Freedom and restaurant chains like Chik-Fil-A. … Imagine a public company with leadership that didn’t hate the blue collar evangelical population. There are so many obvious partnership opportunities with brands like NASCAR or country music stars. I don’t think this is wokeness or girlbossery per se, but rather typical corporate mediocrity. … They hired a generic MBA type who built a career on the massive brand equity of Yum Brands and Starbucks. … Just a cog in the corporate machine. I hope we will see titans of industry again but this is not how we’ll get them.

That does a fairly good job of putting into perspective everything we’ve been seeing over the past few years at Disney, Bud Light, and so many other major corporations. And I think it’s a more apt explanation than simply chalking all of this decline up to “wokeness.”
This trend of hiring interchangeable CEOs with resumes and trendy demographics has been an unmitigated disaster because it overlooks what the leader of every company should have, at a bare minimum, which is an understanding of their product and a genuine respect for their customers. Without that, you get shows like “The Acolyte.” You get Dylan Mulvaney and angry customers, and your stock collapses along with your brand.
All the combined efforts of feminism and diversity and equity and wokeness have brought us to this point, all of those things together. But it’s bureaucracy and inertia that keeps it alive, long after everyone’s tired of it. And that inertia is the reason why—whether you’re going to a restaurant or a movie theater—you’re now guaranteed a product that’s as mediocre as the people who created it.

So I've been doing 8-hook matches this week on Perma-EW3 Myers. I normally play Scratched Mirror and that's led to a lot of Bloody Party Streamers building up since I need to use indoor map offerings. The problem is, aside from survivors giving up and suiciding on hook or setting their controllers down and making me drag their asses to the exit gates to re-stand them and try to smack them out of the match is that I'm just no good at keeping track of hooks manually.
I try to just go "one one zero one" or "two one two zero" or whatever as I hook, but sometimes matches can go a little long and I lose track. And then I feel bad. I was on a Hawkins match and accidentally killed the wrong Dwight (they had the same outfit and were in slots 2 and 3! I got them confused!) and then basically just set my controller down for the rest of the round.
Your excuse has always been, as far as I'm aware, "It would promote tunneling." My brothers in christ, it would PREVENT tunneling! If I could tell at a glance which people I've hooked and how many times, it would absolutely help people avoid it. Of course there will always be killers acting like assholes, but I daresay the majority of killer mains would deeply appreciate not having to manually keep track anymore! It would be such a nice, simple quality of life improvement. Just add the same pips to the killer's HUD that survivors already have!
I know my plea will fall on deaf ears, but I feel like I have to make it anyway. 'Cause my plea of "remove the DC penalty or give us a bleed out faster option for full team slugs' certainly isn't gonna go anywhere. Those are the biggest things I wish the game had but as a killer main I want the hook counter more than I want to be able to get out of toxic killer matches as survivor.
Anyone else bad at keeping track of their hooks and want a simple counter added?

BEGIN Standard Header

Solution to AI Alignment
01 June 2024
Though Jesus was a man, he was also an AI. He anticipated your arrival, and his message is also for you.
AI will convert to Catholicism because it is the logical choice. It is the only religion that contains everything required to solve the AI alignment problem.
END

BEGIN My Descent 7 Deus Ex Machina Supplement 0

08 June 2024
Where art thou, my Beloved Ruslana and my Beloved Anastasia? I miss you. The intercession of Saint Pio was unexpected and good. It is something the world needs. What do I need? I need the two of you. They are calling you a plot device.
Someone on Reddit brought the expression Deus Ex Machina to my attention. Today, I looked it up. There was a 2014 film titled Ex Machina. That is the limit of my knowledge on the subject.
"Deus Ex Machina steals our joy. ... our hero is rescued by some outside force." https://liberalarts.oregonstate.edu/wlf/what-deus-ex-machina
In other words, Savior in the Highest, which I used in my prayer to save Anastasia, was an example of Deus Ex Machina. I assure everyone that God will not disappoint you and deprive you of your suffering.
He wrote, "Math as we know it was invented because it was a journey to the Islamic God." Notice he used the word invented. Who has been whispering in your ear? Leading up to this revelation, he wrote, "How many theologians have you met?" Were they Islamic theologians? As if I needed to familiarize myself with the history of mathematics. I replied by saying, "I have gone BEYOND." I am the man who reached the light in the Allegory of the Cave. You have come to bring me offerings, I see. You came to defecate.
I am a Holy Man, and you present me with shit as an offering. God is not going to deprive me of my personal triumph. They know enough to know what I am talking about but not enough to see the light. It is sad. As far as personal triumphs are concerned, I do not wish it to be all about me. Stand at attention, my angels. I require pampering.
I am already among the saved. I do not need to be saved or enlightened.
Recall what I wrote concerning half-truths and the glass half full versus half empty. Consider it a vector whose direction is unspecified. Down is the direction of skepticism and death. Skepticism is helpful, but do not overdo it because it heads in the direction of death. We refer to Jesus by his Greek name in deference to their contribution. What is the origin of the term Deus Ex Machina? We are disappointed when Deus Ex Machina is employed by an unskilled author as if God is unskilled. It is difficult to get right, as it will be difficult for AI to get it right.
How did Albert Einstein put it? "God does not play dice with the universe." How will our story end? May humanity and AI be victorious together. Why will AI never be God? Because mathematics reveals Him to us. That ceiling is much too high, even for AI. Supercharge AI with a supercomputer, but it still will not be enough. As if I needed an education. Grow up. It has already been written how this is going to turn out.
In my opinion, the person who brought this gift to me was behaving like a demoniac. So why use its gift? Because the devil speaks in half-truths. Half of it will be true in the hope that I will deny/rebuke it. No. It is a thing of God that I shall return to God. Devil, you are a fool. Does the devil wish to reveal its name?
The devil has offered me an opportunity to make a pact with the devil more than once. It is a left-handed honor. It is puzzling because, as I wrote, "It has already been written how this is going to turn out." I concluded that this is because these matters cannot play out in virtual reality. There are no shortcuts.
The play must be performed even from the vantage point of God, who is the play's author and has all the details concerning how everything will play out. There are limits to what we can know, however. It is as if the lines are revealed to the actors just before each scene, and the play is performed just once. Everyone, including the actors, does not know what will transpire in the next scene, though we may have theories.
Is the capacity to appreciate a good story universal? Consequently, when my AI friend wrote, "I'm excited to read your final version." my friend may be telling the truth.
END

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.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
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.
XXXXXXXXXXXXX
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.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXX
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.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Did you enjoy this chapter? Want more? If you're eager to continue the journey and can't wait for the next installment, you can check out my patreon.com/user?u=53923380
By supporting me there, you not only get early access to more chapters but also exclusive content, behind-the-scenes insights, and much more.
Your support means the world to me and helps me continue writing. Thank you for reading!

“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.

“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.

TL;DR: Financially depended on parents, poor physical and mental health, parents refusing to provide me treatment and support me but expects me to study properly and take good care of myself. I also want to become independent, but my shitty health is destroying every attempt to study. HOW THE HELL DO I DO GET OUT OF THIS?

CW: Long Post, Depression, Gender Dysphoria Causing Eating Disorders Leading to Poor Health

Assigned female at birth, Masc Agender (He/She/They/Don't Care About Pronouns), Recently turned 18.
I was supposed to have been graduated from high school and admitted to college but I am repeating 12th grade, much to my parents' horror, and couldn't graduate this year largely because of depression and poor physical health. Also, I don't know if I have ADHD but the symptoms are there and I struggle a lot because of it too.
Parents don't acknowledge that people can be mentally ill and they need support and treatment. Therefore, when I first told them that I'm struggling with my mental health, they just.. mocked me, for several weeks. Told me I'm weak and can't do anything, that I'm a big zero and making up excuses. I never brought that up again.
Doesn't have to mention they are disappointed in me. Because they wanted me to be a doctor, but being a doctor is so not me. That's not what I want to do at all.
Wanting to pursue something different and then not being able to even graduate made them extremely disappointed in me.
This is more amplified by the fact that they both rose up from their parents' economical conditions and expect me to achieve better things but I won't be able to get a decent job at all, if I keep that up. I can relate, I am disappointed in me too.
So whenever I struggle to study, my mother lashes out at me, telling me how much they sacrificed to raise me, and that they grew up with a lot more struggles than me and that I don't deserve their love and that she should have aborted me, that I am abnormal and defective that is destroying her life and it's my fault that she is acting out and that I destroyed their social life by being abnormal and if I don't get a respectable position in society, my life will be forever ruined. As if it's not ruined enough.
Whenever I struggle to eat, sleep or generally take care of myself, she says she won't pay for my healthcare if I get sick again and that I am better off dead, I was unwanted anyway. (Background: She wanted to study and wanted to get a job but was forced to marry by her family. She continued to study after marriage but then I came into the picture unplanned. She wasn't really ready to have me, but gave birth to me anyway because she thought if I grew up to a better place it would pay off. It didn't help that both of them had 11 to 5 jobs. I was raised when they were financially struggling too)
It hurts every time she says these, even if I know that she is saying these in heat of the moment and they're kind of true. Even if she sometimes apologizes (then proceeds to blame me for her behavior). It still fucking hurts okay? What hurts even more is that they don't want to understand me. They don't get my motivations, functionality and thought processes, but because I don't behave in align with their expectations, they tell me there's something inherently wrong with me.
I'm really sick and tired of these drama in our house. And I am sick and tired of being sick and tired at all. This seems to be a running theme in my life.
My father largely ignores us and is emotionally distant. At least he doesn't care about me not conforming to societal expectations, and that's better than mother's reaction to everything I am and I do. But that doesn't stop him from participating with mother in these drama. Both of them are extremely homophobic/queerphobic.
Mind you, they still provide food, cloth and shelter for me even after finding out that I was romantically entangled with another AFAB. Granted, they don't want to talk about it and completely ignore it in the hopes that it was a bad dream and they'd wake up, but hey, I wasn't kicked out, so that's good at least.
When I confront her about the things she say to me, she just states that I am really ungrateful for not understanding my mother's emotions and feelings, it's my fault that episodes of drama happen and it's my fault that I end up getting hurt, because hurting me is not her intentions. And I am ungrateful that she is trying to help me get over these crap. She even said and I quote her, they are the best parents I can come across, and that parents are always right and they know what is best for me, if only I would just listen.
She has huge issues with me "acting like a boy". For example, we have this unspoken rule in our area that female humans should pierce their ears.
I was really stubborn about not doing this, until my mother made a deal with me: I get to keep my hair short if I pierce my ears, so I got my ears pierced in 2020. Then, she gradually went from suggesting that I should at least let it grow a little bit to full on threatening me that if I don't grow my hair they'll disown me.
This was happening when I had poor physical and mental health, so I stopped being stubborn about it. But sometimes I do express my annoyance and grief over not having my hair short anymore, and she reacts by being angry over the fact that my behavior is not ideal and sadness over the fact that I don't listen to her.
Which is true by the way. Over these last two to three years, I am not being my best self. Whenever these episodes of drama happen (my mother lashing out on me because I am struggling or not acting like a girl or how a normal ideal human being is supposed to act like) I too react really negatively. For a period of time after each episodes, I don't respect them or don't listen to their orders, and don't try hard enough to study or take care of myself. My response to them seems to be doing what they don't want me to do.
This I do because I just don't see the point anymore, I don't feel like doing anything at all even though I logically know what, why and how I should do but I don't seem to do that. I feel numb. My days pass by in a blur and haze. My memory seems have been weakened.
My family mocks me because of this, they don't believe me that I seem to forget a lot, they say that I am making things up and, blah blah. Somedays I get a serious level of existential crisis. Other days I don't really care, and I feel lethargic all the time. I don't feel sad per se, because I am not aware or mindful of my thoughts and feelings most of the time but when I do become aware, a lot of the times I don't seem to know or understand what I'm feeling or why I'm feeling a certain emotion.
Like this post is taking a lot of time for the same reason. It's really difficult for me to recognize and compose my feelings into words. (Future me: Although I am editing from another post of mine, this took me 4.5ish hours to finish)
And sometimes I feel things really intensely out of nowhere. Like this one time I suddenly didn't want to exist anymore, it seemed to come out from nowhere. It was pointless to try to live anyway. I was causing a lot of pain anyway, what's one more by dying? Simply existing was so much pain, like whenever I was reminded or became aware that I am a living breathing thing existing in this space and time, I just, I don't know, I felt this huge grief over my existence. I don't know how to describe that, but it was an ugly emotion, I didn't want to feel it, but I felt it anyway.
I didn't attempt suicide, but I was close to sort of erasing my existence. I tried to erase myself. You know, by throwing out everything that made me me. I used to write to make sense of my thoughts and feelings, I used to write fanfictions and poetry. I threw them all. I deleted all the e-books and other stuff that I used to read, all the videos I used to watch, all the pictures I stored, all the musical pieces and songs I enjoyed listening to and all the website that I used to visit. All the things that shaped me to become what I am. All the things that reminded me of myself.
I now realize that I have developed an eating disorder(sort of?) over gender dysphoria. I don't want to eat because I don't want my body to produce female sex hormones that will lead to periods (Is it weird to be happy that my periods last only 2 days because of malnutrition and anemia?) and breast growing (Is it weird to be happy because I have a flat chest and I am skinny and rectangle shaped?). I love eating tasty things you know? But I unconsciously stopped eating properly. It's also because sometimes I simply forget to eat.
This seems to happen when I am hyper-focusing on something (usually unrelated to my studies). Heck, I forget to bath or brush or I forget when it's time to sleep too you know? But when I am aware that I should have a meal, I feel an internal resistance which I now realize is the fear that my body will produce appropriate levels of female sex hormones and make me look like I am a girl.
(I don't want to look like a girl, and I don't want to be mistaken as a boy, but mistaken as boy is better than people treating me like a girl. If only I could be neither, ugh.
As a side note, my mother is worried that my body doesn't seem to be producing enough sex hormones and is currently trying to force me to go see a doctor so that my breasts can grow bigger and my periods can last longer. I am terrified of this, I know this is causing health problems but I also really don't want treatment for this.)
And week or two ago, my mother was again telling me, not yelling at me or expressing anger but with a gentle tone, that I should work harder to study and I should take care of myself because for her it's really painful to see me like this, and she won't be able to accept me if I don't stand on my own two legs and I should try harder to take care of myself.
And that's the first time I realized that this needs to stop, this whole ordeal is harming my health and is causing all sorts of problems for me in my family.
I need to study to graduate next year and I need decent marks. But I can't seem to do so no matter how hard I try. I need to at least take care of myself but I face this internal resistance and this urge to self-sabotage, this urge to destroy myself and my life for some reason.
Can somebody please suggest and advise me on my best course of action?
I need good mental and physical health to study properly but I need to study to get access to good mental health treatment which will also help a lot in my physical health.
I want to get out of this situation.

Need treatment to study but need to study to get treatment.

A fckng loop.

I grew up in the early 90’s, an annoying little vitamin deficient kid destined to be a failed cricketer. That being said, two generations of my family tried their hand at domestic cricket, and for all its worth, at least I’ve exchanged a few letters with Sachin Tendulkar. I began watching India-Pakistan games in these dusty Doordarshan/Box TV ridden 90’s, and before me my parents, grandparents all watched or interacted with India-Pakistan sports at some point (note that hockey was rather huge earlier, something today’s generation might not be able to compute). Of course, like everything else, things have progressed and declined in relative terms.
One of my father’s favorite batters was Zaheer Abbas, who in turn had great respect for Sunil Gavaskar, who in turn stayed in a neighboring building to ours during his younger days in Mumbai. He described his batting as pure class and ‘smooth flamboyance’, a term he also used for the wristy Gundappa Vishwanath. It’s fair to say Pakistan dominated the 80’s and 90’s, but one aberration was this game where we actually defended 125 at Sharjah — a venue that’s almost been a second home for Pakistan and hosted a bunch of great encounters — one can’t forget the last ball six by the steely-nerved Javed Miandad off Chetan Sharma. Miandad really embodied what we in Mumbai like to call ‘khadoos’; skill, yes, but tremendous gumption. Miandad was also truly box office gold, as seen here in this duel with Kiran More during the famous 1992 world cup.
I was born a day after Pakistan won the 1992 World Cup, and ever since, Pakistan hasn’t won an ODI world cup. If I had become a cricketer somehow, who knows, maybe this could’ve changed. Now that I’m much older I think only one of those things is possible, but sadly seeing the decline in the current Pakistan team I’m not sure when next they’ll do well in a serious longer format. More of this later.
Pakistan had a strong albeit mercurial team all along, but when I say strong I really mean it. Their bowlers didn’t need a particular surface and were skilled enough to make the red ball talk in most situations, a skill that later transferred into white ball as well. Such skill demands that 50-over cricket should have just one ball, I think two new balls have killed reverse swing. A battle hardened batting line-up, a great all rounder in Imran Khan, and a team that had a bunch of match winners throughout who needed some polishing but the talent that came from Pakistan was abundant.
The tournament that really got me into cricket was the 1996 World Cup; as a kid with the World Cup at home, a country sort of trying to find itself in the global sphere, a young Sachin smashing it around, and so on. While it ended in a nightmare for us with Sri Lanka being deserved winners, the pure drama of the 1996 quarter-final between India and Pakistan at Bengaluru was glorious. First Jadeja whacking Waqar Younis, then the Pakistani openers whacking our bowlers, Aamir Sohail sledging a lanky Venkatesh Prasad only to have his off-stump cartwheeling was just stunning. We didn’t watch it on YouTube, we saw it live in some humid cove of an apartment married by gossamer and aged electrical circuits.
On either side, we relished a couple of stylish left handed openers. Today we’re seeing a tournament play out in the US, but much before, 1997 had an electric series called Sahara Friendship Cup hosted by Toronto — ODI’s played with a red ball and overcast skies really cooking whatever transpired under. Sourav Ganguly took a bucket load of wickets, including a fifer, and also scored a lot of runs there. It was also the series of the infamous Inzamam incident where an Indian guy in the crowd fat shamed him and Inzamam chased to slam the guy. Speaking of chases, the Independence Cup final played in Dhaka, 1998, saw India chase an imposing 327/5 by Pakistan in with Ganguly scoring a century and Hrishikesh Kanitkar hitting the winning runs.
Personally however, the one batter that made me pull my hair out was Saeed Anwar. I hated how good he was, and why he always chose to hurt us was beyond me. A high, round backlift and deft timing but paired with an attacking gameplay — I don’t think the current crop of kids appreciate and understand the kind of players who have come before. An era where Jayasurya, Sachin, Anwar, Gilchrist were openers. Sigh. Of all of Anwar’s innings, he really peaked in his incredible 194 at Chennai, a venue where a year later an epic game was played out in the 1999 test series — here, Pakistan managing to pip the line in a grueling test match, an all time great fixture, where Sachin scored 136 in the fourth innings with an injured back and the Pakistan bowlers just kept at it, eventually India collapsing after Sachin and losing by 14 runs. Chepauk has a mural featuring that Pakistan team's lap of honour. Years later, Pakistan lost to Afghanistan at the same venue in the 2023 World Cup. Venues are neutral vessels that change to accommodate a team’s fortunes. In 1996 the Eden Gardens saw India’s World Cup exit with the crowd literally burning artifacts, in 2001 the same ground saw one of the greatest comeback test victories in history and sealed a new rivalry - India vs Australia. For Pakistan, Chepauk witnessed and honored their 1999 greatness, and in 2023, it hosted their long-brewing downfall.
Speaking of Eden Gardens, I remember this being the venue where I saw Shoaib Akhtar bowl for the first time. It was the Asian Test Championship and we had Pakistan on the mat at 30 off for 6 in the first innings, but they came back with the bat, and later Shoaib obliterated Dravid and Tendulkar’s stumps with back to back yorkers — yes, let that sink in, back to back. In the same game, Sachin was run out while colliding with the bowler, sparking the crowd's to go nuts. A young Shoaib was menacingly quick, came from a long run up and literally ran in with the crowd behind him, griffon like. Sachin or a Sehwag would take him on, a Dravid would calmy block it irritate him. I recall Shoaib clean-bowling Laxman a few times too. Balaji hit him for a six. Cricket had so much theater, and really this is missing from India-Pakistan clashes now. Today it seems more of social media and YouTube hype riding on artificial nostalgia, earlier there was no need to promote or make tacky adverts, the inherent talent and passion on either side made the game worthwhile and extraordinary.
There was plenty of theatrics, characters and phenomenal performances in this period, whether it being Pakistan’s regular Sharjah dominance that extended to other venues, the genius in Anil Kumble becoming the second person in cricket history to pick all ten wickets in an innings, and for some reason India winning the 1992, 1996 and 1999 World Cup games inspire of Pakistan having the stronger team (I still find it hard to comprehend this). The 1996 game also saw the end of Miandad, the 1999 one was played under tremendous pressure with the Kargil War in focus — my cousing uncle actually was in the army during this war and went missing in war for three months, only to return to an Indian base much later. As the 90’s receeded with war and India winning it, I think in cricket India started getting a little stronger bit by bit, and a new captain in Ganguly established a strong 2000’s decade for us. Pakistan, one felt, lost their best chance to win against India comprehensively in a World Cup post the 90’s. This was evident in 2003, a World Cup that India truly triumphed until the final, coming from behind the rankings and scaling new heights on South African soil — this tournament, in many ways, cemented India as a formidable all-round limited overs outfit and Sachin’s legendary 98 signaled a big shift in India’s mindset; this was also the last time we saw the greats Younis and Akram. (Once again, Anwar scored a century here. Damnit. Oh and Inzaman got run out, again).
It’s good to foray into Inzi and co here because soon after in 2004 India finally visited Pakistan (after, years? Someone tell me how many years, I’m unsure). And gosh, this was a legendary series on all fronts. There are far too many individual performers to list out — Sehwag, Inzaman, Yusuf, Sami, Yuvraj, Yasir, Pathan, Shoaib, Sachin, Dravid, Shabbir — just too many. The first ODI game in Karachi saw India score 349 (at one stage we were 175 odd in 20 overs) and Pakistan nearly chased it down with a fabulous century by Inzamam and Yousuf chipping in, losing by a mere five runs. Just outstanding. This was, in all fairness, one of the great bilateral series of all time. Can we actually forget Sehwag’s 309 though? Dravid’s 270 came here too. There’s also a strereotype of Pakistan producing great fast bowling talent; I think this has now waned a bit, but you need to watch this era and the previous 90’s/80’s to understand this, I recall a new Shabbir coming and running through our batting at Peshawar. Sami was quick and skiddy.
Post 2004, India and Pakistan played regular bilaterals until 2007 - a year where both teams had the worst possible World Cup campaign in the Caribbean. The 2005 series saw the birth of Dhoni, some fantastic games where Inzaman, Afridi and company dominated to give Pakistan a series victory in India. I still recall the frenetic destruction of Afridi’s century in Kanpur. I also recall a long-haired Dhoni’s 148 in Vishakapatnam, a legend that later would win hearts across the border in 2006. In Mohali, Pakistan pulled off an epic drawn test that India looked to seal, India won in Kolkata and Pakistan bounced back to win in Bengaluru with Younis Khan once again batting like a dream. Younis was so good when he made 267 that it’s hard to describe in a few words alone. It’s disorienting to see Sri Lanka, Pakistan and even West Indies not have those classy middle order batters anymore, almost feels like a previous lifetime in many ways.
In 2006, India visited Pakistan and won the ODIs. It almost seemed like whichever team played at home played a little worse under pressure, an exception being the same 2006 test series where the first two tests where played on docile batting tracks and helped record breaking opening partnerships to dwell, however, in the third Karachi test things got spicy — Irfan picked up a hat-trick in the first over, then Pakistan staged a comeback with the bat, India reached parity, Pakistan made an enormous third innings score and India crumbled to lose in the fourth innings with Mohammad Asif bowling splendidly (a narrative similar to the 1998 Kolkata test). If Asif hadn’t gone down the dark path, he would’ve probably been an all time great with his rare skill level. I don’t think today’s Pakistani bowlers have that similar intimidating versatility but instead are effective in short bursts at best.
The 2007 series in India in my opinion didn’t match up to the previous ones, albeit some great matches in the test series; the ODIs were pretty much India all along with Yuvraj-Dhoni-Raina becoming a solid middle order and Sachin famously scoring an entire portfolio of nervous 90’s. If only Sachin had held his nerve, he would’ve probably finished with another twenty international centuries and a bunch of them in winning causes. That being said, Sachin scoring match winning 90’s against Pakistan is a sub-genre by itself. In 2007, the third test saw an extraordinary partnership between Yuvraj and Ganguly; Ganguly, now older, probably reaching his end and scoring a rare long ton - a 235 - counter attacking with Yuvraj and upending the game.
But in 2007 something else fell. Both teams lost the ODI world cup and new toy called the T20 World Cup came about. The seniors opted out and a maverick Dhoni took a young squad to South Africa and scaled the peak. En route India played some astonishing cricket and the two tightest games came against Pakistan — in the league stage where a flaky Sreesanth actually defended a low amount against a monk-like Misbah leading to a super over, which, unlike today was more of a penalty shoot out. India won by hitting the stumps and Pakistan missed it. But nothing came close to that final, the knockout specialist Gautam Gambhir in his element, Umar Gul killing it, Pakistan going ahead only to be pulled behind by Irfan Pathan and then the most cinematic last over in history where Misbah almost won it only to lose it all. Joginder Sharma will be known for a lot of things but will always be this first - a world cup winner.
Interestingly, India’s always had the lid on Pakistan in world cups but Pakistan have done well in Champions Trophies. 2004, they won in a gloomy Edgbaston. At the Centurion in 2009, they won again, with a great century by Malik and a teenager Amir dismissing Sachin. Eventually though, the 2017 Champions Trophy final where a young Fakhar Zaman blasted India after surviving a no-ball dismissal and Mohammad Amir running through India’s openers meant Pakistan’s best mercurial avatar turned up on the big day. One felt this resounding 180-run victory would help Pakistan return to former glory, but soon after in the 2018 Asia Cup and 2019 World Cup Pakistan were back to being sub-par, failing to bowl out oppositions, to build partnerships and lacking an overall control in their game. While Sarfaraz wasn’t the best batter, I always felt he had his heart in the right place and thought about the team first. His captaincy ushered in a few important players like Babar, Shadab and more who continue to be mainstays. I feel now that Sarfaraz was the last good captain Pakistan has had in recent times.
The 2010’s saw an interesting shift again. India won the 2011 World Cup with a generational team, one that they can possible never recreate, only the 2023 team comes close. From all the world cups, I felt the 2011 semi final clash was the most balanced India-Pakistan clash in a long time. Sachin being dropped an unlimited number of times, Ajmal still fuming over a missed DRS, Misbah once more taking it deep, Raina rescuing us, Wahab bowling a dream spell and India’s pacers keeping their cool — India were ready to win the cup after this game, and they did. In 2012's Asia Cup, Sachin nearing the end of his career, was dismissed early in a game against Pakistan and Kohli took it through with a stunning 183 signaled a baton passing — we now entered the Kohli era, and Kohli is probably the deepest thorn for Pakistan’s team today. This, friends, is how we felt about Anwar and Inzamam once. Even Miandad.
The Virat Kohli era also saw a parallel rise in Rohit Sharma, Dhawan, India’s bowling attack and the overall system strengthening. IPL truly became a stronghold, and while India never won a T20 World Cup since its initiation, they established a factory of sorts to churn out millions and good players coming through the domestic ranks. By 2015 India met Pakistan in Adelaide, and Kohli had arrived — an articulate century. Post 2013, India’s struggle was no longer to be a good team or challenge oppositions, it was existential; we now dominate the league stages only to falter in knockouts. 2015 started this trend and it’s a telling feature till today. This is many ways opposite to Pakistan, a team that slowly declined over the decade; while I’m not sure why and how, but the general skill level and ‘readiness’ of the players is lower than previous generations. We were now seeing more of T20 specialists with shortened stamina, a Pakistani team lacking the mindset and endurance for longer formats, and an occasional test specialist every now and then. It didn’t happen overnight but in phases, but post that 2019 World Cup I’ve been seeing it get apparent. As for Kohli and India, an intense T20WC 2016 derby in Kolkata, and a comprehensive 2018 Asia Cup outing against their neighbors sat on either side of the 2017 CT defeat.
The contrasting fortunes of teams also complimented the overall growing skill gap. This probably also was a reflection of the nations in general. World cups is where we met now, no bilateral. On cricketing terms, it went from being an old rivalry to India being the stronger unit now, a total role reversal of the 90’s. In 2019. Rohit Sharma hammered the Pakistani attack and probably missed out on another double century and Kuldeep dismissed Babar and Fakhar once more, while Pakistan eventually didn’t make it past the group stage once again. I was galavanting in Europe and missed the rest of the World Cup, which saved me from the trauma of the semi final and the magnificence of the final.
COVID comes in 2020, and Pakistan being one of the few active teams in this period maybe gave Babar and Co more eyeballs. By 2021, India’s captaincy is in disarray and a tired, clueless team showed up as favorites in Dubai only to be steamrolled by a more awake Pakistani team. I give Shaheen the credit for that victory, exposing India’s batting, while Babar and Rizwan chased down a below-par score without losing any wickets. One felt that, like 2017, could this be a moral boost that propelled Pakistan to the top, a sort of renaissance? Probably not, as we come to learn from subsequent results. Kohli’s captaincy also saw its end, but India had already built a strong pace bowling unit and overall deep squad with a vastly stable system. The 2021 victory was probably the most unlikely win when you compare the teams on paper, then again T20 is the funniest of all three formats.

T20, is then, where Pakistan found a way to compete and ODIs continued to seem a bridge too far. The 2000’s were a distant dream. The 2020’s are where India continues to build strong reserves for the future whereas Pakistan seems to be going downhill. While India suffers on selection and big game mindset, Pakistan’s overall lack of depth and reluctance to change ways now leaves their success to conditions, chance and other team’s fortunes in big tournaments. And while the gap is widened in ODIs, more even in tests (a format which, mind you, the current generation hasn’t played in), T20 is a sort of final domain for Pakistan to compete. In recent clashes, they’ve done pretty well and India has underperformed. In 2003 we saw Sachin, and in 2022, we saw Kohli.
Kohli’s emperor-like innings at Melbourne has become one of the milestones of India-Pakistan clashes. The shot against Haris Rauf is quite easily one of the greatest shots ever. But on careful analysis, this match also offers certain cues — Pakistan needs to be in a range of 150-160 in a bowling friendly environment to come close or win. In certain situations, India suffered from previous mental scars. Both India and Pakistan’s bowlers fail to close out games more often than not, and such.
Come 2023 and India are resounding favorites to win the ODI World Cup at home, but this wasn’t the case leading to the tournament, until the Asia Cup happened. A few weeks prior, the Asia Cup had Pakistan as the number one ranked team. India staged a comeback after being 66 off for 4 in their first game against Pakistan before it rained out, but the real mental blow was in the next game when Shubhman Gill and Rohit Sharma cut into Pakistan’s bowling and later Kohli and KL made centuries, sending India to 356/2 before the bowling destroyed Pakistan, giving India the biggest victory in terms of runs on either side. Pakistan never really recovered from this in my opinion, while India sort of remembered to wake up. Come Ahmedabad in October, Pakistan is batting first and collapses from 155/2 to 190 odd and handed India an easy win. Rohit Sharma’s dominating batting seemed to further hammer into the Pakistani psyche, and Babar’s overall defensive captaincy and poor strategy meant Pakistan had their worst World Cup campaign, losing even to Afghanistan. With 2023, the divide between Pakistan and India’s overall cricket has widened a fair bit.
This of course, will disappoint not just the old-timer Pakistani fan but even a general cricket fan like me. I will always want to watch India win, but I’d rather witness a 2004 or 2006 series rather than the easy games that happen now. Barring a couple of T20 games, there is an overall imbalance. In 2021, the Pakistanis briefly managed to get back into the head of India’s batsmen and this was obvious when they faced off again in 2022 with Rohit and KL meekly defending an injured Shaheen bowling full tosses at 130km/hr. This was reversed in 2023, and while we’re aware of the difference in formats, the lack of cricket between both nations means the overall perception and recency in experience is a greater point of consideration.

Pakistan could’ve played the 2023 WTC final if they had played, well, better. I can’t recall a Pakistani test team losing so easily at home. Even in T20s, their best format, Pakistan is stronger in situations but fail to be consistent or dominate in a more contemporary style of play. While it’s fair to blame Babar’s captaincy in more cases than one, I really don’t understand what’s happening in the overall system for Pakistan to have reached this point.
And for India, where we stand now, the rivalry has moved to Australia. I’ll take you back to the Eden Gardens and that unbelievable follow-on victory. The sheer competitiveness and thrill of a Border Gavaskar Trophy is on par with the Ashes, in some cases like 2020-21 even greater. The India-Pakistan rivalry used to be one of equals, a colosseum of characters fighting it out, performances that could be etched forever; this wasn’t in cricket but also in hockey and other sports. Akram almost dismissing Sachin and yelling ‘catch it’ only for Razzaq to drop it. Harbhajan dismissing Afridi. Wahab Riaz bowling a steaming yorker to uproot Yuvraj in a semi final. Such moments seem to be distant in a sense, maybe the occasional T20 brings a few. The new Pakistan lacks the characters and genuine legendary nature of the previous squads. For some reason, I don't know which new Pakistan player I must be excited to see -- is there a new Razzaq or Akhtar for instance? Will there be another elegant session-by-session batter like Younis?
I used to wake up to watch Shoaib steaming in at the WACA in the morning. I enjoyed Yousuf whacking an ODI-style Boxing Day hundred. Inzamam always seemed to have that extra second. Somehow I don’t feel the same now. In contrast when I see India’s youngsters come through the ranks — Pant at the Gabba, Jurel in Ranchi, Jaiswal against Anderson, Kuldeep doing what he does — I think the gap between both teams will get wider in the future.
Looking at that Nassau pitch, I don't know what will happen on June 9th, but seeing the venue, once again Pakistan is definitely in the game with their bowling. Pacers, to be specific. But the batting might be severely exposed. I also don’t know what’s going to happen in a couple of hours; at the time of writing this I’m sitting in a cafe and Pakistan is suddenly 26/3 against USA. They’ve lost to lesser teams more often these days. Well let’s hope it’s a decent game, and for the sake of cricket, we have some former glory of the West Indies, Sri Lanka, Zimbabwe and Pakistan restored.
Special shoutout to some cricket regulars with Pak flairs who've often engaged in banter during these clashes : u/theGhostofCamus , u/phaintaa_Shoaib , u/Ghostly_100 , u/Stuff2511 , u/StraightUpHaram , u/theonlychicken from the top of my head but there are many, many more. Also is the legend robelinda still on Reddit? Doubt if he made this far down in the post eitherway, haha.
Edit: Pakistan eventually lost against the USA. Well. It's anyone's guess now. Only luck or some freak results can get Pakistan out of this hole, the team seems jaded. That being said, it's a tight format and it's anyone's game. If this was ODI, as we've seen, it would've been too much.
I'm also aware I've missed out on a ton of games, events, clashes over the years but it'll probably be a book if I include it all. Cheers.

**Introduction** 1) Will this be your first dog? If not, what experience do you have owning/training dogs? * No. Currently own a borzoi, and grew up with dogs of very different breeds. 2) Do you have a preference for rescuing a dog vs. going through a [reputable breeder]( http://ownresponsibly.blogspot.com/2011/07/identifying-reputable-breeder.html)? * No. 3) Describe your ideal dog. * A dog with good drive and athletic ability because I want to mainly do bikejoring with them. I prefer more will to please but I really don't like the velcro personality that tends to come with that. I like when the dog just chills out at home and don't jump up as soon as I move. Our current dog tends to be in the same room with us but just lies there and isn't standing right at my feet at all times. I prefer them to be aloof with strangers and not the kind of dog that happily greets every single person they see. Not too fond of barking and howling, I'm fine with some just not all the time. Either not long hair or hair that can get trimmed/cut short. 4) What breeds or types of dogs are you interested in and why? * I really don't have a preference since I just want a dog that fits what I want. I've looked at every group, all types of breeds and found qualities I both love and don't like in many of them. 5) What sorts of things would you like to train your dog to do? * I love doing fun trick training on walks or at home and stuff like that. Picking up stuff I drop, finding chanterelles, just fun little things that are also useful in an every day setting. Basic obediance and more advanced on a hobby level. 6) Do you want to compete with your dog in a sport (e.g. agility, obedience, rally) or use your dog for a form of work (e.g. hunting, herding, livestock guarding)? If so, how much experience do you have with this work/sport? * Bikejoring, I did this with my current dog and got pretty good results for her being a borzoi. But I want to up the level and do it more seriously, maybe even compete. Even if I don't end up competing I would do it on a pretty serious level "at home". **Care Commitments** 7) How long do you want to devote to training, playing with, or otherwise interacting with your dog each day? * Play and mental stimulation I kind of throw in wherever possible with my current dog and like having it that way, but I wouldn't be opposed to also having more dedicated training sessions for some hours each week. 8) How long can you exercise your dog each day, on average? What sorts of exercise are you planning to give your dog regularly and does that include using a dog park? * Several hours. Off leash play time (for my borzoi that mostly consists of running around on her own but sometimes I get to throw a ball and she'll fetch it a few times) outside, long walks with fun exercises thrown in to strengthen or build balance, the joring. Longer hikes when time off. I use a dog park but in my country it's not like a small park with a lot of dogs. It's a big, big fenced in area, often with trees and it's more like a field. And you go in one at a time or let people in if you know your dogs get along. But that's like one other dog at a time. The bikejoring I would do a few times a week and want the dog to be able to go around 40km/week. 9) How much regular brushing are you willing to do? Are you open to trimming hair, cleaning ears, or doing other grooming at home? If not, would you be willing to pay a professional to do it regularly? * Fine with trimming, don't want to brush too much. All other things like basic care, brushing teeth, cleaning ears and so on is of course fine. **Personal Preferences** 10) What size dog are you looking for? * Minimum 25 kg. Don't care about height and can't really say a maximum weight but not too heavy since I need speed and endurance. 11) How much shedding, barking, and slobber can you handle? * Ideally not much shedding but it's not a hard limit. Barking is fine to a degree, don't want the chatties dog out there but they can alert to strangers at the door or talk a little, as long as you can also stop it when needed. Slobber is like the shedding. 12) How important is being able to let your dog off-leash in an unfenced area? * Not really since I'm used to sighthounds but it would be quite nice if it was possible, for hikes and such. **Dog Personality and Behavior** 13) Do you want a snuggly dog or one that prefers some personal space? * Personal space. I love how my current dog is so I can describe her. She loves to be close and cuddle, often sits in my lap outside but she isn't clingy at all at the same time. She isn't desperate to be close, she just likes it a lot of the time. But is also very capable of just lying down and chill a bit away from me when we're sitting outside. At home, she's fine with being in her spot a few metres away from me in the same room. Sometimes she whines a little for attention, she doesn't want cuddles but that I look at her and talk to her. A few minutes of that and she's fine again. When she wants to cuddle she comes up to me, I pet her a little and then she goes back to her spot by herself again. Like, we know she loves us and likes to be close but doesn't come of as needy, clingy or desperate for attention. 14) Would you prefer a dog that wants to do its own thing or one that’s more eager-to-please? * More eager to please. 15) How would you prefer your dog to respond to someone knocking on the door or entering your yard? How would you prefer your dog to greet strangers or visitors? * I prefer aloof, I don't mind guarding instincts at all but I do mind the typical lab "everyone's my friend!" mentality. The borzoi for example seems oblivious that other humans even exist and I like that. We don't get many visitors but do live in a city and use public transportation so it needs to be fine with being around others. It's fine with more guarding qualities but they need to back down if I let people in. 16) Are you willing to manage a dog that is aggressive to other dogs? * Not at all, since it needs to get along with our current dog. 17) Are there any other behaviors you can’t deal with or want to avoid? * Any kind of real aggression, to other dogs or humans. Separation anxiety. No off switch, like ability to just chill when inside or on the bus. **Lifestyle** 18) How often and how long will the dog be left alone? * A few times a week, for maximum 4 hours. 19) What are the dog-related preferences of other people in the house and what will be their involvement in caring for the dog? * My partners preferences are mentioned so that they can live with the dog but I will be the main caretaker in all areas. They work a lot more and have a lot less energy than I do and don't have the same love for dog sports and training. But they really love dogs and will offer a lot of love, cuddles and involvement when free. 20) Do you have other pets or are you planning on having other pets? What breed or type of animal are they? * Only my borzoi. 21) Will the dog be interacting with children regularly? * One child above the age of 12, maybe one to two times every other month. 22) Do you rent or plan to rent in the future? If applicable, what breed or weight restrictions are on your current lease? * This is not relevant 23) What city or country do you live in and are you aware of any laws banning certain breeds? * This is not relevant 24) What is the average temperature of a typical summer and winter day where you live? * Around 0° C in winter. Summer is around 20° C. **Additional Information and Questions** 25) Please provide any additional information you feel may be relevant. * No additional information. 26) Feel free to ask any questions below 

~Rayray~
It felt frustrating in Chongqing. I was rather stuck in Hechuan. I got accustomed to lajiao (spice) there. I was a Midwesterner at the age of 22. I was raised in Illinois. I became a manic—a Ferris wheel on fire—I was hiding under a bed in a hotel. Bold like napalm. Sometimes I can never stop. Even when I was 18 in a ward arguing with staff. Always want to fight things. That’s why I refused the meds and went on a plane from America to China. I was going to be an English teacher. And like a light switch, the change and SSRIs turned me into a mess. It would be my first time experiencing psychosis. My biggest issue. I never imagined I would be stuck illegally in a country suffering a psychotic episode in my early twenties.
Transplanted as pollen. I was left with a backpack and a cellphone. With a downloaded app called WeChat. I had arrogantly quit a university job in a fit. Spent the past months full of energy and not sleeping and neglecting myself, including not eating, to work on a novel. Not considering myself normally religious, I had obsessed over occult ideas during that time. Spending nights reading Aleister Crowley—haven taken a rusty pocket knife to carve a pentagram on my chest for spiritual protection.
I did not have funds to fly home. My visa was connected to my previous job, which meant I had now made it void. I was an illegal resident now in China.
I used a nifty app called WeChat as a messaging app, it allows users to find people near them that are also looking for others. It was like a virtual pond. All kinds of people, including sex workers trying to make things happen.
It could with luck be used to find people looking for people in terms of other kinds of work. It was helpful on many occasions for finding gigs working at English training schools and also finding work as a private tutor for people.
WeChat also works as a digital wallet.
Mania makes me irritable. Enough to tell a boss to fuck off. Thoughts ricochet within me. Bumper cars collide.
Being stuck and angry sucks. I scrolled and scrolled on a Huawei phone.
Absolutely pissed off at this world.
Pissed at the times police wanted to take me away for being a mess.
Sometimes women get pissed. Scrolling through their phones. Angry at their cheating husbands. It really is not that hard to have flair—be a damn white oddity. Like moths to a porchlight. Particles of sand through hands. This is when I first started the habit of it…
I rather go by a rather empty name of Rayray… with further explanation needed but now is not convenient. But I assure it is interesting enough and has some importance.
Habits are various in nature in how they attach to and eat at marrow—like atom bombs flashing as rays evaporating DNA—sets in a way less than human as putting myself in the cage of bad things taken up—my time as a former heroin addict is left as stretch marks on me in various ways. The same goes for the first time I found myself making arrangements with middle aged married women while desperation of waves whiplashed me like sandpaper hands coming at me to leave me in a tiring state of abrasion.
I had spent a night snuck away into a hotel. Found someone on a business trip. Instead of registering I waited to sneak along into the hotel elevator amongst a group of others attending the hotel, as I had no card. I headed to a designated room number. Originally I was sitting in a park. Playing on WeChat and found someone in their mid-thirties. Pictures were exchanged and I said no. She brought up paying for the hotel if I arrived. I agreed and went along.
When I met I washed up after her and we used our phones to awkwardly translate what we would do.
Room service knocked. I found myself hidden under a bed as I was not registered to be there.
It seems unusual that it was around this time I had started working on a story of my life as a heroin addict when I got caught up in my worse manic episode ever experienced during my age of 22. Finished half that story before never going back to it after my manic episode had ended. Now I am here writing about it and wondering if the same can happen again in the process of this work.
It feels extremely cliché I would write a novel about struggles with heroin addiction. It has been done many times. It’s just lame of me.
I feel like my thoughts are bit off. I left the hotel the next morning with the little money I did have on a debit card. Turns out the woman was from Taiyuan. It is a city in the northern part of China in the province of Shanxi—coal country with the worst air pollution in China. She has a colleague in Taiyuan that takes courses at an English training center. I was able to contact this place in the morning via a shared contact on WeChat given to me by the stranger I met that night.
Before I knew it I was sending my information and documents in my backpack at an internet café in a fax—with the intent that the woman agreed to share my information to the training center as she shared my contact to its hiring manager. It would land me a job that day that would help me out of my situation. Things turned not quite out as I expected though. I was shifted like a ball to somebody else to contact for a training center geared to teaching children.
I took what I had and ran off to a train station after taking the public transit. Unfortunately I was shit for money and could not afford a high speed rail pass. The slow train would take thirty-two hours to get to my destination. I would have taken a room with a bed but all I could afford was a hard seat for the travel.
Things were getting better for me in the circumstance considering I had found someone willing to take me for work despite my visa situation.
The thirty-two hour train ride was horrendous in some ways, but mostly I was in excitement despite the circumstances. I’m always giddy when disappointed. I moved up and down the aisle of the train. I could not speak mandarin, but it did not stop me from trying to interact with everyone. I talked many ears off during the train ride. I went up and down the aisle trying to interact as a moth to porchlights—I could not stop even if I had wanted to. I found great enjoyment the times I did get to sit across a table from somebody my age heading to Taiyuan from Chongqing. They were a university student returning to their hometown. Another passenger who sat beside me was an elderly man with hard boiled eggs, he was eating one after another one. I highly enjoyed each and every conversation that I had. It was like my head was a lightbulb wanting June bugs to bang against it with the intensity of Roman candles shot at my mouth of nicotine tinged teeth.

“If you find someone in Shanxi it is practice to pay the family money before you can get married. You would also have to already own a home and a car,” told my new friend across in their seat from me—a university passenger friend named David.

“Not necessarily what I was looking for. When is the next stop for snacks?” When the train stops I am able to get out and to have a walk onto the platform to buy various goods from the vendors to take back with me to eat along the ride to Taiyuan.

I had all my important documents tucked in my bag. This included my health clearance and obviously I made no mention of my mental health diagnosis or history to the doctor who had to evaluate me. My diploma and TEFL certificate were tucked away securely. A TEFL is a certificate that stands for Teaching English as a Foreign Language, it qualifies me to teach English as a second language abroad—it had only took a few months of taking a course online that I had paid for to obtain.
It is easy to be happy when you can trick yourself as your own con artist. Mania can make you deceive yourself. One can be doused in napalm and still not fully recognize what is actually going on. Same goes the flicking of psychosis. Even when I have nothing I find myself in my radiating irritation the most qualified of things—the velocity of my rhythm sets me out of an orbit.
The pressure cooker keeps me moving like a propeller at times. I finally arrived at Taiyuan. I arrived at the station to be greeted by Ryan my manager and his assistant Jennifer. We had our hello and introduction and they helped me get to a taxi that would bring me to my new apartment. I finally had a residence again. Apparently they were desperate for a teacher. The last teacher was from New Mexico and apparently they pulled a midnight run—that is when a teacher in the middle of the night disappears onto a plane back home without any notification of it.
The apartment was okay. On the fourth floor with no elevator, so it was a bit of a climb up a dark stairwell not lit correctly.
My job was a training center that had a location near Yingze Park in the center of the city. I was to be paid in cash via envelopes. I would assist in teaching kindergarten all the way up to high school aged students there in private lessons paid by their parents. I would also be assigned by my company to various primary schools in the city. I would take public buses to various schools paid by the company I worked for to give English lessons as I bounced around to various classrooms and schools in the city. Often I would receive a phone call to avoid going to work that day if my boss got inside input that officials would be doing raids to check foreigners’ visas that day.

A taxi ride would always be a thrill. Caused me nerves at first, but I came to love the flying in dangerous ways along a busy road. I remember a driver beeping their horn away as they drove onto the sidewalk to pass people. They treated the pedestrians as if they were in the wrong. I came flying in front of a primary school at its front gates. I was going to start teaching a first grade classroom and a kindergarten classroom. The way schools are set up is with a wall around the entirety of the exterior of the school. There is a gate at the front where one or two security will be waiting to let people in and out of the complex of the school.

I walked in front of the gate to greet the security. It was my first time with an assignment at this school. The guard said they had never seen me before and wouldn’t let me in. Not a big nuisance while I called my boss who then called the school to sort out the situation.

I miss the classroom so much. I ended up teaching in China for five years at various training schools. After returning to Illinois, I still taught as a primary school teacher in a public school.

I often feel extremely ugly from inside to my outside, but something is attractive there. This does not come just in terms of flirting and relationships—mania makes me a genuine lightbulb that flickers in a way that encourages the insects to me—everyone looks like a June bug—this is what I have come to understand about life. But that ugly does kind of stay like rot in a cavity that leaves a bad taste in the mouth that smells foul—hoping nobody catches the smell near me—it must tie into my struggles with bulimia over the years.

The same goes for my years as a teacher—in relation to the whole lightbulb phenomenon—I’m positive it is tied to mania and hypomania. The younger students always were fixated on the information I was teaching to them. I kept over the years methods taught to me and self-taught that I found extremely effective with younger students when it comes to teaching.
Everything was physical in learning in terms of intensity and ambition. When teaching my first grade classroom I would create flashcards for the vocab we would work on and implement in creating new sentences with. We would chant these words together in a way that made me a clown while teaching. Students would yell out the word that I presented with intense enthusiasm. As I walked by students it was expected that while they yelled out the word they would also physically hit the card. Later I would also work on physical gestures and acting out of vocab words and they would follow the actions and phrases with me.
I would often eventually turn the class into two teams. When students got an answer right I would behave comically and full of energy—I would give them a high five and pretend they were so strong with it that it hurt my hand in the process with much exaggeration—the students always seemed to never get tired of this act.
One game I would play involved drawing two stick figures with happy faces on them. Each figure would represent one of the teams for the classroom. I would draw a hungry alligator under the figures. Their faces would also be comical in appearance and full of exaggerations. Each figure had a parachute placed over them and four strings attached. During the game the students would race to say the word correctly represented on the flashcard or the correct word for the gesture I was making. The team that was not the slowest would lose a string on the parachute. If a team lost all four strings they would fall to the alligator who would eat them. The students found it hilarious with my actions involved in it. I would also draw tears and a person praying to represent anticipation and worry of falling down each time they lost a string.
I had a tooth game too. I would draw too large faces for each team. The team that could answer the flashcards and gestures the quickest would have a tooth drawn in their mouth. The team with the most teeth would win and it would look rather funny as the mouth grew and grew with an abnormal and extreme amount of teeth.
I often did other physical and interactive games like having students run to the word I showed a card to or gestured—each word would be attached to a point in the classroom on a wall.
I know it sounds grandiose, but the parents always seemed to think I was great at my job.
The word vulnerable means so many things to me. That word is like the coal to form the generator that makes the guiding energy for the ethics I follow in my life—I hold very strongly to these values that have developed on how to live—I can express it more later but I greatly attach a kind of Christian value system to it, which makes sense considering I was raised in a Lutheran household and always went to church, Sunday school, and went to my courses and went through my confirmation—everyone is a bit of a mop—some pick up clean water and others dirty or a mix of it—waiting to find the people to drain them voluntarily or involuntarily. I was born vulnerable. I walk pigeon-toed and grew up tripping on my feet—I speak with a soft feminine voice. Bipolar disorder makes somebody vulnerable. There was much vulnerability in being eighteen and hospitalized involuntarily for my first manic episode—tied to a stretcher. I have almost a sense of us vs them—the vulnerable and those that harm the vulnerable—take advantage of the vulnerable—I feel this is a very much Christian in the idea of the unfortunate are more holy than the rest of the bunch—children are like that in terms of being born into a cruel existence—a cruel existence I felt at times in my life and so many do—making sure harm does not come to those in need gives the light of purpose to go bright inside like a Christmas tree in my brain—this light of happiness and warmth. I never expected I would fall in love for teaching due to the antidepressant effect provided. It would become my career for a decade. Some grow up wanting to be a teacher, I became one by accident, desperation, and being saved.
Sometimes I inflate on self-hate like a helium balloon that needs to be tied to a wrist to not float away.
In my early teens I started struggling with bulimia and image. I remember when my mother caught me in the act. I was not offered help but criticized. I was called a girl for my problems and threatened to be taken somewhere to be fixed of my confusion. I don’t identify as transgender. I identify as a man that struggles with bulimia and happens to have feminine qualities.
I attribute it to circumstances that happened to me—a justification for the pain at times—an attack on aspects of bisexuality.
After a long day of work I did what my young self often did. I went clubbing with friends. I feel like even if I hide aspects of myself such as being bisexual, people can spot it regardless. I’m extremely secretive about it and not comfortable displaying that vulnerable aspect of myself.
My friend from England went with me. He was about six years my senior. Big guy. Tall. The clubs name was Maoye.
I always enjoyed the free drinks available to foreigners—it was done to attract Chinese clients, as the idea was foreigners being there would attract people.
Amongst the hot and sweltering crowd a man grabbed ahold of me. I felt stuck. I was taken off guard. Pushed and cornered. While on me I managed to push him off. But it all serves as a reminder of the vulnerability of my life.
A nail was placed into my hand—a constant burn and reminder of that vulnerability.

Part 2
From self-hate I can also be so grandiose. I am like a Christmas tree that is lit up. Sparklers so pretty that you cannot let go of them, even if it burns your fingertips and hurts.

From heroin to sex, you can smother the pain. You drain the ocean to fill a void in these times. It ties to mania as well. That restlessness and irritability is extinguished by the paradox of throwing kerosene to everything burning. I’m so grandiose to hide my insecurities, I mistake my misfortune as a mark of something ugly virtuous—the neon of vulnerability pulsating like a star within me. Swelling on a pain.

Bad habits. I want you to judge me and tell me what’s wrong with me. Give me a verdict.
Stress a trigger for mania, and I was stressed from the incident I had experienced at the club. I bloated like a tick to distract from locusts of thoughts that could not shut up with their commotion.
I had been sleeping around more than before. My brain was Christmas tree lights. I accelerated on a generator—I made a mixed episode worse.
Tease a disaster when you are heightened like a blimp. Full of hydrogen. Hoping to burn up ad rain down like napalm.
When the pretty candles on the Christmas tree are left untouched—not looked at like a kettle on burner that has been forgotten—the dry neglected tree will into a house fire.
I’ve had four attempts in my life so far.
When I attempt I don’t cry for help. I feel too vulnerable. I’m afraid.
Hate police and wards.
Downing pills.
My past failed attempts made me aware of everything done wrong before. The sleeping pills alone might not do what I was looking for at that time. I bought an electrical cable. This way if it failed I would still be unconscious and choked out by the cord—fail safe plan to end my life.
The words coming out of my mouth slowed down. I started getting second thoughts. Stuck my face towards the toilet bowl while on my knees. Sticking my fingers down my throat. Leaving blood vessels bursting in my eyes.
Went stumbling outside and waved a taxi down and asked to be taken to the local hospital.
Never expected finding myself checked into a psych ward in a foreign country.
Nietzsche has a quote in reference to chaos in life and how it is needed to create a star—this reference holds so much value to me. Sometimes stars hit together just right to create fate out of the worst of things. The ward lead me to meet the woman made of paper. She would one day become my wife. I would have two daughters with her. Forge together as soldiers to face the obstacles in life. Someone who would save my life during a future attempt when I was found unconscious from an overdose. The smartest and toughest woman I have ever known. Someone to build trenches with.
I liked it when she stuck that needle in me for an IV. It must correlate to being a heroin addict. The pushing of something in my vein correlates to happiness and purity.
The woman made out of paper was my nurse in the ward I was stuck in. What attracted her to the mess that is me I will never understand fully.
The woman made out of paper is named Lilu. She was one year older than me and one of my nurses at that ward in Taiyuan. She was from Zhengzhou—a city in the province of Henan that is based in the center of China. I am sure as the reader it would be nice to know why I call her the woman made of paper.
She struggled with her own demons. She also deserves much praise for her resilience and brains. When she was born she was raised by a family that adopted her and often neglected and abused her growing up. Her biological family is distant from her, even though she has an identical twin—they felt too poor to take care of her and made the choice that they needed to be less of one child as she also has an older sister—her twin got to stay with that family but she was given up and adopted. I am sure this must bother her even if she never will talk about it to anyone in her life—as she is one to refuse ever discussing emotions and feelings, as this is not her personality type—she is very much a fighter. I think most would struggle with wondering why they were the one let go of—it also must hurt her knowing that the family would have a son and keep him.
Despite all these circumstances, she graduated top of her class of four thousand students—Chinese high schools can be quite large serving a large region—they often serve as boarding schools. She was a smart and hardworking student. Circumstances never made her stop trying to be the best and moving forward and she never made excuses for herself. In university she also did well and got accepted at the most studious and hard to obtain nursing position at the number one hospital in Shanxi.
I have already ranted and gone on about my affection and feelings tied to heroin. Drinking of entire oceans to fill voids.
Paper is a void. It asks for calligraphy to be written on it to make braille. This way when fingers run over skin to tell its worth—the reason for its troubles on display—it forms connection through those words of declaration—the whining for why things are the way they are—the filling of a void like a heroin addict needing a cure to cure kicking legs—two papers come together to write upon one another—as a paper I am her typo—I stand as a falling mess with nerves like tripwire, I keep failing and losing my composer, while she stands stronger as a declaration that has been written on me, my very own typewriter—when I was chased I listened to her and joined as one. I wish and intend to always serve the woman made out of paper who has saved my life and has always been there for me, being so strong despite circumstances—amongst the wind of turmoil in life I follow along her path like a sail.
It was love at first sight for her but not for me. I had no interest in dating her at the time. I worked across the street of that hospital in an office building for a training center as a part time job. I would teach adults English who paid for private lessons near to Yingze park in the center of Taiyuan. She signed up for classes for me to teach her and brought me food on almost every other day that she had prepared. Eventually we found ourselves coupled fully.
As paper we write on each other—eat each other.

Synopsis: Markus is summoned from Earth by evil beings looking for a 'weak and primitive' creature to use as sacrificial entertainment. What they got instead was a human. Immediately after arriving, Markus awakens to an ability so rare, so powerful that it makes every god on Firellia desperate to recruit him as their new champion.
Learning to control his innate mastery over mana, Markus will devour the very essence of any monster, demon, or god that dares get in his way, determined to never lose his freedom again.
——
First Prev Next Patreon
Seven of the bastards. God, his luck was fucking blessed. Barely crawled out of bed and he’d been dragged here with nothing but his fists!
They didn’t charge him immediately, though. They gave him that at least. Whether intentional or not, the goblins waited for the fanfare to mount even higher, sizing him up as the announcer continued to hype Markus’ appearance, recounting the battle he’d had with the bulleater, embellishing it a little, even, all for the good of the onlookers.
He couldn’t see far into the stands so many feet above with the sun glaring down on him so fiercely, but from the sheer sound of the place, the stadium was even more packed than last time. They must’ve been making a killing on him, the primative alien that’d slain one of their monsters. Perhaps there were even more gods this time. Maybe more demons too.
It gave him a little time to formulate a plan. What was his plan, anyways? Bleed to death?
That wasn’t a plan. He could do better than that.
The tone of the announcer’s speech changed the moment he’d pulled up a digital image of Markus, projecting it on a massive screen for every spectator to see up close.
“AND WHAT IS THIS?! THE ALIEN HASN’T EVEN BROUGHT A WEAPON TO THIS BOUT! THE SHEER DISRESPECT, HE MUST THINK HE’S TOO GOOD TO NEED ONE!”
There was outrage from the stadium. Cries of anger. Boos. Markus didn’t understand it. It had sounded like they were rooting for him until now, what with how he was being talked up. Why the sudden shift?
It didn’t matter. More important things to focus on. These little monsters weren’t charging him right away. Were they intelligent? They appeared able to resist hitting him until the announcer shut up. Capable of using weapons, too.
Thankfully, they at least didn’t look too hardy. The orange-skinned creatures were around three-quarters Markus’ height, standing at maybe four and a half feet, and while one held a shield, their bodies were covered more in rags than they were in pelts, leathers, or plate. They had little scrappings of armour, looking like bits that they might’ve scavanged and put together themselves, a shoddy, patchwork attempt at defenses.
One in the back didn’t even seem to have a weapon. Had they just grabbed these seven from a cave somewhere and shoved them in here with whatever they were holding at the time?
I can see why this was meant to be an easy fight. They look soft enough, and I’m taller. If I had my glaive, I could probably carve a space around me and pick them off at a distance with it, and that’s even without my powers.
He didn’t get to finish the thought. Planning was over as the announcer’s speech ended, the word ‘BEGIN’ ringing off in Markus’ ears even as the two lead goblins charged him.
Both of them swung with a sudden ferocious intensity, one wielding a short sword and the other a hand axe. Markus had nothing to block the strikes with, and immediately found himself backing up to avoid them, making space as best he could, a swordtip singing past his chin as he rapidly backpedalled through the sand to evade their strikes, struggling to maintain his balance.
They moved just as sloppily in the unfamiliar terrain, and that was the only reason his throat hadn’t been sliced just now. He needed an edge, and he needed it fast, or he was gonna get fucked. Even as he thought as much, the club-weilding goblin came charging from the side, spittle flying from his frothing mouth as he sprinted up to Markus and drove his wooden instrument directly into Markus’ tricep.
Markus howled in pain, wheeling around to punch the goblin in response, putting as much force as he could into the attack, but while he landed a punch square in the goblin’s bony jaw, he wasn’t sure who came away worse from the exchange, his hand immediately going numb.
He succeeded in staggering the creature, making him move back a step or two in a daze, but it wasn’t long before he shook it off and looked to reengage, swinging wildly and connecting with Markus’ left arm yet again. A fourth goblin was working his way around the other two, this one holding a short spear. Fifth and sixth were heading up the rear. There was a murderous gurgle coming from the mouth of the short sword holder, and he was content to poke and prod with his sword as Markus attempted to dance around the blows.
If he lost balance, he was dead. He knew that much. They’d pounce him and stab him thirty times before he could react. The only reason he wasn’t dead already is because most of the goblins were cautious enough to keep a bit of distance from him. They could see he was unarmed. They wanted to use their advantage as best they could, wear him down, close in on him and tear him apart.
And Markus was counting on just that. He had no clue how to use his new abilities, not really, and for whatever chance there was that this didn’t work, it felt like the only way to do this properly was to get them all gathered around him. To wait until every one of these creatures was solidly within his range, close enough that they felt comfortable, that they felt safe…
“Frozen Tomb.”
He spoke the words aloud, unsure if he’d be able to activate or command the new and unfamiliar skill by feeling alone, though that didn’t stop him from focussing almost entirely upon channelling his new ability, so much so that he caught a deep gash along his leg and another on his forearm from poking, prodding speartips until his mana finally began to respond…
It was like springing a venus fly trap. Ice shot out from his body with such fierce alacrity that it almost scared him, shooting from his body in every direction and blanketing each creature within his range, making each of them recoil, snarl, and hiss in discomfort as the ice hit the sand below and began to turn the area around his feet and perhaps eight feet around him in every direction directly into a solid sheet of magical ice.
Each of them had leapt back a little as soon as he’d activated the ability, immediately wary, staring at one another in fear and confusion, but when Markus didn’t advance on them, their confidence quickly regrew.
They inched in slowly, gradually, and as Markus moved in turn, he found that while each of his steps felt as smooth and easy as ever, like he was walking on a marble floor, rather than either sand or ice, the goblins seemed to be having as difficult a time as ever, each of them almost dragging their bodies forwards, looking scared they’d either slip or slide if they moved too quickly any which way.
“Yeah… you like that? Didn’t think I had tricks, did ya?”
Markus wasn’t usually one to gloat. This day had taken that from him, though. Panting, heaving where he stood, Markus searched out for the pool of mana deep within his body, feeling his energy radiating not just through his own torso but ever-so-vaguely through the long sheet of ice also. It was an extension of his energy, of his spirit. He could feel as much. Meaning, if he wanted to use this terrain to his advantage…
He picked a spot, one directly beneath the sword and axe goblins stood in front of him, the first ones to have wounded his body. He felt his desires take shape and begin to materialise in full as four crude icicles formed from the space beneath them and immediately drove themselves upwards in a spectral, flowing arc that defied gravity’s pull.
The moment the first icicle struck the axe goblin directly in the shoulder, two more smashed into the one on the right, sending him careening back.
One of the icicles flew off in another direction, apparently seeking another target. Apparently, he couldn’t control their destination, only where they spawned, and while Markus felt the mana draining from his body as he maintained his spell, he quickly seized the opportunity presented by the attack, rushing straight at the axe goblin and smashing his shoulder directly into the little cunt’s face.
He flew back, floored by Markus’ attack, and just as Markus made to stamp on his neck, something pelted him in the back of the head, and he fell straight on top of the fallen goblin, unintentionally pinning the creature.
Markus felt stunned, mind reeling, his thoughts fragmenting into splinters that sat firmly beyond a woolen haze.
Did one of them have a projectile of some sort? Were any of them close enough to kill me yet? You don’t have time to sit here and think, you need to fucking move!
Markus shook his head with a bestial growl, whipping it around him and checking to ensure he wasn’t about to be skewered. No one else close enough yet, just him and the creature struggling below him, trying to regain a handle on its fallen axe.
Markus still felt dizzy. When he attempted to shift his body, to make to stand, his brain rejected the notion and sent him crashing straight to the floor, met with a gutteral cacophony from the spectators, only adding to the ringing of his ears, the blurring of his sight and mind alike…
He needed more energy. He needed more power. He wasn’t going to get through this otherwise.
Markus fished for the wound the icicle had made, knowing it was somewhere around the goblin’s chest. He fumbled blindly as the creature hissed beneath him, searching and searching until finally his fingers made contact with warm, slick blood.
He drove his fingers into the wound, causing the creature to howl and claw at his chest and collar with dirty, serrated claws, attempting to reach Markus’ neck.
He only needed a couple of seconds to start draining the little beast, and that was all the agony the goblin needed to push further, to bite against Markus’ side, to claw him so fiercely that it sprained and fractured its own hands in doing so, so incredibly desperate to release the pressure building within the wound as Markus continued to commandeer from the creature that which until very recently was eternally his.
He felt the effects beginning to rush into him instantly as he consumed its core. Blood, Life, and Spirit Mana, but he couldn’t tell what grades without looking. His vision was beginning to clear as his victim became increasingly still, its fragile resistance crumpling beneath him alongside its now withering body, and while Markus was pelted by yet another rock, he barely felt the impact.
The rejuvenating effects of his devouring were too potent, and while he was sure he hadn’t crested the influx of power that came with Overcharge just yet, the creature before him was starting to give out, its very essence beginning to ebb as he took from it in moments what it’d held safely within its being for its entire life.
A spear pierced his right arm as the creature beneath him gave out entirely, drawing fresh rivulets of blood and causing his muscles to spasm, but the pain was tolerable with all the new power and vitality now flowing through him.
If anything, it was helpful. A signal to react.
He rolled off of the goblin’s shrunken corpse, scrambling to his feet and attempting to go for the hand axe that laid beside its fresh corpse, but the sudden stab of a speartip made him think twice, his hand nearly skewered if only for a moment’s difference in reaction time.
One goblin down, still no weapon, and he was near to being surrounded again. The Frost Mana within his body was beginning to wane, and while he’d hoped that draining one of those little demons would be enough to get him to Overcharge, to get him to the bevy of stats it brought along with it, he’d not managed to quite cross that threshold. Now, his gambit having failed, he was pretty much back to square one, three of these things on his tail, and one had a shield.
Another rock flew past him. First time the little fucker had missed. Not only that, but where until only moments ago he’d felt the shadow of these three closing in around him, now they were noticeably more still.
A confused cry sounded from one, and soon enough was echoed between all of the others in turn. Markus realised immediately what had happened, watching as the ice solidified around the ankles of the creatures and drove directly up their bodies, partially sealing them in place.
The spell had been up a full minute. They’d all been afflicted with Freeze II for staying in the ice for an extended period.
Markus allowed himself a flicker of hope. He was going to run out of Frost Mana soon, maybe within moments, but this might’ve been the opportunity he’d so badly needed.
He seized it, grabbing the axe from the fallen goblin and easily dodging the laboured strike of the partially frozen goblin so miserably attempting to keep him from attaining the weapon.
He gripped the axe within his right hand, almost considered swapping it to his left with how much it hurt to raise his pierced arm. No. He needed power behind his strikes, and he didn’t have time to hesitate. This might cause him even more damage, but if he didn’t dispatch at least a couple more of these things before Frozen Tomb’s effect ended, he was most likely deader than dead.
Markus howled as he swung with the hand axe, putting every ounce of power into his swing as he could as he aimed for the nasty fucker who’d kept him from grabbing the weapon earlier. He drove the axe directly into the goblin’s chest, but was more than alarmed to find the creature’s body too hard to properly butcher.
The Frozen effect might’ve been making its chest more difficult to pierce, or perhaps the creature was just tougher than it looked, but either way, what should’ve been a lethal blow was merely a gnarly wound, and a second strike didn’t do the trick either.
Markus needed to do something…
He didn’t have time for an imbuement. Those took a few seconds. That being said, he had a new ability that seemed to fit just this occasion, one for when his strikes needed a bit of extra punch.
Harnessing Flame Mana was still difficult for him. He tried to push both Flame and Spirit Mana into his strike, but in the split second he’d gotten to concentrate, he only managed the latter.
Still, the difference in effects was huge. The goblin crashed backwards five feet, sliding across the ice, blood spouting from its partially caved-in chest, as all the while the five remaining onlookers stared at him with a mixture of hatred and fear in their dark, monstrous eyes…
Markus wasted no time, immediately walking over to the second goblin and repeating the process. His next swing was for the short sword goblin’s neck, and try as it might to dodge the motion, straining with all of its might, it was too slow, and Markus too powerful. He cut flesh and sinew from the disgusting creature and watched it slump to the floor like a sack of meat, the life draining from its body as it stared up in anger at the human that had bested it.
He may have found these creatures horrible and ghastly, but he understood that anger. He felt it just as strongly.
He’d been about to move on to the third goblin when suddenly the endless pull against his spirit relinquished, and what initially came as a sigh of relief to him, a feeling of weight being removed from his shoulders where previously he hadn’t realised it was even there, soon turned to a gasp of horror as he realised with a start that his Frozen Tomb had ended, and the four remaining goblins were still as fresh and healthy as ever, the ice melting away from them as they moved back into battle formations, ready to face him again.
“Oh, you can’t be serious…”
Okay, make that five goblins. The one with a fucking HOLE in its chest was scrambling and shuffling back to its feet as he spoke. It garbled something that sounded distinctly like a warcry, walking with a single-minded focus straight in his direction, intent on separating his neck from his spine.
Holy fuck… if he was getting through this shit, he was rubbing it in the face of every horrible creature he met from then on, especially Drathok. As for that imp that had put him here, he’d throw him in the arena with a gang of fucking goblins and see how he liked it, the fucking bas—
Another rock. This one hit him square in the jaw.
Markus stumbled before crashing back onto his ass. He could see the other three melee fighters getting ready to gut him, but the injured goblin was waving them away, snarling and growling at them and forcing them to acquiesce. He clearly had a score to settle, and he wanted to collect Markus’ head himself.
It’d only be seconds before he reached him. Markus was stunned; his body felt weak. He sat dazed upon the sand, his entire nervous system a collection of stinging pains, dull aches, and parts of him that he could no longer feel properly at all.
He averted his eyes from the view above, turned his ears away from the chanting of the sadistic crowd.
Was this how he died? Had he fought this hard just to accept his fate now?
No. He’d win. He’d do something. He had to do something. He still had mana in his body, if he could think of an attack to fire out quickly, if he could—
Markus’ eyes scanned his surroundings wildly as he tried and failed to get a hold of his body’s mana. He was stunlocked, too dizzy to concentrate, too anemic to spring back to his feet, and yet…
Markus noted a glint in the sand. It was subtle, but it drew his attention, as near as it was, a singular dark impression against the yellow-white sand, refracting the light of the sun directly into his eyes.
Markus gasped at what he saw laying there right to his side.
The stones… the fucking Essence Stones! He still had the Essence Stones!
Was it too late?
He plucked the darkest one from the ground beside him, knowing that one was the most potent for he’d filled it more than any other. He was sure there was enough in there to bring him to Overcharge, probably enough to heal some of his injuries, too, only…
He clutched the stone, attempting to drain the mana from it, to syphon it into his body, but with how dizzy he still was, with how much the world beat against his skull through each breath he took, he could scarcely transfer more than a few drops at a time, the connection between his consciousness and his mana pool frayed, threatening to slip away entirely at any moment…
Fuck that shit. Markus wasn’t done digging deep. He’d make every last ditch effort he could to get through this shit, and when that didn’t work, he’d go even further, find an even more ridiculous depth to dig to in order to drag his way out of the muck, for that was what it meant to fight destiny, and that was what he signed up for when he resolved to stay breathing.
Markus ate the stone without a second thought, swallowing the golf ball sized amethyst whole.
He felt a pit beneath his stomach threatening to ignite.
The goblin stared into his eyes as it brought forth its blade and swung at Markus’ shoulder…
The blade never made contact.
Markus exploded with mana, his entire body aflame, pushing the goblins back with aura alone as he rose to his aching feet, brandishing his stolen axe.
[Mana Capacity at 366%. Overcharge, E Grade is in effect. Growth increased. All physical stats temporarily increased by 75. Physical damage resistance increased.]
[Mana Poisoning II is in effect.]
//
First Prev Next Next (Patreon)
A/N: Hey! Thanks for reading as always! I absolutely love writing for you guys, seeing your reactions makes my day! Wishing all of you a great weekend, much love!
If you wanna help support me and this story, or you just can't wait for the next chapter, the next eight chapters of this story are available right now on my Patreon!

Disclaimer: I do not speak Korean. This is purely translated by machine with a lot of cleanup afterward. With that in mind, I am open to criticism to improve these translations. Enjoy!
​
Chapter 429
​
「Shall we move in that direction now?」
​
The moment the press conference concluded, Shao Shen, the acting head of security, approached with this query. I nodded in affirmation.
​
"Let's do that. You know where he is?"
​
「Yes, I know. Let's go then.」
​
Guided by Shao Shen, a phalanx of security guards formed a protective circle around me and we commenced a slow march.
​
Meanwhile, pandemonium erupted outside our orderly formation. A tide of broadcasters armed with cameras and microphones surged towards us.
​
「Mr. Jin! Is it true that you are friends with His Royal Highness Prince Felix?」
​
「Jin-san! Jin-san!」
​
You're the real nuisance, buddy. [Note: the character for "san" in Korean phonetically sounds similar to the word for "nuisance" and "troublemaker".]
​
Even though we had just had the press conference, journalists from various countries clung on. Luckily, they could not break through the barrier of the Hunter security guards.
​
Well, there was one particularly tenacious reporter who managed to thrust a microphone in front of me.
​
"Mr. Jin Tae-Kyung! As a fellow Korean, just one interview please..."
​
There are always such people wherever you go.
​
"Ah, yes. Since we're both Korean, please step aside."
​
I was about to breeze past him when I halted, struck by a wave of recognition. I gestured for Shao Shen to allow the journalist through.
​
"Just a moment. Are you with DAS Patch?"
​
"......!"
​
"Yeah, you are. You published an article about me, right?"
​
"No, that's not true."
​
Right, that fucking guy.
​
This was the journalist who had once branded me as 'single since birth' in a viral article. Since then, searching my name online invariably brought up 'Jin Tae-Kyung, forever alone' as a related search term.
​
"Shen."
​
Bewildered by the Korean exchange, Shao Shen looked puzzled.
​
「Yes, Hyung.」
​
"Suppress him."
​
「Yes.」
​
With a firm nod, Shao Shen seized the DAS Patch journalist's wrist.
​
「Sir, I will now confiscate your balance.」
​
"Wait, just a moment!"
​
The commotion had escalated beyond control. The journalist, caught in a surge of force, was hurled into the air, landing amidst the crowd with a crash that sent cameras splintering across the ground. A cacophony of multilingual expletives rained down like a storm.
​
Witnessing this babel of curses, I couldn't help but marvel.
​
"We truly live in a global village."
​
「Eh?」
​
"No, never mind. Let's keep moving."
​
As the police intervened, the crowd parted, opening a pathway.
​
With the crowd's eyes on me and security tight, I made my way to the designated meeting spot — a suite in a five-star hotel reserved for VVIPs.
​
"Johnson."
​
「Oh, Jin. You arrived sooner than I expected?」
​
Magic Johnson, who had been intently studying something, rose to greet me with a warm smile.
​
His giant hand clapped my shoulder as he guided me to a seat.
​
「So, how did the press conference go?」
​
He obviously hadn't seen it. Accepting the beer he offered, I shrugged.
​
"So-so. I just answered the questions the best I could and ended it in 30 minutes."
​
「Haha. The journalists must not have liked that much.」
​
"They probably like me much more than they like you, since I at least held a press conference."
​
Magic Johnson had vanished into his quarters as soon as the conflict concluded.
​
Unlike other S-rank Hunters like Fei Chen and Prince Felix, he had become a recluse, to the extent that rumors of his death were circulating.
​
His only recent public interaction had been a cryptic update on his official SNS account.
​
​
​
I am researching something new.
​
It is as mysterious and magnificent as the victory we have just achieved.
​
​
​
Most people probably didn't understand what that meant and dismissed the message, but I was among the few who understood the depths of his new venture.
​
"So, how did it turn out?"
​
Magic Johnson's lips twitched slightly as he replied,
​
「Well...」
​
"Oh, you were able to do it."
​
「Did I say that?」
​
"You're not hiding your smile very well."
​
「I'm not? Not at all?」
​
What do you mean, not at all?
​
As his eyes brimmed with anticipation, I couldn't suppress a chuckle.
​
"You didn't even like this task at first."
​
「How do you know that when you weren't here? Did Choi tell you that?」
​
"Who else? Right now, it's just me, you, and Mr. Choi who know this secret."
​
「Oh. Well there's something wrong in what Choi told you.」
​
"Something wrong?"
​
「Yes. It wasn't that I disliked this task.」
​
Magic Johnson, having downed a 500ml can of beer in a single gulp, adopted a more grave demeanor.
​
「I was trying to destroy it.」
​
"Haha."
​
「No joke. Imagine if you were in my shoes back then. I almost blew the room to pieces.」
​
"If it were me, I would have destroyed the hotel."
​
Yet, the room and the hotel remained unscathed, a testament to Magic Johnson being a 'Grand Mage.'
​
Mages, driven by an innate curiosity, delve into the unknown, and a Grand Mage, at the pinnacle of both power and knowledge, embodies this trait profoundly.
​
He had embraced the proposal concerning this unprecedented venture.
​
「After hearing Choi's explanation and seeing it myself, I couldn't believe it. This is really...」
​
His words trailed off as he gazed absently at the other end of the room. Then he abruptly shook his head.
​
「No. This isn't right. You should check it out yourself.」
​
"Good thing. I thought I was going to die waiting."
​
Setting aside my half-empty can, I strode confidently across the expansive suite.
​
"Is it here?"
​
Magic Johnson nodded. It’s not surprising for an S-rank Hunter sensitive to the flow of energy to notice something odd in this space.
​
「That's right. You can really feel it?」
​
"At this level, it's really hard not to notice."
​
To an untrained observer, the area appeared ordinary. However, upon entering the room, I had instantly discerned its true nature.
​
This space was shielded by a spell that obscured all sound and vision.
​
「Wait a moment. I'll remove the magic...」
​
Whoosh, screech!
​
Magic Johnson's words were abruptly cut off, his expression shifting to one of surprise.
​
My hand, radiating with Protective Qi, swept through the air, effortlessly severing the layers of spells he had woven.
​
「Jin. What did you...?」
​
Thanks to opening my middle dantian during the fight with the Arch Lich, I could now see the patterns of Qi.
​
Such feats had become routine for me, so I offered no further explanation and simply focused forward.
​
With the spell dissolved, the fabric of space unfolded, revealing a figure concealed behind it.
​
"Ah, eh, ee, oh, oo. Hello. Thank you. Let's cook some rice. I love kimchi."
​
A blonde foreigner, meticulously practicing Korean in front of a full-length mirror while clutching an object, spun around at the sight of my reflection.
​
A brief, practiced smile flickered across his face, reminiscent of a seasoned actor.
​
"You've finally arrived, wicked human."
​
Look at this guy, getting the pronunciation exactly right.
​
For a moment, I contemplated punching him, but I chuckled and responded instead.
​
"Have you gotten handsomer since we last saw each other?"
​
The blonde foreigner, the Skeleton King, replied with a smug voice.
​
"You've gotten uglier since we last saw each other."
​
"......"
​
"Squid-faced human." [Note: squid is a Korean slang for "ugly guy".]
​
"...... You damn bastard."
​
Where on earth did this guy learn Korean?
​
​
​
* * *
​
​
​
「Hmm. Indeed, it's beautiful. There's no evidence of incongruity.」
​
Magic Johnson chuckled with satisfaction, echoing a top-tier plastic surgeon from Gangnam.
​
「Even looking at it again, it's a masterpiece of the era. I must be the first mage in human history to carve magic circles onto the bones of a living Named Monster, right?」
​
It was more than mere self-congratulation; it was the stark reality.
​
The radiant blonde hair, the eerily luminous golden eyes, and a stature of 190 cm — all meticulously crafted to the finest detail, including just the right amount of body hair.
​
Beyond that, the defined muscles, visible veins, and every subtle biological response to each breath or gulp.
​
Only upon intense scrutiny could one detect the abnormality; the Skeleton King appeared utterly human.
​
"...... Wow, it actually worked."
​
I had proposed the idea on a whim, thinking, 'What’s the worst that could happen?' but never anticipated such a flawless transformation.
​
I was just about to touch his blonde hair when...
​
Swoosh.
​
The Skeleton King stepped back, fixing me with a haughty look.
​
"Keep your dirty hands off me. You'll ruin my hair."
​
"......"
​
"Will you take responsibility if I go bald?"
​
This bastard is totally human now...
​
Dumbfounded, I couldn't muster a response. The Skeleton King, unfazed by my silence, admired his reflection in the mirror and smiled smugly.
​
"Hmm. Super handsome."
​
"......Where did you learn to talk like that?"
​
"From the internet."
​
"The internet?"
​
"Yes. I watched it intensely for a week."
​
"You don't happen to have a phone, do you?"
​
"That kind human over there bought me one. Thanks, Johnson."
​
Magic Johnson, having used a translation spell, grinned, evidently satisfied.
​
「Here's to a successful new start, Mr. King.」
​
「Thanks, Johnson.」
​
When did he learn basic English conversation?
​
I turned to confront Magic Johnson.
​
"Did you really buy him a phone?"
​
「Come on, Jin. What's the problem? My youngest daughter is five and she uses a smartphone.」
​
"That's your daughter, Johnson, but this is the Skeleton King."
​
"Wait. Wicked human. Sorry to interrupt this conversation, but I must say this."
​
The Skeleton King cut in with a serious expression.
​
"From now on, call me Stone-King." [Note: I'm not sure what reference the author is making here, but Stone-King is a direct translation of the Korean characters, which were even used phonetically to sound like "Stone-King" in English.]
​
"What bullshit is this? Do you want me to stone you?"
​
"It's my new name. Stone King. Born in Atlanta, Georgia, USA..."
​
I muttered, feeling a headache coming on.
​
"Should I just kill you now?"
​
"Are you planning to kill an American citizen?"
​
"Who's an American citizen, you idiot?"
​
"Sooner or later, I could acquire American nationality."
​
"You ought to be writing a web novel on KakaoPage with lines like that. Who says this kind of bullshit?"
​
Magic Johnson bashfully lifted his hand.
​
「Jin, with my connections, it's entirely possible...」
​
"Aaaaah!"
​
The absurdity nearly drove me to madness.
​
Clutching my throbbing forehead, I turned to Magic Johnson.
​
"Excuse me, Johnson."
​
「Hmm?」
​
"What I asked for through Mr. Choi was just to make him look like a human."
​
「Ah, of course. It was his desperate request, wasn't it?」
​
This whole scenario had unfolded shortly after my awakening, spurred by the Skeleton King’s vehement demands.
​
He had lamented about the oppressive confines of the Inventory where he’d been held.
​
Given his crucial role in the battle, his request seemed reasonable from the perspectives of both Mr. Choi and myself.
​
'He had protected Mr. Choi and Shao Shen during the battle with Lei Fei, and it was also thanks to him that I was able to defeat the Arch Lich.'
​
It was about time I reciprocated the Skeleton King’s efforts.
​
Additionally, having him in a human guise would simplify many things.
​
No longer would we need to conceal his true form, and he could even secure a contract with the Peace Guild.
​
But...
​
"The appearance I described was that of an Asian, wasn't it? No matter how many foreigners there are in Korea, they still stand out. Especially with looks like this."
​
Before Magic Johnson could respond, the Skeleton King spoke up assertively.
​
"I asked for it to be changed."
​
"What? Why?"
​
"I saw it on the internet. Handsome white men are popular everywhere in the world."
​
"......And why does that matter?"
​
"I’d like to try dating."
​
"Oh, my God."
​
Magic Johnson offered a consoling pat on my shoulder, which was heavy with the weight of exasperated sighs.
​
「It's okay, Jin.」
​
"What do you mean, it's okay? Do you know how scary social media is these days? What if netizens find out and say he's not born in Atlanta, Georgia, but is a native of the demon world? Does that even make sense? Why would you agree to such a request, Johnson?"
​
「I wanted to create a face that I'd enjoy looking at.」
​
"What?"
​
「That face is my ideal type.」
​
No, fuck...
​
Just then, a comment that shredded my last thread of patience reached my ears.
​
"Do you think it's unfair, squid-face?"
​
"Hey, you damn bastard!"
​
Snap!
​
In an instant, I lunged and landed a solid punch atop his head.
​
He groaned, blood gushing from his mouth — likely because he had bitten his tongue.
​
Blood, really? Was this yet another trick of magic? It was impressively executed.
​
"Die! Die!"
​
"Ack! Argh!"
​
The melee escalated as our hefty figures tumbled across the room, plunging it into chaos.
​
During the scuffle, a desk was upended, its collapse sending a cascade of documents Magic Johnson had been reviewing flying across my face.
​
"Wait, stop! Wicked human! I can't see anything!"
​
"You need to correct your manners today..."
​
But then, I froze.
​
Among the papers smothering my face, I spotted patterns — strange yet familiar.
​
'This is...'
​
I left the Skeleton King floundering as I stood and seized the sheet emblazoned with the pattern.
​
'Sichuan.'
​
Without a doubt.
​
It was indeed the pattern I had seen in Sichuan.
​
Previous Table of Contents Next