Having satiated his hunger before Inari arrived, Carreau waited with his cheek resting against his knuckles for his guests to finish. His golden eyes stared listlessly at the door as if waiting for company that would never arrive, though it was plain his thoughts -though themselves inscrutable- were elsewhere. Compared to his earlier self, he seemed weary, or perhaps unhappy. When Lily finished her food and spoke to him, he held his head up and returned his hand to his lap. If her question seemed obvious, he gave no indication. “Well, I planned to assign however many elite fighters I can spare to fight alongside you. In the interest of demonstrating my seriousness about our agreement and my earlier statement I thought I'd take an active role and join you as well.” With his talons he scratched at the feathers around his neck. “By the way, do you have any way to find your next opponent? I recall seeing a little robot of some kind near you before your fight with the monster, but it occurs to me that it hasn't been around since then.”



Samuel's fingers closed around something bizarre, not quite solid, but inclined to hold its shape and move like one, a little bit like jelly if less inclined to squirm out of the hand that grabbed it and fall apart. In fact, the thing the man clutched did move, wriggling ever-so-softly, though this did not hinder his ability to pick it up. When he retrieved it from his pocket and held it up for inspection under the early evening's fading light, he beheld an object utterly unlike any he had ever seen before, as alien as it was unnerving.

A disgusting, ghostly apparition sat upon his palm, every few moments giving a horrendous twitch. It resembled several nightmarish corvids if those pitiable birds had been fused together and mixed around; different parts stuck out in every direction in a loathsome, haphazard fashion. One got the impression in very short order that this malformed wretch should never have existed at all—yet, when Sam examined it, it struck him as both natural and, though a touch repulsive, familiar. If anything, the only true unease it caused him was a subtle sense of loss, like bringing it out into the open put it in danger, and that it held some kind of hidden value best kept secret.

For the mysterious, unflinching vendor, however, the abomination's value was plain to see. “Aaaah, yes! Even more fascinating than I pictured. Please, allow me to relieve you of it. It might inspire funny feelings in you just now, like you should not be giving it up, but it is a deception. Like a parasite, it tries to manipulate to keep you from removing it. Remember that its riddance is your ultimate want.” He gave a guttural laugh, spreading his hands. “And I do not blame you, either! Nasty thing like that, a terrible weight to carry.”

While Pithy had suggested they find a place to rest, actually settling on a specific choice was difficult for her. While the see-through glass on the first floor of a good portion of the surrounding edifices, paired with the signs with names for the nearby establishments gave her some clue as to their purpose, she was not familiar enough with this otherworldly city’s infrastructure to decide on the best place to set camp.

If by shelter one meant walls and a ceiling over one’s head, she was surrounded by an abandoned landscape worth of such spaces. However, the dull ache from the many bruises she had accumulated that day pleaded for her not to relax her standards to such a degree.

One building in particular caught her attention, its unusual façade setting it apart from the more utilitarian buildings surrounding it. The exterior walls were composed of a multitude of erratically aligned blocks and cylinders of different colors and sizes, resulting in a dizzying collage readily drew one’s attention.

Peering into the windows, Pithy’s visible eye widened. Numerous books rested over display cases aimed at passerby’s, but the amount paled in comparison to the shelves upon shelves of tomes lining the walls of the building’s interior. Her eyes narrowed as she began skimming the titles of the closest tomes.

No, that is not so strange. I already had a chance to see how plentiful this kind of parchment is in this realm. Yet… Seeing all those books in one place, for sale of all things, if the signs for offers and discounts on the display could be trusted, still managed to stun her.

“Hey! Pithy!”

The sorceress blinked, Dew’s voice breaking through the spell. She turned at his call and saw him standing on the opposite side of the street where the mysterious Kno One had taken on the appearance of a long-gone building.

“What is it?” She called back as she strode towards him.

He pointed his thumb over his shoulder towards a nearby building. “We got some apartment buildings over here…” He paused. “You got those where you’re from, or do I have to explain?”

Pithy shook her head.

“Well, if we’re looking to rest for a while, the place looks nice. I’m guessing there must be some rooms that are already furnished too and since no one’s really here to stop us…”

“We can make ourselves at home?” she completed. She glanced at his face, searching his expression. The fact that he seemed to be looking for her permission given the way he had behaved towards her throughout the day felt mildly disquieting, but the prospect of a proper bed was terribly attractive. “Fine, let us search through these. There is something we should do first, that said.”

“What?”

With a tilt of her head, Pithy gestured towards the lazily humming drone hovering nearby.

---

In a white, snow-strewn landscape, a small, furred creature continued to trudge over the white. The blue cloak it wore dragged over the ground, much too large for its petite stature, but the warmth it provided was invaluable. Whenever a gust of wind swept over the featureless plain, pulling away at the cover, the creature immediately began to shiver.

Those’re getting more’n more common too, Jo found herself thinking. She was not sure for how long she had been in the snow. Neither was she certain if it was truly the weather that had taken a turn for the worst, or it was simply her disposition. The foggy landscape around her drained at her enthusiasm with its monotony.

However, even as she prepared for the next thousand steps forward into nothingness, something came into her field of vision. It was a silhouette at first, large, but little more than a dark splotch in the distance, faint enough through the mist that she wondered if she was merely hallucinating.

But as she approached, the figure darkened, and gathered a shape. Large, cylindrical, with shapes sprouting off from its top like frozen tentacles. As she approached, Jo realized that she was looking at a tree and its bare branches, the trunk bizarrely wide for its stature, which did not go higher than a two-storied house. In fact, she quickly made out a dim light coming out from a hole in the trunk—a window—and grooves that indicated a presence of a door.

If I weren’t seeing things a’fore now I sure am. Yet it was not the strangest thing she had seen in this place—or in her previous life at that—and the fact that it was the only thing she had seen in what must have been days filled her with relief.

As she moved closer, the snow thinned under her feet, revealing a dirt path. Another detail she had missed due to her fixation with the tree-house also became apparent then. Small mounds of snow littered surroundings of the house, flanking the road. There were enough that she did not bother counting them.

What she did count, was the single hole that remained empty even while exposed to the elements. It was the farthest out, nearest to the path, and it did much to elucidate the meaning behind the surrounding mounds. It killed what budding enthusiasm she had mustered.

She had almost reached the doorway when her feet tapped against something. Unexpected discomfort and jingling drew her gaze downwards, to a diminutive silver bell. Jo frowned and bent to pick it up. It was simple and unadorned, small enough to fit in her paw—perhaps a child’s toy. Without putting much thought into the action, she gave it a small shake.

A wave of dizziness suddenly assaulted her, threatening to knock her off her feet.

Then it was gone, as quickly as it had come. She shook her head and glared at her surroundings, but the tree and mounds remained as they had been. After a moment’s consideration, she stepped towards the door. The moment she touched its handle, she froze.

Voices were coming from within. She instinctively pressed an ear against the wood.

There were two voices. One was light and higher pitched, bringing a young woman to mind, while the other was steadier and deeper, the voice of a man. The two spoke in a strange, sing-song language she could swear she had never heard before, and yet she found she could understand every word that seeped through the door.

“Is that truly for the best?” asked the woman’s voice.

“I do not know” answered the man, “but it is all we can do. Last time I spoke to the sage, she said she would not be coming again.”

“What? Why? She always seems better after a session.”

“‘Seems’ is the right word,” the tone took a cast of despairing humor. “According to her, the tonics and enchantments she prepares are no longer having an effect. Just a placebo. She said that if all that could be done was to keep a girl company—“

“Her family would be better suited.” The younger voice finished somberly. “This must be more difficult for her than I realized.”

“You speak of the sage? It is very like you to take her reservations into account.” The man sighed. “But I would not fault you for being angry.”

“How could I be? She has failed. The shame burns her, and thus she cannot bear to look upon those who depended on her. Why cast judgment when her own cuts deepest?”

There was a long pause, heavy with the sense that the man had held back an instinctive response. “Yes,” he said eventually. “You are right, of course, ■■■■■.”

The one behind the door frowned. The hell was that?

“I'm glad you think so. It's hard to tell, as of late.”

“Indeed.” Another pause. “She cannot be a part of the ceremony.”

It should have meant little to her, but something in the eavesdropper’s chest twisted. Shock, mixed with a foreign sense of outrage began to fill her, rooting her on her spot.

“...does Mother agree?”

“Yes. The Circle would not stand for it either.”

“But...” the voice struggled for the first time. “This is all she has been looking forward. She has worked harder than anyone else even in her state!”

“She is in no position to assume the duties required, not anymore.”

“You know that isn’t the point!”

There was a sound of footsteps as one of the room’s occupants began to pace. She knew from the weig—from the familiar footfalls—that it was the ma—the father.

“We have a responsibility we cannot turn away from. Our duties cannot be twisted for our convenience. Should we allow her to become a part of the rite, it will destroy the one that will bond with her when the time comes. And it shall come soon. Do you understand?”

The other voice was quiet.

“■■■■■?”

“I understand.”

“Good.” The man sighed. “She lasted for longer than we thought. That must be worth something.”

“Five winters more. A pittance.”

“Yes...”

At that, the pair fell silent. Confusion at the contents of the conversation whirled within the eavesdropper’s mind, but another, deeper part of her wailed in grief she could not understand, tinging her every questioning thought. Who were they talking about? What was this tightness in her chest, this pressure behind her eyes as though she might burst to tears?

It was the sound of footfalls that brought her out of her reverie. With a start of panic, she realized that one of the room’s occupants was heading for the door she was hiding behind. She did not know why, but her heart quivered at the thought of facing those inside. She needed to leave, return to her bed as fast as possible.

Except, there was no bed to return to—and that thought belonged to someone else in the first place. The white expanse remained behind her, an invitation to oblivion was all she needed to realize that. The encroaching thoughts belonged to a different person, in a different place and different time. So she quashed the fearful impulse—the phantom of memory urging her to follow its script—and she finally twisted the door handle.

---

With the drone safely stashed inside Dew’s pocket dimension where it could not get in the way, the duo, with the large snake creature trailing behind them, made their way into the building.

The entrance was lit warmly, the sources of illumination affixed to the ceiling and of the same kind as Pithy had seen in most other establishments she had seen since coming to this city. The walls were smooth stone, either marble or polished granite, and had an orangish hue that matched the vibrant red carpet that led past the reception’s desk.

Dew had quickly moved behind it when the group pushed through the glass doors.

“Lower floors only?” he asked as he ducked under the counter. Almost immediately she heard the sound of drawers opening, then quickly being closed.

“Yes. It will make leaving this place easier should the need arise.” Pithy leaned over the short barrier, getting a glimpse of the top of Dew’s head. “You’re certain they’ll have spare keys back there?”

“Yeah, just need to see which drawer is locked… aha!” Something out of sight rattled as whatever handle the man had pulled on resisted his efforts. “Gimme a second, I can get it open.”

Pithy let out an unconvinced grunt and stepped away from the counter, leaving Dew to his work. Swinging herself around, she found herself tensing as her gaze fell on the plant monster that had taken to following them.

The tight flowerbuds that passed for its eyes seemed to be angled squarely at her, though Pithy herself suspected those to be a simple mimicry and the creature was aware of its surroundings through other, likely arcane methods.

Frowning, she lifted the sheathed cutlass she had taken from Bonesword, then slowly waved it before the creature, prompting it to follow the motion in an undulating dance. Do you focus on the movement, as a normal snake would? Or does this catch your attention because the blade belonged to your master?

“Say,” came Dew’s voice from under the desk. “I almost forgot, what with you accidentally killing the skeleton warrior, but I wanted to ask why you let Nero go.”

The snake’s dance slowed, a sibilant sound escaping its facsimile mouth. Pithy stilled her arm, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that there were no guarantees that this creature’s freedom had been affected by the taking of its master’s soul. A moment later however, the beast seemed to lose interest, turning and slithering off towards one of the lobby’s corners.

“I… see,” she finally answered, warily eyeing the plant monster.

After the pause that followed, where only a soft sound like clicking metal could be heard from behind the reception’s desk, Dew prompted, “So?”

“So?”

“I’m asking a question here.”

“Were you not making a statement?”

“You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?” he groused, a touch of annoyance seeping into his tone. After he had so tactlessly baited the snake, Pithy was not exactly sympathetic. “Fine. Why did you let him go? You didn’t believe him when he said he was going to go home, did you? He did say he planned to stop the Crucible, so he’ll probably get in your way later anyway.”

Pithy did not answer immediately. She debated whether it was worthwhile giving an answer at all, in fact, but after a moment, she found herself speaking regardless, turning back towards the counter.

“I am not so certain. As much as I hate to admit it, he had a chance to kill us when we were at his tower, but he did not attempt to do so. Did he not have it in him to bloody his hands?” She sighed wearily. “If there are indeed other College members at large attacking the other participants, he does not need to. This situation is a mess, Dew. I left him to his own devices in the hopes that he would interfere with whatever the College has planned.”

“Huh… I kind of see what you’re doing.” Dew tilted his head up from his work just high enough that he could make out his curious eyes looking up at her. “Sounds like it will come back to bite you in the ass later, though.”

“Yes,” Pithy agreed, softly.

She knew that there was no guarantee that Nero would not eventually stand in her way again. Even Dew could see through to that fact, but that hole in her reasoning was only natural. After all, the truth of the matter was that these were simply justifications she had fashioned after the fact.

The truth is that, while I was contemplating that my wish may have been already taken from me, the idea of cutting short yet another life for no reason at all felt like driving a knife through my chest.

It seemed that Dew’s thoughts had turned to a similar direction, for after a moment he looked back down and off-handedly asked, “So what happens if it turns out the College staff actually managed to kill another competitor?”

Pithy gathered herself. “It is my place to worry about that. Until we know for certain, we simply carry on as we have today.”

“Honestly, I’m more afraid of how you’ll react if that happens.”

Pithy let out an unladylike grunt. She chose to ignore that comment. “Are you done with that lock?”

“Almost. In fact—” There was a cracking sound. “—uh… never mind. I guess I didn’t level that skill as much as I could’ve.” He rose and brought his hands to his pocket. Where there had been nothing before, an iron crow suddenly came into existence. “Left my gravity gun at home, but I guess this will do.”

With a practiced motion, Dew slid the bar into place and pushed, a crack and a sound of sliding metal revealing his success. Pithy gave him a half-lidded look, half convinced that the man had been delaying the matter simply to hold that conversation with her while there was a barrier between them.

“And you only want the keys for the first floor…” Dew’s eyes had begun to glaze over even before the sentence had come out of his mouth. He grunted. “Know what? I’m just bringing the whole drawer with.”

Pithy shrugged as the box disappeared into Dew’s pockets and he vaulted over the counter. Still full of energy, this one.

“Come,” she said, turning towards the door with the ‘Stairs’ sign attached to it. The snake lying nearby rose its head at the command, then followed the pair as they continued up into the apartments.

Juniper and Erina wandered the streets of the city mostly in silence, making their way back to where the battle of their partners had begun. In the distance the two could hear the grunts and yelling that signalled they were approaching ever closer. Erina was the first to break the silence. “So, have you always been able to see ghosts, or did you need training for that?”

Juniper considered the question for a moment, having to actually think it through. “Both, and neither, you could say. I was raised in my art from earliest memory, so there is no distinction of the two. Not in accordance with my past.”

“Huh. That’s… Kinda deep?” The kitsune wasn’t entirely certain herself, but it felt that way. “I’ve been able to see things nobody else could for as long as I have been alive, which is quite a considerable number of years.”

“And just how many is ‘considerable?’” the shrine maiden replied, stepping around a puddle of recent rainwater.

“I lost track of the exact number-” Erina gave pause long enough to hop over the same puddle. “-But it was a few hundred years ago. About two or three.”

“Surely you jest.” Juniper turned her head to raise an eyebrow at her walking companion. Erina only gave a playful smile back.

“Nope!”

Juniper’s lips slowly twitched up into a small smile of her own. “Then it would be in good form to apologize for the child comment I had made earlier. You may possess some genuine wisdom yet--despite the company you keep.”

“Thanks!”

I will remember to be offended at a more appropriate time, came the faint whisper of Bend’s words.

“I’m just glad we realized that there was no need to get into a fight,” Erina continued. “Let the meatheads duke it out; it’s not like we have anything else to los-Whaaaaaaaaat?” The two spiritualists stumbled to a stop as they rounded the street corner, the battle between their partners finally coming into view.

Juniper cocked her head. “Your partner has the ability to duplicate himself?” she asked with a more observational tone.

Erina shook her head. “No. These uh, they must be fakes. Made from… _Cereal.”

“Hm? What’s that now?” Juniper prodded.

A little more loudly, but still somewhat sheepish, Erina answered, “_Cereal.”

Juniper’s face scrunched up, the bizarre statement finally registering. “You said cereal?”

Erina could only nod her head. Runch, this is so ridiculously stupid. I love it!

---

---

Cyril tried to pinpoint where the voice had come from, listening intently. Frustratingly he could not determine which of the many pirates had spoken. Somehow his voice was echoing around the many duplicates, as though each of these “mascot surprises” was bouncing the sound around, making it nigh impossible to find the origin. This whole ordeal, this battle, it was a farce. A tremendous waste of time and energy, one great big joke. Cyril’s mustache curled with his lips, reflecting the absolute loathing he had for the situation.

The knight’s mind fought through his anger. Remain calm, observant, and calculative. Screw be damned, he was still a fine warrior with an excellent head for strategy. First, Runch wasn’t going to be in front of him. That would ruin any chance that his surprise attack could work, as being in plain sight meant Cyril would just be able to defend as normal. That meant the real Runch had to be behind him, or off to the side. The vanguard quickly pivoted around, glaive extended just in case the pirate was already creeping up behind.

The axe head of his weapon found itself lodged into a cereal duplicate, one which had its hands raised, sword in hand, mocking an overhead strike. With a grunt and a scoff, Cyril pulled his glaive from the statue, causing it to collapse in a heap of grain and gooey red insides. A fruity, flower-like scent wafted up. Pleasant though it was, he had no time to stop and smell the metaphorical roses. Second, the pirate realized very much that Cyril was superior in close-range combat. It would have been foolish to place himself so close, especially with the injuries already suffered. Therefore, the duplicates nearby he could afford to disregard.

Cyril focused his gaze on the pirates near the back. One of these had to be his real opponent, but which one? Third, Runch had to have a clear shot at him, some vantage point unobstructed by the duplicates. Only two in sight fit that description, so Runch had to be one of them. Fourth, Runch would have to attack with his pistol, or the outlandish cereal powers he possessed. Of the two candidates, one held his ridiculous sword forward in a fencing position. The second pointed a pistol right for Cyril’s position.

You thought you were clever, but I found you!

Cyril’s anger flared as he focused on his designated target. Not wanting to give Runch the chance to mount a defense in the time it would take to close in, the vanguard instead kicked up a loose stone from the ground and caught it in his right hand. He wound up his arm then hurled it straight for the target, aiming for center of mass. The stone collided with impressive force, knocking over… Not Runch. BOOM!

The cereal duplicate violently exploded soon as it struck the ground, blasting the nearby cereal statues to smithereens. For several meters around it rained grain and some sort of red jelly, the same that had been inside the first statue Cyril chopped apart. A fruity scent began to permeate the area, growing stronger. Damn him!

He wouldn’t have placed himself near an explosive duplicate… Which means-!

Sir Boniface wasted no time in pivoting around, performing his second one-eighty, his polearm at the ready. Behind him was… Nothing? Nothing had changed at all. The knight scanned each statue in turn, double checking his memory but each time he double checked the result was exactly the same: none of them had moved. Was this all a game to that pirate? Did he hope to psych Cyril out, to overcome the good knight with paranoia? Cyril seethed, overwhelmed with revulsion. This criminal seemed to have gained a great deal of information on him, but if he thought he could break Cyril’s iron will like this, then the pirate would be sorely mistaken.

It would have been easy to wade into the crowd and cut down the duplicates with impunity. Such a course was tempting, admittedly, but foolhardy. There was no telling how many were made with explosives, or what other kinds of traps lie in wait. This tactic was a cowardly one. So be it. If the pirate wanted to hide, then let him hide. He would meet the business end of Cyril’s glaive one way or another, and quite soon. The trick was to expose him.

Determining that he need only repeat his previous tactic, Cyril kicked up another stone. This one he hurled with even greater force, empowering its velocity with the sheen. It struck one of the Runch’s at the far end of the grouping, smashing the head clean off. It splattered to the ground, spilling out red jelly. No time to waste in contemplation, he attacked the next, and the next, each of those splattering the strong-scented jelly as well. Then he struck a fourth, and it exploded with great force, causing more raining cereal. His opponent couldn’t have been any of them near that blast radius, so Cyril turned ninety degrees to repeat the process.

Jelly. Jelly. Explosion. Not on this side. Opposite direction, go. Jelly. Explosion. Wait, what? That covered all four cardinal directions around him and Runch was nowhere to be found! Did that pirate really take the place of a duplicate close enough to engage in melee? No, that would have been an idiotic move on his part. That left only one possibility.

“Reveal yourself! I’ve figured out your trick, and none of these are you! I hadn’t taken you for a coward!” The knight braced himself for combat, eyes scanning all around for where his opponent could come from. One of the buildings nearby? Hidden behind a corner? This infernal scent wafting through the air was making it difficult to concentrate! Smell! That’s when epiphany struck! Cyril had been looking in all the wrong places! He lowered his gaze to a nearby manhole cover.

Certain he had guessed correctly, the knight spun his glaive around to pry open the portal with the tip of his weapon’s shaft. With a mighty heave, he tossed the large iron disk aside. No sooner had it struck the ground with a mighty CLANG did Runch emerge from his hiding place, like a spider leaping up from its hole. The cereal killer was covered in muck and grime, adorned in a jacket of sewage detritus. He landed with the manhole between the two of them, but chose to skip back a few extra steps regardless.

“Omnomnom! Oh well! I guess you found out my plan!” He gave a shrug in a manner that seemed to say “oh well” before drawing the spoonsaber and holding it forward. “En garde!”

Cyril wasted no time charging forward, accelerating with the sheen. His rage, his frustration, he was simply over this foolish battle. He aimed the tip of his blade for Runch’s midsection for a lethal wound. This enemy had already proven supernaturally resilient, and his arsenal of tricks could no longer be underestimated. If he died, he died.

But he didn’t die. Clang! Runch caught the glaive with his spoonsaber, locking the weapons together. Unexpected, but not too troublesome. The vanguard pulled his weapon back, then thrust forward with all his strength! Clang! What? Runch parried the attack again? Cyril forcibly regained his composure and pulled back in order to let loose a flurry thrusts, each one empowered by his sheen to supernatural speeds! Yet one by one each blow was parried aside or dodged by Runch, who had somehow gained a tremendous acceleration himself!

Runch smiled joyously as he weaved around Cyril’s attacks. He was not a violent man by nature, but if pressed he had to admit he was enjoying the thrill and adrenaline of this bout.

Even when he uses his sheen, his movements are quite sluggish compared to what they were before being exposed to my PM Relaxation recipe! It’s a good thing this sewage is blocking the sleep-inducing scent, or I’d already be hankering for a nap myself!

There is no way he has gained enough speed to overtake me! What treachery has unfolded here?

In order to remain vigilant, Cyril had to forcibly stifle a yawn. Wait, a yawn? In the middle of battle?! Just like that, it clicked in the knight’s head, not working as sluggish as his own body. Runch had not become any faster; he had become slower. Tired. Drowsy, more specifically. The knight decided that he needed to take a moment to fall back, leaping a few meters away.

“You’ve spent too much time in the aroma of my PM Relaxation, Sir Boniface,” Runch posited, holding his weapon forward. “Like a child wanting to stay awake all night, you cannot help the feeling of sleep that shall overtake you. There is no dishonor in surrender now that I can best you even in melee combat.”

Those words of surrender stung the knight’s pride, but they wouldn’t hurt nearly as much as what he was about to do. Cyril detached his shield from where it locked in place on his arm and revved the engine within. Small metal teeth along the edge began to spin at an alarming rate, reflecting the light in a brilliant display of colors, which shined on through the thin red mist of Runch’s PM Relaxation. He locked eyes with the pirate, determination welling up within like a dam ready to burst.

“Never surrender.”

His next words were unintelligible, as the knight swiped the whirling chainsaw shield across an exposed portion of his armor, the teeth biting into the flesh, shredding meat and skin to pieces. A jolt of pain roused the vanguard from his lethargy, adrenaline surging like it hadn’t before. Then he charged forward, sheen and all.

Runch’s mouth was open and agape, his eyes practically bulging out from their sockets. He could not believe what he was seeing! The amount of raw will and conviction held by his opponent could scarcely be compared! And due to his own wonder, Runch found himself caught off guard at the reawakened onslaught of his opponent. Pain rippled through his body like his own blood, the saw teeth tearing across his chest and leaving a deep, gaping wound. On the upswing Cyril even managed to slice off an inch and a half of Runch’s left-side mustache.

“URK!” The pirate stumbled back, blood draining from the wound, but Cyril refused to let up and swung his halberd from the right side. “Bori bori grenade!” A single small pellet escaped the Cereal Killer’s open palm, colliding with the ground between both combatants milliseconds before the polearm made contact. The explosion was fast, kicking up great amounts of dust...

Samuel's stomach lurched as soon as he saw what he had just pulled from his pocket. Not because of the disgust he held for the thing itself, but for what it meant that he was holding it in the palm of his hand. Somehow this filthy person, this thing could recognize and manifest the Murder. But how was such a thing possible? Samuel could not detect anything supernatural about the man. Cautious amusement rot away almost instantaneously, becoming something putrid. The disgust Sam had was for this bizarre merchant. He could not bring himself to trust this cretin. Not under these circumstances. Samuel placed the Murder back into his pocket, where hopefully it would take its rightful place.

"I don't know who the fuck you are," Sam spat, "But you are asking me to give you my soul. I don't want to be a monster, but without my soul I'm a husk. You disgusting, filthy demon, I shall not be the victim of your Faustian pact today!" He made sure to maintain eye contact the entire time, calling forth the primal fears from the souls of all mankind. Whatever this creature was, Samuel was going to ensure that he felt the guilt of thousands. He would ensure this merchant understood that he Deserves This.

The haze surrounding Cyril grew dark and gray—dust in the air. He let the force of his swing peter out, knowing it would hit nothing, then with a last, explosive burst of energy lashed out in a silver spin attack. Away from the whirling knight the dust peeled away, but it left behind a man who, after coming to a halt, could scarcely stand.

A short distance away, the bloodied pirate stood with the barrel of his flintlock trained on Cyril's unprotected skull. The pain on his face mixed with pity, for he knew as well as the vanguard that adrenaline cured fatigue as well as determination cured agony. Cyril's ruinous stance told Runch of the near-fulfillment of the prophecy in his journal; that after extended periods of berserk fighting that the knight would reach his limit. The act of carving that hideous gash into himself did not erect a mental barrier to keep back the exhaustion -induced by both his frenetic style and by the pirate's gaseous subterfuge- that plagued him, but instead revealed that after that last strain there remained no more adrenaline in reserve. “Uuuugh....”

On the sidelines, Juniper clenched her fist. While both combatants sported terrible wounds, only one stood fighting-fit. The other leaned on the shaft of his halberd with both hands, legs splayed, the potent cocktail of agony and fatigue that coursed through him clouding his mind almost as badly as it wracked his body. His bold declaration moments ago rung hollow now. Could he really be the man who beat her before? He looked so pitiful. Yet, for reasons she couldn't quite place, the shrine maiden felt like he could still win, like one more inch of strength remained in him, one inch of nobility in the face of defeat. “Hey! You're not looking so good. I better not get my soul taken again.”

The Cereal Killer said nothing, though his hesitation to fire upon Cyril suggested that his ultimatum from a moment ago still held, despite the dreadful injury he received. Cyril, glaring at him through beads of stinging sweat and strands of thick hair, thanked him for that in silence. He knew that he hated this man, and would never concede to him, but he knew also that this pirate harbored a strain of that chivalrous honor he once admired. His body, alive with spasms, felt close to numb. It wouldn't be long now before he could not fight, and the pirate would have his soul. The idea infuriated him, and for a moment his mind slipped, making him wonder if Juniper felt the same rage. To have a part one oneself owned by another...

”How do you do it?”

Taken aback, Cyril gave a coarse sputter. Runch could see the questioning in his foe's eyes, and elaborated. ”That determination. Pardon me for saying so, but you don't seem driven by heroism or honor, and you don't see the type to draw power from friendship and camaraderie. Even before we fought, you sounded weary of whatever war it is you're waging. What drives you on?”

More precious seconds to try in vain to rest suited Cyril, who decided to put his battle focus on hold and answer. In fact, he felt compelled to, for it stung him that after all this Runch didn't understand. “I keep fighting,” he uttered, voice guttural, “Because my life is worthless. One body...weak and momentary...dead, buried, forgotten. But an idea...to banish evil...to bring safety and freedom.” Breathing deeply, the vanguard fought to steady himself, and to stand a little higher. “Peace. It can't be broken, or killed. Peace is stronger, more important...than pride.” He brought his shield up. “Or pain.” He turned his glaive upside-down. “Or death!”

Silver overtook him, picking him up and yanking him, puppet-like, at an angle. Runch's shot whizzed by as he zigged to the left, and the next instant he zagged to the right, approaching in a path shaped like a lightning bolt. Then he blasted left again, and instead of a thrust to the shoulder as he expected, Runch took a solid kick to the hip and flew backward. “Rrrah!” Cyril hurled his shield like a disc after the retreating body that struck him in midair and bounced off. Sent spinning by the hit, Runch twisted about just in time to raise a Bori Bori Pillar to lift him up out of the way of his enemy's thrown polearm, and once inside the cereal tower the weapon caught fast.

Without waiting a moment Runch threw himself from his perch toward the vanguard, holding out his hand as he fell. ”Bori Bori Hellberry Blast!” A plume of fire exploded in front of the haggard knight as he snatched his shield, staggering him. Runch landed and rushed forward, striking with an upward Bori Bori Greave kick that carried him two feet into the air, which he followed with a second kick just like it. Bori Bori Cannon: Mush Mellow Recipe!” A giant white blob shot out of his palm and stuck to the ground where he expected Cyril to land.

Sure enough, the vanguard plopped square in the center and sunk in. ”Bori Bori Jet Insta-pop! The pirate's cereal greaves exploded off him, propelling him into position. He thrust his spoonsaber skyward and cried, ”Set sail! Bori Bori Emergency Oar!” A stream of water-resistant oats snaked out across his weapon, building up and extending until he gripped a giant version of the spoonsaber, barely balanced above his head. From there, the slightest effort sent the tremendous weapon on its way, and gravity did the rest.

WHAM

Marshmellow splattered in every direction. When Runch landed, he could see the damage. Curling up into the fetal position with legs held close and shield across upper body preserved the vanguard's upper half, but neither leg seemed quite right, and though Cyril stirred, he did not stand. Biting his lip through the pain, he hefted himself into a kneeling position atop his useless legs.

It is finished.

Runch began to walk forward, reloading his pistol with a new cereal bullet as he did. “I suppose I don't need to ask,” he said through a smile.

A gesture of respect, in this moment of all moments. In reply, Cyril yanked the throttle on his shield again, starting the saw. He then held his hands to his head, obscuring it with his shield.

One chance. Can't miss this

There came a clicking noise, and a flash of silver. Though he thought himself ready, Runch did not anticipate the shield thrown vertically at the cobblestone to bounce back up and slam into his bloody chest. ”Kuh! Not again!” The return angle of the shield sent it right back into Cyril's clutches, and like a gleaming comet he shot forward, sliding on his armored shins as he span. The blade whirled around, a cyclone of death, until its wielder came into striking distance of the Cereal Killer's calves.

Instead of tearing into cloth, flesh, and bone, however, the glittering sawblade met rock-hard cereal, and ground to a halt.

Cyril stared with wide eyes. Armor!? I saw his greaves blow off! He glanced up, jaw slack, just in time to see Runch swing the flat of the spoonsaber into the side of his head. Then, he saw nothing at all.



The moment a dread aura began to stir, the corpulent merchant screwed his eyes shut. His grin, never pleasant, grew even more leering as Samuel's venom filled the air. Malevolence began to flood out from the nightmarish man, despite the lack of eye contact he aimed for, but if the vendor felt as much of an ounce of it he appeared frustratingly discreet about it. Moments passed, guilt and darkness undulating in a wretched miasma, but the ghoulish trinket seller did not react.

“Huh huh huh!” He chortled. “Wondering why I am not grovelling? Huh huh! Make no mistake, Mr. Raven, you are quite the terror among men. This Horror of yours is potent indeed. But there are deeper fears still, fears that seldom occur to man. Perhaps one day I will show you.”

When the merchant opened his mouth, there came a whiteness. Without a luster of its own, it did not seem to be light, but rather a simple, stark nothingness. It rippled across the Street Mall, wiping away every brick, every fiber, every mote of dust. For a second, there was nothing at all.

Then the scene remade itself, returning to the way it was before, albeit with two anomalies. Two puddles of dull whiteness lay on the pavement a short ways away, one next to the other. As Samuel watched, their surfaces stirred, and thin strands like roots or stripes of paper rose from them. Over a span of mere moments the two groups knit themselves into two identical shapes, which after a moment recolored themselves to make two pale women, cloaked in black and bearing three pairs of arms. Each held a sniper rifle, a pistol, and two knives, and as one they aimed at Samuel, spread apart, and started to back away.

"It likely stayed outside of your keep," Lily replied, glancing over to where she knew the gates were located. "My guess is whatever defences you have over this... place has kept it from entering." She turned back to Carreau, making a point to meet his eyes as she spoke. "'Unless you are not invited you cannot cross the threshold', no? Not unheard of in my world."

Brucie nodded along from beside her, spoon still in his mouth. He had almost chewed it in half. "She's right," he said and took the spoon out of his mouth, prompting Lily to swivel one of her ears his way. He waved the spoon vaguely in the same direction she had looked earlier. "Saw it hovering just outside the gates. Whirrin' and spinning." He made brief circle motions with the spoon, the bowl-like half bending ever so slightly where his teeth had marked it earlier.

He's paying attention. Maybe I should reassess my opinion of him? Lily noted, before letting her ears both rotate towards Carreau once again. She did hear Brucie start scooping up a third serving of the stew but didn't pay it any mind, though she did feel a rustle from between her tails when she heard the plate be set on the floor, with sounds of eating that sounded suspiciously like those from a small dog following soon after. She didn't fight the upward twitch of her lips, but she only let it stay for moments before her thoughts returned to business.

"I appreciate that you intend to go yourself," she told him, and it was true. For the most part. She still didn't trust him very much, if at all. He was too strong for her liking, and his goals at once innocent and malignant at the same time. It had the potential to be both. His sugared words were the worst. She learned to distrust them a long time ago, but the problem this time was that there was a certain logic to Carreau's words, and that she truly needed him if she wanted to be sure to win. She exhaled through her nose. Steady. Calm. "But I would like to make some things clear. As I've hinted at before, the phylacteries you have in your possession are useless. As such, if you deal a killing blow, I suspect I will not be able to get the soul from my opponent. Therefore it would preferable that you and yours focus on detaining and restraining above killing. That way I can make certain that I get the soul properly." She twisted in her seat to look at Brucie. "And the same goes for you," she said, at which he looked up from watching Mouse eat and gave her a quick salute before resuming his dog-watching.

"But aside from yourself," Lily continued and fixed Carreau with another stare, and crossed her arms, "who else do you picture joining us?"

The group had gone through a few doors on the first floor before finding a suitable room, the keys they had taken from the reception giving them what amounted to unrestricted access to the apartments. The first few they had tried had not been furnished, and at Dew’s insistence that they could do better, they had continued searching. The first fully-stocked apartment they had found had been discarded by Pithy since it faced outwards towards the street, and the lighting would announce their presence to any who bothered to look at the building.

Eventually they had found one fully furnished apartment with windows facing towards an interior garden someone would only be able to see if they entered the building, earning the approval of the two squatters.

The living space itself was spacious by Pithy’s standards, with an entry area immediately after the door that spread out to the side to make room for a seating area and a desk with yet another machine like those of the offices at the Justice Hub and Nero’s tower. Deeper in, there was the kitchen, stocked with appliances similar to those she had seen during her encounter with Kno One. A counter sectioned it off from the main living room, furnished with a low, rectangular table surrounded by thin, wooden chairs and a long couch wrapped in a black, comfortable fabric. All seemed to be arrayed before a large rectangular screen hanging from the side wall.

The random paraphernalia littered around the room in haphazard decorations gave some clues as to the previous inhabitant’s interests. These ranged from pictures of white, sleek sailboats, to stacks of hats arrayed atop a long table situated under the windows (Dew had snickered at the sight of those and called them ‘Fedoor-ah’s’), to machines that looked like bulkier versions of the boards with buttons so common to the machinery she had been coming across, to a prop sword with the word “Lionheart” engraved on the blade.

Dew had taken an interest on the decorations, eyes lighting up like those of a collector at a curio shop while Pithy continued to inspect their surroundings.

Directly opposite to the screen was a sliding door that led to a bedroom occupied by a single, queen-sized bed, situated in such a manner that Pithy suspected the room had been arranged in such manner that someone could look at the rectangular screen while lying down. Dew gave suspiciously little resistance when she claimed it for herself, merely glancing to the couch and the nearby screen and giving her a shrug.

Finally, a short corridor framed on both sides by wardrobes led from the bedroom to a large restroom.

While Dew broke away from his fascination to continue his tour, Pithy returned to the kitchen, walking stiffly. She had left the cutlass she had taken from her previous opponent on the counter, and then begun rifling through the drawers, quickly locating the utensils, pots, and dishes that would be used in preparing a meal. Even if the materials were different from what she was used to, the practical, utilitarian aspect of the tools served to center her.

She let out a long breath, bleeding the excess tension that had been accumulating since she had entered the apartment. No matter the realm, some things stay the same where humans are concerned.

She felt… anxious. The feeling was not related to their relative safety in the building, or to any threat she had perceived within the apartment, but she could not shake off a feeling of wrongness. As much as she hated to admit it, she suspected her unease was simply borne of the disconnect between what she expected of human dwellings in her realm, and what she saw in front of her eyes.

The space itself was not terribly impressive. It could not match the estates and manors of the wealthier denizens of human settlements. It was the smaller details.

Clean water circulating directly to each living area. Compact containers that refrigerated food without the need of stockpiles of ice. Light from lamps feeding from wires sinking into the walls instead of lantern oil and candles. Heating units that regulated the temperature of rooms. Complex machinery simply sitting where any could see it. Worst of all perhaps, was the sense of dull normalcy that permeated the whole of it. Magic as she knew it had no place within these walls, and that thought terrified her most of all.

She had managed to take the strangeness of this realm in stride before, but this was not a mysterious place whose purpose she could only guess at, nor some long-abandoned ruins of a previous age, nor was her mind occupied by the presence of an immediate threat. These were someone’s dwellings, and felt recently lived in at that.

She kept trying to picture what kind of position the one who lived here held to afford such luxuries. Not just this one. There are many rooms in this building with the same amenities, and this is only the first floor. If there are any similarities between this realm and mine, the cost for purchasing the space must increase as one moves upwards. Are there that many people who could afford to live in such comfort?

“We got hot water!” came a muffled shout from deeper inside the apartment.

Pithy glanced up from her inspection of the kitchen area towards the sound of Dew’s voice, the motion mirrored by the coiled snake resting nearby. The snake and the woman shared a look, and Pithy wondered if the beast could sense her distress.

Enough. Unexpected luxuries are still luxuries. We should count ourselves lucky.

Pithy turned, pushing the unease away, and walked to the living room.

“Come here, Dew.”

“What?” A moment later, Dew appeared at the bedroom entrance. “You didn’t like this one either?”

“It will do.” She shook her head. “Show me your arm. The bandaged one,” she added as Dew began to move his left arm.

His face scrunched as he presented the correct limb. “Fine, but don’t go poking into it.”

Have I the look of yon village cutter? she wondered as she took the offered limb, beginning to work on the knot holding the bandages in place. A damp line was visible along the side, proof of the wound that rested under the covers.

After a moment of unwrapping the fabric, she broke the silence. “You are more familiar with the peculiarities of this realm than I am. Do you come from a similar place?”

“No, mine is way better,” he answered flippantly. Then he added, “Though if you’re talking about the technology, I guess it’s the same for the most part.”

“So living standards such as these are common in your where?”

“Well… this is a very nice apartment. Wouldn’t be surprised if it was on the costly side, even with the meh view. The apartments on the other side of the street probably have smaller, cheaper places.”

“Would those also have clean water and power for these devices?”

“You’re in the middle of the city, so sure. What kind of hovel would it be if you couldn’t get running water or electricity?”

Pithy paused in her unwrapping, giving Dew a long look.

Dew blinked. “Ah. Medieval Fantasy girl. Right. Well, as long as you pay your utility bill, you’d get those. Shouldn’t be a problem if you got a full-time job and you get an apartment that matches your pay. Why? You looking to move?”

Pithy blew a gust of air through her nose, tickled by the thought. Staying in this realm? It was the first time the possibility crossed her mind. There was unfinished business for her back home, but a part of her had long begun to think that it would long remain unfinished. Beyond that, there was precious little to return to. Alas, there is little point to thinking about the future when you have none. This train of thought may well only decide my final resting place. So easily did the thought lose its charm.

Refocusing on her task, Pithy gently pulled at the now loose bandages, pulling the fabric away from Dew’s arm. The insides were coated in red, as was the arm they had been wrapped around. However, there was something immediately out of place. Pithy blinked her good eye and drew the arm closer to her face, eliciting a pained grunt from Dew in the process.

While the forearm was indeed caked in blood, the wound itself was barely there. Brushing off some congealed red from the surface, Pithy realized that all that was left of the long slash she had inflicted was a thin, pinkish line, occasionally marred by tiny scabs—a cut days in the mending.

“Dang, not all healed yet. It’s taking its time.”

Pithy scowled at the words. “Humans do not normally heal this fast,” she observed tightly.

Dew laughed. “It really depends, though. I thought for sure that with painkillers and bandages it would heal in a flash. I once had a zombie bite a chunk out of me, but after some pills and a cloth I was right as rain!”

A dubious story, did I not have evidence right before me. It is more likely to be an extension of Dew’s abilities, however. The painkillers did not advertise this side effect, nor do I believe these bandages are more than simple cloth. She shook her head, still glaring at the offending limb. “I find that difficult to believe, but then again, humans do not normally wield powers such as yours.”

“Makes sense, since I’m so special. Perks of being Chosen,” he said smugly. “Looks like you’re starting to realize how lucky you were when we met—Ow, quit it!” the man yelped as Pithy pressed a sharp nail against the tender cut, drawing a droplet of blood.

“Mind your tongue, Dew. I do not need to be gentle,” she said as she withdrew the finger. Blood pooled in the small divot for a moment before the flow ceased. Healed well indeed. “Furthermore, had I been lucky, our encounter would not have been a battle at all. Luck had little to do with it.”

The man grunted, his lips forming a thin line. “Sure, whatever.”

“Granted,” she continued, as her hand went to her belt. “Your physical ability is exceptional. Were you to polish your offensive technique, few could match you in a swordfight. Your defense is exemplary in comparison, as if nothing could reach through its front.” As much as it pained her to admit it, some allowances had to be made if she intended to continue using the man.

“O-Oh…” Dew blinked, as if shocked into a stupor by the sudden praise. “Well, yeah. I was holding back. To block, I mean. And honestly,” he said, recovering his usual boldness, “In the other sense too! I’m supposed to be much stronger, but I got nerfed when I got here. One of the College people told me it would, and I get the point of it, but man, screw balance patches. They always ruin my builds. Now I have a cooldown between teleports and shit.”

Pithy merely frowned and nodded along with the rant, trying to decipher the strange language he was using. She thought she understood the general idea. It was likely that Dew had taken to exaggerating once again, but the annoyance in his voice was real enough. More than that, if he spoke the truth, it raised another concern. “This… seal, on your powers. Was it placed by the College?”

“No. Maybe? I don’t know.” He snorted. “Honestly, it would be real convenient for them. They wouldn’t be able to get in my way if I had my usual strength.”

And so he touches on the heart of the matter. The thought was far from amusing for her. They would do well to dwell on it, for the implications were far from pleasant. Had other competitors also had their strength adjusted in such a way? Was the purpose of such a thing to make them manageable?

“Did it also happen with you?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts.

No, she answered in her mind, before speaking. “It matters not. We do what we must with what is available to us. Straighten your arm.”

As Dew complied, Pithy grabbed the watch she had taken from Bonesword and wrapped it around his wrist. The clasps grabbed onto each other, tightening around Dew’s wrist with a whirring sound. “Woah, what are you doing?”

The man rapidly withdrew his arm, clutching at the straps with his other hand. The latch was released with little trouble, and much of the tension that had crept into Dew’s expression bled away as he held out the device.

Pithy stepped back, smoothly sidling back to a position that conveniently placed the counter between the two of them. “Is it not obvious? I need you to test it. I suspect you will have an easier time of it, seeing as you claimed you were familiar with it.”

“I said it felt familiar. That’s a world of difference. What if it blows my hand out?”

“We have pills and bandages.”

Dew gave her a sober look and held out the wristband. “You aren’t nearly as funny as you think you are. You do it.”

Pithy tilted her head. Funny? Ah. He thought I spoke in jest. “Do you feel yourself incapable?”

“Hell no I’m no—”

“Then you must be a coward to shy away from this.”

“Fuck off.” The man turned a baleful glare to the stoic woman. “I’m none of those things, and I’m not stupid either. I don’t have to take this shit.”

Pithy was quick to douse the flicker of dread that rose up her spine. Dew’s words fed into suspicions she had nursed ever since Dew had failed to cut off his tongue after her impulsive command, and had only continued to grow with every exchange she had had with him so far.

Did I misunderstand the strength of my hold over him? Or has it weakened since this morning?

Pithy hid her misgivings beyond an impassive expression. “Very well,” she said coolly. “Perhaps I am being unreasonable. I shall test it myself.”

Relief evident in the smile that came to his features, Dew made to pass the item along.

“Of course, since you refused to operate the device yourself, should its function happen to affect the wearer’s surroundings, I will not hesitate to use on you.”

His hand froze, and he stared at her owlishly.

Pithy continued to eye him steadily, voice level and calm. “Given that I expect to face other opponents, experiments on a living human would be the fastest way to determine its effects. How fortunate of me to have one in this very room.”

Dew grimaced, then sighed. He grudgingly brought the device back to his left wrist and wrapped it around it. It whirred as it adjusted to fit him. “Right, on second thought, I guess I could try it out. Who knows? It might do something cool.”

Pithy closed her eye, hoping her relief at his acquiescence was not immediately apparent. “If it will put your fears to rest, know that I would not suggest this if I believed you would come to harm. You are of no use to me crippled, Dew.”

“Yeah, well. Might want to start with that next time,” he groused, but Pithy ignored the quip in favor of following the movement of his fingers over the small buttons surrounding the dial at the center of the apparatus.

The motion set off the device, and with a small whirr, the centerpiece smoothly rose from its indent. From her position, Pithy could barely see the green and gray symbol atop it shift to make space for a black silhouette. Frowning, Dew grabbed the jutting piece and spun it, prompting the image to change. After a few turns, he held his hand over it for a moment, seemingly intent on pushing it down, but hesitated.

Pithy frowned, fighting down her impatience. “Is something the matter?”

“No. Just wishing we had a quicksave feature.”

More nonsense. “You are wasting time.”

Dew shot her a disgruntled look before finally pressing down the button.

The sudden flash of light all but blinded her. Pithy hissed out a curse, the tone all but mimicked by the plant snake sitting nearby, and she reflexively ducked behind the counter. She was about to prompt Dew to say something, when a voice reached her ears.

“That… don’t… feel right.” The sound was high pitched and oddly laborious, as though the person had difficulty stringing the words together. “Pi…thy? What happened?”

She furiously blinked her eyes to drive away the remnants of the flash before swinging her gaze over the counter to see what had become of her companion. She recoiled at the sight that met her.

The creature standing before her was similar enough to a human at first glance. Its build was similar, and the clothing it wore no doubt belonged to Mountain Dew. His appearance, however, particularly his facial features, had changed drastically. The creature’s skin, had a deathly, ashen pallor, and the hair on its head had turned a vivid crimson. It grew only from the sides of his head into a bramble of curls, leaving the thing’s pate and forehead exposed. What she had first thought to be a red splotch of makeup surrounding the creature’s mouth was in fact the proper color of the flesh around the lips, and a red, rubbery globe had replaced the man’s nose.

More subtly, she noted that the creature’s exposed skin along its neck seemed wiry and taut, hinting at powerful muscles. Looking into its eyes gave her an oddly reptilian impression—she half expected a membrane to fall over them whenever it blinked—but the confused cast of its gaze left little doubt as to the creature’s actual identity.

Dew brought a hand to his nose, tentatively touching the red circumference, “What is… this? …ugh, I actually feel it… when I… touch it.” The sound, reedy and off pitch as it was, still carried some similarities to the man’s original voice.

An angry hissing sound interrupted his examination.

Pithy whirled to see the snake monster rise, sinuous body coiling and angling itself menacingly towards Dew. The man made an alarmed sound somewhere between a yelp and a burp as his eyes fell on the snake.

Seeing its intent reflected on its stance, Pithy sucked in a breath. “Stop that!” she shouted.

The creature’s hissing grew at that, almost turning into a growl. Realizing it would not simply listen to her commands, Pithy blanched. Dew’s hand was already fumbling inside his pocket, and she knew that in the next moment a fight would erupt.

I need him alive! came the urgent thought, power rising within before she restrained herself. Casting a rushed spell in such confined quarters was foolish at best. There was no telling who would gain the advantage should she do it, and if the snake became hostile towards her, there would be no choice but to kill it.

Her eye fell over the cutlass on top of the counter, and an image of her interposing herself between Dew and the snake crossed her mind. She balked at the thought.

That hesitation costed her the initiative.

The large snake lunged forward. Dew fell to the side, narrowly avoiding thorn-like fangs, but the fall was less than graceful, and it left him sprawled over the floor. His hands had left his pockets, and were instead clutching something close to his chest.

The snake let out another hiss, turning from its missed attempt and slithering closer to the man, coils drawing closer as it prepared to lunge again.

Letting out a curse, Pithy grasped the cutlass and raced forward, the weapon’s sheath falling away with the motion. “That is enough!” she commanded, a frigid light playing sinisterly over the fingers of her left hand.

The snake let out another hiss, turning to look at the approaching threat. What passed for its eyes appeared to focus on the weapon she was holding in front of her. It hesitated.

Pithy allowed some of her tension to bleed away. Yes, that’s it. Stay calm…

On the floor, Dew shifted ever-so-slightly.

The creature tensed instantly at the motion, and Pithy knew she had lost its attention. The snake closed in on the prone man.

A spell danced on her lips, moments from being unleashed.

The snake froze.

Pithy held her breath, rushing wind at her ears, the magic pressing against her rapidly erected mental barrier like a river against a dam. The creature had not reached Dew, instead pausing to stare transfixed at the object he held in his hands. Bonesword’s skull stared back at its former pet.

After a dozen seconds held in utter silence, where neither party so much as twitched, Pithy released her breath. The wind in her mind ebbed and died as she slowly approached the frozen pair. Dew’s unsettling eyes quickly glanced her way before returning to watching the monster all but sitting over his lap. There was a pleading note to them, and his red lips twitched, as though he wished to speak, but thought the sound would only set the snake off again.

Pithy bent down slowly, placing the cutlass on the ground, before approaching the creature.

The elves of her realm, particularly those that made forests their homes, had a reputation in human lands for their closeness with nature. It was not unearned. There were many a tale that claimed they were born with the knowledge to speak the language of animals, and could speak to them as easily as they could to each other.

Pithy knew this to be an exaggeration. Whatever affinity elves might have had with the creatures of their woodland home, the ability to communicate with beasts—at least without arcane means—was borne largely out of observation and dedication, perhaps even an obsession, to develop such talent.

Alas, I hardly had the time or interest for such a pursuit. Whether it would even matter when it comes to a creature created through magic that seems capable of understanding the common tongue is another matter entirely.

Pithy knelt beside the pair and tentatively placed a hand near the base of the creature’s head. The snake tensed, but otherwise did not react, and Pithy was surprised to find the vines warm to the touch. She began to sedately rub her hand along its body, making soothing noises as she did. After a few moments of this, the tension seemed to bleed away from what passed for muscles, and was instead replaced by a light shivering along the tendrils that formed its mass.

Is it… afraid? she wondered, before bringing her head closer to its own. Off the corner of her eye she caught Dew’s impatient eyes flitting between her and the monster. She ignored him, instead murmuring softly at the creature. “Come. Get off him. You are safe.”

The snake remained still, making Pithy wonder if it had not understood, but a moment later its coils began to shift. The man turned monster let out a long, wheezing breath as the creature clambered off him.

Pithy watched cautiously as the snake slithered away into the kitchen and out of their sight. She looked down at Dew, noting that even with his bizarre features, his relief was palpable. Anger tinged his face a moment later. “Next time… I kill it.”

Pithy looked in the direction the snake had gone. She could not muster an answer to Dew’s comment. “I must commend you for your quick thinking,” she said instead. However, before either of them could dwell on what she had said, she rose. “Now put that away and find yourself a mirror.”

“Wait. Say… that again.”

“You are hardly deaf, Dew. Go.”

Dew grunted and clumsily clambered to his feet, the skull vanishing in the process. He hobbled towards the bedchamber, making for the restroom.

From her position, Pithy glanced over the kitchen counter. The snake creature was resting near what she guessed was the oven, coiled into itself, its head turned downwards. Had it not tried to attack one of them moments ago, she would have found its exaggeratedly dejected posture almost comical.

“HOLY, NO—NONE OF THAT!” A flash from the bedroom brought her gaze back just in time to see the man storm back into the room, his features returned to normal. Before she could so much as question him, he tossed the armband at her.

Pithy caught it in the air and gave him a pointed look.

“I did what you asked, it’s NOT my problem any longer, YOU deal with it!” with a huff, he stormed past her, and sat on the couch, eyes glaring down at the center table. A part of her saw some similarities between this and what the snake had been doing last time she had seen it. She quickly dismissed the thought.

Rather than inquire as to his outburst, she asked, “How did you reverse the transformation?”

Dew grunted and shrugged. “I dunno. I just saw myself, thought I was done seeing that, and it flashed. Almost fell on the freaking tub.”

It obeys one’s will, then? Pithy studied the device in her hand for a moment before wrapping it around her left wrist as Dew had done. As it had done for him, it adjusted to her size.

The man looked up at the sound. “You’re gonna do it too? Fine. Up to you if you want to turn into a horrible freakazoid.”

Pithy ignored him, instead repeating the motions she had observed him do to operate the device. When the dial rose, Pithy stared at the figure that formed over it. Humanoid in shape, with odd shadows along the side of its head that must have been the creature’s hair. As she had seen before, turning the dial changed the silhouette displayed. She saw another humanoid figure, this one with no outstanding features, another with a strangely shaped head and a tail, and another, much smaller than the rest with small wings that almost obscured the body itself. Another twist brought up the first inhuman figure, with its long body coiling along the display space.

Pithy frowned and glanced over the counter at the snake creature. Could it be… she wondered. It was already clear that the device possessed the ability to transform the user into a different creature, but what determined the options available? Seeing a snake-like creature on the display, and thinking on the snake’s reaction when she had seen Dew transform, she thought she knew the reason. It records the creatures it comes near to, then? Perhaps Bonesword came across these creatures, and the snake remembered them.

Giving the device another turn, a black splotch appeared on the display, as if someone had dropped ink over it. Pithy frowned. She could skip this figure and choose an aspect closer to her current self. However, Dew had already done that, and while he may not have been satisfied with the transformation itself, the device seemed to have performed perfectly.

By that token, a more radical transformation would make for a more thorough test. Taking a deep breath, Pithy closed her eyes and pressed the dial down into place.

The sensation was similar to what she had felt when forcibly transformed into an owl by Nero, except compacted into a single, dizzying instant. So quick was it that any specific sensation of stretching, shortening, or loosening that her nerves fed her could only be described as ‘uncomfortable’ and only mildly so, at that. Whoever had designed this mechanism had accounted for the toll the forceful restructuring of flesh took on its target.

This much she had seen from the transformation Dew had endured. However, when it came time for her to open her eyes, only darkness greeted her. More than that, she felt… compacted. Restricted. She tried moving her limbs, but all she managed was a slight shiver.

What is this? she thought, ignoring the dreadful images of a soul displaced and her own, vacant body staring off into space in a room in an alien realm. Was this what it felt for a living soul to be affixed to a phylactery?

“Pithy? Yo, Pithy? Uh… don’t tell me that thing just dissolved her…”

I can still hear him. Which meant she was still in the same room. However, the sound came from all around her, as if passing through a membrane, and she could swear the vibration of the sound was making her skin tremble.

My skin? Blast it, if I could only see my surroundings—

Almost as if in response to that thought, light streamed into her vision. It was brilliant at first, as if seeing it for the first time, but she quickly acclimated to it. However, what she saw was anything but calming, overlapping images of numerous sides of the room reaching her at once, as if she had a dozen eyes but none of them could see straight. Remarkably, the disorientation she expected from the alien sensory input was not present. Another gift from the device’s maker, she suspected.

Moreover, what she saw gave her an idea as to what she had become.

She focused on the result she wished for, and with instincts that had not been there moments prior, her new body acted. The goo that comprised her form began to stretch out, rising from the ground. Tendrils separated from the slime, taking on the aspect of limbs. Her vision focused in one direction.

Dew, which even then she could see peering down at her—it seemed he had risen from his seat when he had not seen her standing there after the flash—stepped away from her, his expression twisting into a disgusted grimace.

“Oh no. Not another one of these. Dammit Pithy, you look like you came out of a… you look like…”

As Pithy’s form resolved, Dew paused, frowning.

“You look like a freaking Gumby.”

The slime creature looked down once it reached its usual height. The material her body was made of was see-through, and had an off-white, blue-tinged coloration. Parts of her apparel remained, almost as if glued to her body, including the phylactery, the strap for the six-shooter and the belt with her rapier and knives. The face of the armband she had used to transform rested over her featureless, almost flat torso, within which swam a small sphere of jagged ice. The arms she had formed were similar in shape, bending where she expected them to bend when she sent the nonexistent muscles the familiar commands, but the hands had no fingers beyond a thumb and a slab of goo. Her legs followed the theme, except that rather than feet they sunk into a puddle of… well, myself, I suppose. Perhaps I could use some practice.

“Ehrm.” Pithy looked up to see Dew still staring at her. “Just out of curiosity, do you happen to have humanoid slimes where you’re from?”

Pithy made to speak, but quickly realized she had nothing to serve as a mouth. Her brow scrunched with focus—or at least she thought it did—and she sent the mental command. A depression formed in what passed for her face, quickly taking on the shape of lips and a mouth, complete with a facsimile of teeth and a tongue.

“No,” she said, and was surprised to hear no difference to her usual voice. It was as if her body remembered the shape of her normal vocal chords and had managed to recreate them. “No, there are not.” She reiterated, marveling at the way her constructed throat managed to recreate the sounds. “Slimes exist, though they are largely mindless and live only to feed and multiply. They are considered a pest most everywhere, but their ooze is a popular reagent for alchemists, and so slime farms are maintained in some laboratories. There have been some reported cases of slimes finding unused sets of full-plate and donning them as a protective shell, however.”

There were some other shapes they could take on, but they were far from human-like in any case. Pithy focused on her hands, and the sheet of slime separated into four more fingers. Another command had them lengthening and losing their recreated joints, moving like an octopus’s tentacles. The degree of control she had over them surprised the former elf.

Pithy looked up at the man, and found him staring at the appendages with a queasy grimace. “Why?”

The man blinked after a moment, only then seeming to realize she had spoken. He looked away from her, oddly bashful. “You know.” He said, noncommittally. “Just wanted to know what kind of world you were from is all.”

And that is the question upon which you shall base your judgement? Pithy stared at the man for another moment before she gave up on making sense of his thoughts.

Her attention returned to the tendrils sprouting from her hands, and she brought one close to her eyes—Ah, what an odd time to recover depth perception—for inspection. With a mental command, the tendril straightened, its point becoming more defined and losing its transparency as it became denser. With such limbs, smaller slimes could kill faster pray that ventured too close, like mice and birds.

Of course, if they ventured farther than that, what such a creature could do might be far, far worse. With another thought, the tendrils reformed as the fingers of her hand.

“You said ‘another of these’, Dew. Am I not the first slime you have encountered in this realm?”

“Ugh. No. My first opponent was a slime girl.” He glanced away. “It wriggled and jiggled… everywhere.”

Pithy tilted her head. “Have you a slime phobia?”

“No! Of course not.”

“Some do.”

“Well, I don’t,” he retorted, stubbornly crossing his arms.

The slime frowned at looked down at herself again. Dew’s first opponent had been a slime in the shape of a woman. Moreover, there had been a slime recorded into the armband. Is there some significance there?

“What happened to this slime?” Pithy asked.

“I vaporized her. What else? Wasn’t going to let that thing have its way with me.”

Ignoring the odd choice of words, Pithy’s hand brushed the armband’s insignia over her chest. Perhaps some creatures had been recorded beforehand, then. Unless Bonesword had come across one since he had received the device, but then there must have been slimes other than this one.

If that was the case, it mattered not. Her brand of magic was convenient against such opponents, if they were even large enough to warrant concerning herself with them. That did, however, bring up another point.

Pithy brought her hands together a simple spell in her mind. A small magelight appeared in the space between them, and Pithy held it out for a few moments.

Good, my magic is not affected by— No sooner had she began that thought that she had an odd feeling of displacement.

Then her right hand fell off from her arm. The spell died as she flinched at the dull thump congealed goo plopping onto the ground.

Dew let out a chortle, but Pithy was too shocked to chastise him.

She fell to her knees, holding the stump close to her chest for the few seconds it took her to realize there was no pain coming from the wound. “This is… ah.”

Looking down, she saw the solidified slime slowly begin to regain its normal consistency. Bringing her left hand down on it, she saw the goo sink into her palm, quickly being sucked back into her body. With another effort of will, her right hand reformed as if nothing had happened.

What a convenient body, she found herself thinking. She would certainly find uses for it. However, the way her magic had interacted with it was hardly promising, if perhaps predictable.

A thought prompted another flash, and Pithy looked down at her familiar body, finding her apparel where she had left it, and thankfully not coated in a layer of goo. She glanced at the armband, noting that it seemed to have returned to its deactivated state.

“Such a frighteningly effective device,” she commented. “Some of the arcane scholars I’m acquainted with would have given their souls to study it.”

“You just gave someone else's," Dew commented. "So? You’re going to keep it?”

Pithy considered the object resting on her wrist, then nodded. She had collected a fair array of strange objects since she had arrived in this realm. What was one more, never mind one so potentially useful?

“There are some things I must take care of,” she told him after a moment. “Will you handle preparing our meal in the meantime?”

Dew smiled. “Actually, I saw a neat little food place outside and I’m really hankering for what they got.”

Pithy nodded. “Very well. You take the key, in that case, and bring what you must back here. This may take me some time, so be sure to be back by the time I return.”

“Aye aye, ma’am” he said, obnoxiously cheerfully from his place behind the couch.

Pithy grimaced and turned to leave. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the snake beast stirring, turning to follow her. She stopped to study it, debating whether she should instruct it to stay, and if it would even listen, she merely sighed and stepped out of the apartment, the creature slithering close behind her.

She would have to keep an eye on it, but doubted she would see another incident like the one before on this outing.

For a few seconds, all was still.

Runch dared not breathe during those tense moments of silence. Two possibilities flew through his mind as he stared, fully alert, at the prone body before him. Is he down? Is he out? His heart raced as he observed, during that brief but electric period, that his fallen adversary did not seem to be breathing, either.

Wary of a ploy, the pirate stooped, bringing his head closer. There it is. Scarcely a whisper, but there nonetheless. That feeble rasp told him his effort went not in vain, and that his zeal did not leave a noble life squandered. Relieved, Runch allowed himself to vent a heavy breath, and for a moment he let his eyes close. The nerves in his body, taught with overuse and seared with the pain of his injuries, relaxed. A hard fight just as he predicted, one of his hardest to date, even though his opponent harbored no special powers nor superhuman attributes. No, no. After what I witnessed, this is no mere man.

“Courage, devotion, and ability...all things I admire, sir,” he told the limp knight, his voice gentle. “But you are wrong about one thing. No life is worthless, and for someone with such empowering conviction, I'd say yours is worth a great deal indeed. You're a sour man, Cyril, but I am sure you have friends. Sacrificing yourself for your vision makes for a good story, but what about those who care for you? About your mission's fulfillment? It would be more noble to keep living, and keep fighting, instead of throwing it all away.” Smiling, the pirate turned the vanguard over onto his back, and reached for the pendant about his neck. “When this is all over, I'm sure we'll become good friends. And I'll say all this again, to your face. Omnomnom...!”

A lightning bolt—raw instinct. It surged through Runch and galvanized him into action, throwing himself like a man possessed straight backward. An instant later, a blur slammed into the ground where he stood an instant before, shaking the ground and sending shreds of it flying. Sliding to a halt, Runch righted himself and raised his head to see the interloper standing to her full height. “Juniper.” In a fraction of a moment, the good Captain's warm demeanor froze solid into cold disapproval.

The shrine maiden, however, wore a smile. After cracking her neck, she adjusted the hair that her barely-avoided meteor stomp mussed, then quipped, “In the flesh.”

Her swagger left Runch with no doubt, though her attempted surprise attack gave him little to begin with. Once again, he tensed himself for battle, though his aching muscles and open wounds gave vehement protest. The journal told me what she can do, but...I've forgotten most of it. In this condition, I may not be able to triumph. What unfairness! With little in the way of hesitation he gave his inner frustrations a voice. “Not very honorable of you to jump in on our one-on-one duel, miss.” He nudged his chin at Cyril, who lay behind his ally. “Is this what your friend would have wanted?”

In the background, Erina jabbed an accusatory finger at the other woman.
“Yeah! You're breaking a divine accord!”

Juniper gave a shrug, though with only one arm the gesture looked a touch off. Ignoring Erina, she replied, “Hey, it's still one-on-one. But, seriously now. To be fair, it's not what Cyril would have done, but it is what he would have wanted. So, it looks like I'll be finishing what he started. Not that it matters in the end.”

The bristling eyebrows of the Cereal Killer furrowed. “'Not that it matters'? What do you mean?”

A different smirk seemed to possess Juniper. Rather than the churlish grin of the opportunistic brute, often worn to rub foes the wrong way and enforce her image of confidence, this smile spoke of some kind of secret being kept. “Well, once this is over, I'll let you in on what I've figured out, but suffice to say I'm positive we're all being played, the College included. But we have to keep playing along for now, and progress the bracket. Soul's gotta be taken.”

Runch didn't believe his ears. It wasn't that the tournament contestants were being manipulated, though his experience a little earlier had convinced him that the College people were the pullers rather more pull-ees, but rather that after saying as much that Juniper insisted on fighting. “...What? If we're on the same side, why jump in and take my soul? I don't mean to be presumptuous, but I did win this kerfuffle.”

Pointing a thumb at Cyril, Juniper said, “We need him for what's coming. And if you take his soul, the backlash might kill him.”

The feeling that a fight -or more realistically and worryingly, a beatdown- would be inevitable mounted inside Runch. “Nonsense,” he protested, his lopsided mustache drooping. “It's just pain, not deadly.”

Juniper cocked her head, her expression somewhere between amused and annoyed. “As someone who speaks from experience, unlike you, let me tell you that the shock alone might do it. Not everyone's made of iron like you, cereal boy. You know, it's impressive that an ordinary human like him managed to give a demon like a hard time. Let's see how you like fighting someone more on your level, eh?”

“It's true that he did well. But shouldn't that tell you something?”

Unmoving, Juniper bore a face of steel. “Hmm?”

Runch crossed his arms, trying not to give away his heavy breathing as he recuperated. “Well, far be it from me to boast, but since there's no limit to how much cereal I can make, I could have simply kept out of his range and blasted him with explosive cannonballs until he fell over.” He watched Juniper's eyebrow twitch, and stifled a chuckle. “Omnom. I wanted to give him a fairer and more interesting fight, especially because he agreed to an honorable duel. So, I held back some.” Wearing a cheery expression, he leveled his spoonsaber at his new opponent. “I'm sorry, lassy, but if you insist on trying to cheat me, I won't be extending you the same courtesy.”

Again Juniper's face broke out into a smile, though one stained by anger. “Tough guy, huh? For your sake, you better not hold back.” Her dark brown eyes gleamed in the setting sun's orange light, and they beheld Runch's lips moving ever-so-softly. “Let's go.”

Springing her tense muscles, she leaped upward a moment before the pirate's lightning-quick cereal lance pierced the air. Beneath her, the surprise spear exploded, but she kept her eyes on her target. Palm directed at her, the pirate muttered something once again, and from his hand a continuous volley of cereal spikes burst out. Having expected such an attack, Juniper conjured a car door in front of her to act as a shield, taking each starchy stiletto while allowing her to see her foe. One after another the spikes exploded, threatening to knock Juniper off course, but the next moment she landed right on front of Runch and tried to ram him with the shield. Moving with deft precision despite his wounds, he hopped back out of harm's way, only for Juniper to pop the magic barrier and trigger the spikes to burst right in front of him.

With momentum on her side, the martial artist lashed out with an armored roundhouse kick that carried her into the air, then a turn kick before she landed. A haymaker flew out next, but Runch disappeared beneath a shell of bluish cereal, and when Juniper struck it her blow bounced off with enough force to send her reeling. In an instant the Cereal Killer burst his shell, showering Juniper with blueberry globules, and before his adversary could recover he pulled the trigger of his flintlock to send an iron-hard pellet into the shoulder of Juniper's remaining arm. Stars blossomed in her vision from the pain, but years' worth of built-up endurance allowed her to act. She flipped backward and landed a few feet away, bringing her head up in time to see a giant marshmellow sailing her way.

Calling upon her magic, she conjured a cocoon around herself just like her enemy's, and at just the right time released it to reflect the marshmellow back at him. Taken by surprise, Runch swerved to the right, but he could not get his pistol out of the way in time. Shlorp! The gooey mass nabbed the gun and yanked it from his hand as it flew by to plop against the cobblestones a couple meters back. The pirate's attention snapped to Juniper. “That's right. You can learn others' moves.”

“Who toldja?” The shrine maiden demanded as she ran forward. Runch coated his spoonsaber with cereal as he swung it, increase its range and weight, but instead of attacking Juniper jumped into the air, spinning as she flipped over him. At the three-fourths point on her arc she twisted around and delivered a thrust kick to Runch's head. He stumbled forward, turning and murmuring as he did, and launched a stream of honeyed oats at her. Juniper dropped out of the way of the beam, but her enemy did not cease it, forcing her to sprint around him in a circle to avoid the Bori Bori Firehouse. As she ran, a blue orb manifested on her silvery greave, and once it fully formed she paused a moment to spin about and kick it the pirate's way. With an expert hand, however, he batted it away with his cereal-covered spoonblade, though the weight and jolt made him lose his grip on it and the weapon span away with the bomb. A second later Juniper's mistimed detonation went off, the blast throwing the spoonblade back in Runch's general direction, but rather than pause to pick it up he kept his Firehose going.

After another couple seconds Runch brought his other hand up, uttered three words beneath his breath, and from a colossal blast of cereal erected a Bori Bori Wall directly in Juniper's path. The woman did not slow down, instead launching into a jump kick to smash through the obstruction. When her technological foot made contact, however, it sunk into the squishy, crumbly cereal, and the rest of her followed suit. An instant later the honey stream washed over her, inundating her with inexorable stickiness. She could only watch, teeth clenched and humming with energy, as Runch began to construct a massive, burning cannonball.

Knowing full well what she had to do, Juniper allowed her seals to dissolve, and with a haunting cry the God Hand was unleashed.

An explosion of light radiated out from her, annihilating the cereal and honey that bound her. From the spray of chaos Juniper emerged at a sprint, her right arm aglow with a fierce radiance. Runch attacked, but not as quickly as his enemy. A flurry of blows smashed into him, targeting the joints all across his body. He regained his footing just in time to holler, “Bori Bori Jet!” and blast off out of the way of a right hook that might have ended the bout then and there. Looking down as he shot skyward, he watched Juniper tense up, then launch herself after him in an incredible jump. Runch rained down a series of heavy oat clusters, but one after another they shattered against Juniper's head. Before the pirate could come up with something else Juniper caught up with him, grabbed him by the foot, then yanked him down with unprecedented strength.

As he plummeted, faster than terminal velocity, Runch managed to right himself and shoot off sideways a moment before hitting the ground. Juniper crashed down where he would have hit, her shining fist making a crater in the ground. As the dust cleared, the heavenly light faded, and Runch saw his chance. That empowerment seems to make her invulnerable, but she's open now. Circling her in the air, he did not bother to hide his move, and barked, “Bori Bori Cannon: Cracklepop Recipe!” Out flew several explosive payloads in a spread formation.

Juniper grit her teeth and ran, completely forced on the defensive by the new attack's sheer area of effect. BABABABABANG went the blasts, the first causing a speedy chain reaction from the rest, and Juniper did not escape unburnt. No action could be taken before another volley obliged her to take flight once again. BABABABABANG! Scattered flames licked her clothes, setting them ablaze. Stifling a cry, the shrine maiden hurried to extinguish them, almost losing sight of the cereal-streaming blur that circled above her like a bomber. Already, another assault hurled her way. Something needed to be done—and this time, Juniper had a risky idea.

Standing still, but ready to move, she waited for the explosives to come. The volatile deluge fell upon her, but at the last moment, she leaped into the air with a backflip. Not a split second to spare, the blasts went off beneath her. They propelled her upward a touch, but her true goal lay elsewhere. Around her neck, the rosary flared to life with an arcane purple glow, and the next moment a fusillade of magic bolts screamed toward Runch. Though surprised he kept his head and changed course to avoid them, but the bolts followed him, homing in with uncanny precision. In midair a dazzling purple explosion bloomed, leaving behind a dazed yet still airborne pirate when it dissipated into sorcerous vapors a second later. Juniper saw her opportunity, and seized it. She reached out with her hand; projected magic loops formed from the ether, creating a chain tipped with a simple metal jaw that clamped shut around Runch's arm. From there, all she needed to do was pull, and with every ounce of her strength, she did.

The intrepid captain hit the ground back-first, and everything went black.



A murky, unknowable amount of time passed before the Cereal Killer came to. He felt pain before anything else, but after a few moments, his blurry vision began to pick up shapes and colors, and the murmur of voices met his ears. Decorated wooden walls surrounded him; beneath him, a mattress and blankets. Turning his head was laborious, but when he did, he realized by the furnishings that he appeared to be in a bar. He spotted three women—Juniper, Erina, and an ordinary-looking lady he did not know. A short distance away, he also saw Cyril, stripped both of armor and most of his clothing, and still unconscious. In fact, Runch realized that he, too, was wearing only his pants, though his torso maintained some covering thanks to all the bandages and wrappings.

“You're awake. Good! Thought you'd wake up before him.” Juniper commented. She motioned behind the counter at which she sat. “We've got some stuff to talk about once Cyril comes to. Want anything to drink?”



Shaking his head, Carreau scratched his chin with a talon. “Not exactly. Vague enchantments aren't really our thing, and if we employed measures like force fields, you would not have been able to enter.” His golden eyes slid over to Verrine, who straightened up at attention. The owl man extended an entreating hand toward her. “Verrine, would you be so good as to hurry over to the main entrance and inquire with the guards? The object we're talking about is a metal contraption with spinning blades, about the size of a tortoise.”

“Yessir!” Brimming with enthusiasm, the rosy-red slime took off running. After a few steps she began to melt into a gelatinous tide, and began to pick up speed. With an odd slapping noise the mass slammed into the dining-room doors, pushed them open, and rushed out into the atrium.

Carreau exhaled sharply through his beak nose, evidently amused by his subordinate's gusto. His attention visited Brucie for just a moment, Carreau noting with a smile made difficult to perceive by his bizarre mouth that the shark appeared to be feeding the dog, then returned to Lily. Judging by the telltale swivel of her ears, hers had never left him. In a situation like this, caution was warranted, but by now his understanding came tinged by a few drops of impatience. The kitsune's attitude, well disguised but not invisible, spoke not just of paranoia but a severe problem with authority. Carreau felt slighted; he did not expect much of Lily, and in fact needed nothing from her other than to follow through with her end of the bargain, but anything more than empty courtesy would have been nice.

He followed along as she brought up the phylacteries again, and nodded his compliance to her advice. “Of course. Wind can be leveraged as damage when condensed, but it is most excellent at control, and ordinary blasts of air take the form of nonlethal impacts. You'll have nothing to fear from me.” His guest then applied the same proposal to Brucie, who deviated from his intense yet heart-warming spectatorship of Mouse to give his assent.

For some reason, Carreau expected that Lily was done, but another question was on her tongue. While he had given some consideration to who in Air Rave would be accompanying Lily, he offered her a different answer first. “Considering the array of talents to pick from, I think it most prudent that you select two or three who you think would best suit your fighting style. If you have no preference, however, I do have a few suggestions. First, Margot is both strong and hardy. She would be able to take the brunt of your foes' attention, leaving you opportunities to strike. Plus, though this is just a guess, I feel as if the two of you might have a sort of affinity. Second, Egon Baratta would compliment your magic with his own. As a Cinderghast, he wields extremely powerful pyromancy. His manipulation of ash and smoke can also debilitate enemies. Third...hmm.” He paused to consider. “To be fair, there are quite a few of us. It would depend on what you're looking for in terms of teammates. Supporters, to empower or heal you? Frontliners to soak up the damage and control the battlefield? Fighters of magical or martial mastery? If you like, I could rally the troops, and you could pick from among them.” He made a tent with his talons, elbows on the table.

The next moment the doors burst open again, and from the reddish sludge that raced in Verrine reformed. Her chest heaved from exhaustion, but her smile was bright. “Boss!” She exclaimed. “The machine you described was there! One of the guards spotted it coming in a half-minute after you all came in, and whacked it with his halberd. It's...uh, not wrecked or anything, but it doesn't seem to be moving, either.”

Cocking his head, Carreau asked, “So what do we do with it?”

Verrine blanched. “H-huh? You're asking me?”

“Of course.” Carreau brought his hands closer to his mouth, hiding his lower face in a vaguely sinister fashion. “Our guest needs it to find her next opponent. As one of my faithful lieutenants, you can figure it out, right?”

With a nervous laugh, Verrine balled up her hands into fists and held them close in a rather theatrical show of concentration. “Y-yes, certainly! Uh...if it's not working, that means it needs to be...fixed? But I can't do it. So...I need to find someone who can. Er.” She scrunched her eyes closed and shook her head. “It's made of metal. Complicated parts. Oedin's a sciency kind of guy, but...oh! Serval! I'll take it to Serval!” She looked to Carreau with wide eyes, waiting to hear his pronouncement.

It was with some effort that Carreau kept himself from beaming. “Very good,” he told her. “But don't rush over there yourself, you've already worn yourself out. Just summon an Umbra in the Atrium and give it a message to repeat to the guards.”

Quite overjoyed with her success and Carreau's praise, Verrine nodded and bounced off toward the door again.

Carreau looked back at Lily. “We were saying?”

Cyril slumped over from the blow to the head like a sack of potatoes. Runch stood over the knight, holding his spoonsaber ready in case the final blow to the head was not actually the final blow. Just in case, he continued to form the armor which had caught Cyril so off guard. In only a small handful of seconds the pirate was covered head to toe in a bright blue armor which completely covered him from head to toe, excepting only his eyes and hands. The suit was not exactly skin tight, but it was fairly form-fitting. The grainy texture was somewhat surreal to look upon, as it gave the impression that this suit was easily torn asunder despite otherwise appearing perfectly protective.

“I don’t normally like to use my bori bori ironclad. I haven’t quite figured out the joints yet, so my movement gets a little impaired. Plus it’s heavy to wear a full suit of cereal not only so dense, but with such a rich iron content.” Cyril didn’t move as Runch spoke, but it could just as easily be a ruse. The man had proven himself to be dangerously sturdy, much like himself. The captain was normally sporting and lackadaisical, but this far into the fight, this exhausted and injured, he no longer wished to give his opponent the chance to turn the tide.

After a few more moments of observation, the captain’s doubts and concerns subsided. Cyril was clearly breathing, so he was not dead, and if he were playing possum it was exceedingly well given all the pain he had to be enduring. Runch finally relaxed and approached the knight’s prone form.

“Juniper, stop!” cried out Erina from the sidelines. Runch darted his gaze to the women just in time to witness three knives flying straight for him, constructed of some undefinable energy. The combination of his fatigue, being taken off guard, and the added weight of his ironclad determined his short term fate: all three constructs hit their mark. The blades of ephemeral energy pierced into the chest plate of Runch’s armor, the force of which knocked him off balance.

As Runch’s backside hit the ground, Juniper came rushing toward his position with a mighty leap and sprint. He struggled to get back on his feet before she arrived, but only managed to move his palms into place and lift up into a pseudo-sitting position. Reflexively he attempted to swing his spoonsaber to fend the woman off, only to find he had lost grip of his weapon for what must have been the umpteenth time this day. Consequently Juniper’s fist struck Runch in the face, knocking him back down to the ground. The armor protected him from direct damage, but he was near certain the sudden jolt and impact left him with a concussion. Rather than a one-armed maiden above him, Runch saw stars.

“I said stop!” screamed the fox woman, hurling a ball of mostly-harmless blue flame at the shrine maiden to force her attention. Juniper pivoted around to face Erina and dodged out of the way, narrowly missing the flame by mere centimeters. In response the rosary on her person reacted, sending a wave of energy flying toward the kitsune. Erina, completely blindsided by this unexpected and bizarre counterstrike, took the brunt of the wave to her shoulder and fell to the ground. Lifting herself up enough to be able to meet Juniper’s eyes, she spoke. “We agreed to let them have a one on one duel, and Runch won! Why are you getting involved now?”

Juniper mentally rolled her eyes at the question. “I have no intentions of having my soul stolen a second time. That my goal means this suffering will instead be placed upon you is regretful, but one must look after oneself.”

The shrine maiden was, perhaps, overconfident in the blow she had struck to Runch’s head. He was recovering his vision, and blinking rapidly now to adjust. Meanwhile, Erina continued to hold off Juniper’s assault with continued debate. “Your partner showed honor in his battle. What right do you have to step in like this?”

“It is true that his pride will likely earn me his ire once he wakes up,” Juniper spoke maintaining her cool disposition. “But I do what must be done. He had his honorable duel, and now I finish this. Of course, if you feel so inclined then you are welcome to stop me.”

“Don’t count me out yet, lass! Omnomnomnom!” Suddenly Juniper felt a pit in the center of her stomach. He wasn’t knocked unconscious? How?! She twisted back around, fist ready to slam into the pirate one more time to keep him down, but he was already in action. “Bori bori volcano!”

Though he was still prone, Runch erupted straight upward, a mountain of cereal propelling him from below. With finely honed battle senses, Juniper pulled back before the Krunch Kaptain’s leg smacked right into her face, but this fight wasn’t over yet. Runch had not escaped, and she wasn’t giving up so easily. Throwing out her hand, Juniper manifested a long chain with a hooked end, sending it flying up after the injured captain. Still rising and looking the wrong way, the chain hooked onto his ankle.

“Uh-oh,” remarked the captain, looking at the current situation. Juniper gave a mighty tug, and he had to act fast before the wave of force reached him. Reaching out, Runch manifested a replica of his trustee spoonsaber and sliced down! It was not the hook-chain of energy that he targeted, but the armor he had crafted around his leg! Targeting the weaker joint, the serrated edge of his weapon sawed and crumbled the hard, dense cereal armor into a separate segment. Just in time, the slack of the chain pulled taut, yanking the boot of armor clean from Runch’s foot.

“That was close! Omnomnom!”

Juniper narrowed her eyes. His ability to continue making that cereal of his despite his injuries was bothersome, but he was still fatigued. She was fresh. Not to mention her ace in the hole, should it be necessary.

Reaching the apex of his launch, Runch twisted himself in the air to face his new enemy down below. The options ran through his mind as to what exactly he could do. Hellberry grapeshot? Cyril was nearby unconscious, so that was an unacceptable risk. Firehose? The force would propel him back and throw off his aim, too unreliable. Throw his sword? No, wait, that was stupid. Throwing your sword never works. Think Runch, think!

Her focus is away from you, Erina. We could end this quickly.

“We could… But not like that, Bend. We’ve got to keep an eye… On the perfect opening…” Erina stood up with some effort, rubbing the injured shoulder.

Have it your way, then.

Juniper maintained an eagle-like gaze over the pirate high up in the air above her. She couldn’t reliably do anything from their current positions, and he was certain to throw some manner of counter attack at her. Whatever it was, she was skilled and disciplined and strong enough to meet it.

“I’ve got it!” Runch shouted with glee, just as he began the downward descent brought on by gravity. “Take this! My ultimate attack, my final recipe! Bori bori!” Runch clapped his hands together, fingers and palms extended outward, facing down directly at his opponent. A small kernel of yellow cereal began to form, and rapidly grow outward larger and larger. Baseball size, bowling ball, office desk, it kept growing until it reached the size of a small house!

“Gigante cannon!” The Cereal Killer thrust his attack forward, an absolutely stunning display of his goofy powers. If it were as dense and hard as his normal cannon technique, it would no doubt flatten everything it collided with.

“So much for not wanting to kill,” muttered Juniper, holding up her arm to the oncoming threat. It looks like I’ll be using this sooner than I had thought. The paper seals wrapping the maiden’s arm unraveled as she released their power over her. The seals fluttered down to the ground as her arm began to glow and crackle with raw, untamed power.

There it is, thought Runch. The God Hand power described in the journal! He couldn’t help but grin in a goofy manner. This was exciting to see in person!

Bracing herself, Juniper took a standing leap up toward the massive cereal cannonball. She could not allow this thing to make landfall! “AAAAAAAARGH!” cried the woman who summoned all her might into the strike. Several meters high in the air, her fist met with the grainy, crusted outside of the weapon. Two mighty forces had finally collided!

“Recipe: Marshmallow Surprise!” Runch called out, somewhere behind the behemoth attack.

“Now is my opportunity, Bend!” Erina cried out.

Juniper’s mighty God Hand sank right into the cereal ball. “What?!” she cried out, her face distorting in surprise. Cracks formed from the force of her blow, and cereal crumbled away into dust. Beneath was not more grain and wheat, but a white sticky mess! The marshmallow blew apart, raining down large goopy clods, sticking to everything they touched. There at the epicenter of the mushy explosion, Juniper was covered in the gunk and thrown back down to earth, for a relatively safe and soft landing.

Jostled from the ordeal, Juniper stood up a few seconds later, shaking the pain away from her head. With her God Hand it was child’s play to pull herself out of the mushy goo that would have kept a lesser warrior trapped, but as soon as she recovered her senses, the maiden’s heart sank. About thirty feet away was Runch, pulling Cyril out of the marshmallow goop, and reaching for his phylactery.

“No.” It was not a cry of desperation, but a soft declaration heard only by herself. She rushed forward, her excess strength giving her tremendous speed to work with. Her target only had but a fraction of a second to realize she was coming before Juniper had plowed straight through him, blasting through his body as though he weren’t even there. Wait, what?! Juniper turned round only to see that Runch and Cyril were no longer there. She didn’t blow right through him, he was never there to begin with!

“An explosion and a fall can really disorient you, huh?” Juniper cocked her head in the direction of the voice. Erina was sitting nearby, her fur providing a pseudo-camouflage to the marshmallow gunk everywhere.

“An illusion.” It wasn’t a question. Juniper instantly realized the situation. She was aware of her mistake. Off in the other direction she could see Runch, the real Runch, pulling Cyril free. He already had the vanguard’s phylactery in hand. She had failed. The shrine maiden took a deep breath, preparing herself for the inevitable pain, and took her failure with grace.

Samuel was taken aback by the results of his attempted nightmare. It wasn't out of the question that they be resisted, strong willed individuals had done so before, but something was entirely different regarding this situation. Something was different about this man not that he needed any further proof that the grubby looking salesman was bad news. What struck Samuel most, however, was the man's words as everything became painted over in white. This Horror of yours is potent indeed. But there are deeper fears still, fears that seldom occur to man. Perhaps one day I will show you. Such a suggestion seemed unthinkable. Samuel had met vampires and werewolves, ghosts and animistic spirits, literal angels and demons, yet his nightmares worked equally well on each of these mystical beings as they did on humans, because such beings were a part of the human psyche. They all possessed a consciousness which contributed to the Primordial Dream. Everything stemmed from it, as all supernatural creatures stemmed from the Night Mother. Yet this man, no, this thing suggested otherwise.

By the time Samuel had stopped reeling, the scene had returned to normal, more or less. Yet new creatures emerged from the ground, leftover blemishes of the painted world that had faded away. Each one appeared to be carrying multiple weapons, and Samuel had absolutely no intention of seeking battle today. If these things were left behind by that abomination, he wanted nothing to do with them. Wasting not but a second, Samuel forced himself to shed his mortal form, breaking apart into dozens of crows, all of which quickly snatched up anything useful still nearby (should the man have left his stand or artifacts behind) and immediately took refuge atop the nearest roof, before converging back into human form. The magician deigned it necessary to book it from here fast as he could, and hopefully put this entire experience behind him.

Based on the way the slime-girl was acting, Lily was starting to realise that there might be more to the relationship between Carreau and his subordinates, than mere loyalty. It seemed as if she genuinely liked him as a person, and even looked up to him like a sort of father figure. The thought gave her a sour taste in the mouth; it hit too close to home. Nevertheless, it was something she had to consider going forward. The slime-girl was, if anything, an earnest personality who wore her heart on her sleeve, or at least it seemed that way. Lily had grown up with deceptions as her primary tool to survive, and she knew what trickery looked like, but the simple childlike enthusiasm with which she talked to Carreau… It irritated her that he might actually be trustworthy. Still, one person was an awfully small data sample to base any decisions on.

She glanced over towards Carreau, noting for a moment the miniscule look of displeasure on his face, followed by a smile soon as he turned his head in the direction of where Mouse was eating. She doubted people other than herself would have noticed. Micro expressions were difficult, if not impossible to be rid of. It was one of the more beneficial gifts her transformation had given her; superior eyesight to normal humans, but especially tuned towards movement. She could guess the reason easily enough. Owing to having the head of an owl, his eyes would be tubular, as opposed to spherical like most other creatures, which also meant that when he wanted to look at things, he had to turn his entire head. The trade-off was eyesight that rivalled her own, perhaps even superior to it. In the end, how well he saw was of little importance. What mattered was that the crease between what would be his eyebrows, appeared as he looked up at her ears; one of which had always been turned his direction. He knew she was being wary of him, and it displeased him. It was something to capitalize on, she thought. If nothing else, it could force the truth out from him, and give her something she could actually trust, rather than just honeyed words and vague promises.

In the time she had been deliberating, Mouse had been given, and finished, his second helping and Verinne had returned with the damaged drone, only to be sent off to get it repaired. Carreau addressed her again, and she realised she might not have a better opportunity than now. She reached down to pick up Mouse, using the time it gave her to give Brucie the impression of sound as she had done before, giving him a message only he could hear.

”I am about to say some things this Carreau might not like. Keep calm, and just watch. Please don’t say anything.” Their eyes met as she straightened up and put Mouse in her lap, and though he didn’t nod she knew he understood.

She turned to Carreau and silently ran her hand along Mouse’s back for all but a second before she spoke. “You’re displeased with me,” she said. It wasn’t a question. “Before we discuss anything else, would you be willing to tell me why?”

The owl-man’s eyebrow-tufts sank a touch, the golden peepers below fixed on the little dog. If not masked by his hidden mouth’s strange anatomy, including the feathers around it, Carreau’s wry smile would have been all too obvious. Voice steady, he shrugged and after a second of careful thought replied, “It’s more me than you, to be honest. I cannot at all blame you for having misgivings about our acquaintance and arrangements, but I would have hoped that I might be charismatic or genuine enough to inspire at least a little less dislike if not distrust. Selfish of me, I’m sure, but can anyone claim to like being doubted? But I will content myself with the prospect of earning your esteem in the future, if I can.” Reaching out, he selected his glass and sipped some water from it, tilting his head back—eyes averted as he did so—to ensure that nothing spilled.

Brucie gave Lily a pointed look, as if silently telling her that she had been wrong in her assessment. As it turned out, Carreau hadn’t been angry by what she had said, but rather had put the blame on himself. If not for that smile of his she might have actually fully believed him, but as it was she would only take his words for a half-truth. He was trying too hard to be disarming. But he had been candid with her, to a degree anyway, so maybe she should give him some truths as well? I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.

She let out a breath and leaned back in the chair. She glanced over towards Brucie, who gave her a shrug and nodded his head towards Carreau. “He doesn’t seem to be lying,” he said in a low voice that was nowhere near a whisper, “so should we…? Y’know, also tell the truth. Whatever is your truth anyway. Can’t mindread like you.” He shrugged again and just sat back, watching her.

She raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t otherwise reply. She resolved to give Carreau a few truths, if nothing else. She ran her fingers through Mouse’s short fur, mulling it over, then said, “you’re right that I don’t trust you. Not entirely. When you refused to make the oath I requested, it told me that you will betray me should I no longer be your best option. For that reason, I cannot simply trust your word. As for charisma, that is wasted on me. Honeyed words will only get in the way of any sort of relationship between us, whether built on trust or convenience.” She paused, brows furrowed. She hoped she hadn’t said too much, or crossed any boundaries. She was in his home turf, and if she made the wrong move she might risk a… bad outcome. “So,” she said slowly, “I would rather you be honest with me. Don’t try to charm or impress me, but rather be honest about what you want from me, and I will extend the same courtesy to you. That I can trust, and that is how you can, ‘earn my esteem,’ as you put it.” Mouse, if Lily were to decide, made his agreement known with a short, happy bark.

Finished with his drink, though not at all with rumination on his response, Carreau set his glass down before running a talon back and forth across where his chin would be, if owls had chins. “Hmm…” he said, clearly a touch perturbed by his guest’s implications. “While I don’t like to suggest that anyone with whom I wish to keep myself in good esteem is wrong, I would venture that you’ve been a bit...well, paranoid. I’ve been forthcoming from the start. But I suppose I could explain my viewpoint a bit better. You see, since both Clotho and Verrine were eliminated, there is no other route to the wish other than to cast my lot in with a generous...ah, pardon me, you just mentioned the needlessness of honeyed words. I meant, try and persuade someone who still had the chance to include me. But, as much as I’d like the power to make changes in my world, it’s ultimately wish-fulfillment on my part, and not worth compromising my moral compass, or the safety of my guild, over.”

He placed both palms on the table, his owlish look serious and a little sad. “My refusal to bind myself by your oath was not borne out of a pragmatic desire to achieve that wish by any means possible, but my overriding desire to not risk a single proverbial hair on the head of any of my people. There’s so much I don’t know about how magic and power work in this bizarre City, where realities seem to converge, that I’m afraid to say I’m too afraid to take any risk. Truthfully, if the question came down to seizing that wish by putting my guild in jeopardy, or sacrificing even one member of it, I would refuse. In fact, I’m only pledging their allegiance to you in combat out of confidence that they could take on any foe you might face, based on analysis of the average strength of contestants performed by my scout Marotte.”

Carreau then clasped his hands together. Talking slowly to make sure he formulated his sentences before voicing them, he continued, “But I’m getting off topic. What I want from you is the same trust and cooperation that I wish to extend, both of which are crucial to the only route to my wish after the conclusion of which I could sleep at night...Yet, what I want even more than that is the preservation of my guild and all those in it, which is the end that my wish -though an end in and of itself- would serve. By bringing you into my home, and leaving you alone without supervision in hallways where you could slip away, or leave you with guild members I know you could at the very least hurt, I hoped you would see my own offering of that trust and cooperation. If you are unconvinced, allow me to make sure you’re aware that you would be free to back down and leave unharmed at any time; it is my assumption that you knew of this potential route that leads me to be unhappy with myself for you continuing to doubt while still being present.” His statement seemed to taper off without a strong conclusion, leaving him with a furrowed brow, trying to think of a final statement to tie everything together.

“If you knew my story,” she said slowly as she petted Mouse, “you would understand why I have a difficult trusting. The number of people I don’t distrust, I can count on my fingers.” She allowed herself so lean back into the chair and relax for the first time since she’d arrived. Her guard was by no means down, but she didn’t need to stay on edge anymore. He had… proven himself, in a way. He spoke of Verrine and one known as Clotho being participants in the tournament, and their subsequent losses, and if they had been eliminated then, that meant he had no other option than to ally with her, and do as she willed. She’d known it from the beginning, but now more than ever did she appreciate the fact that she truly sat with all of the power in their relationship. He needed her, but she didn’t need him. Oh, he was convenient and a great asset provided he remained loyal, but unless he danced to the tune of her flute…

She allowed herself a tight-lipped smile, scratching one of Mouse’s ears. “But I’ll let you in on a secret: I like you a whole lot better now, that you’re not trying to be charming. It doesn’t suit you. Your honesty is also appreciated. I won’t say I trust you yet, but I do distrust you less.” She let the smile widen, her eyes narrowing in mirth. “Doesn’t this work a lot better?”

For a moment, the owlman looked relaxed, though he hadn’t completely relaxed, either. “I am gratified,” he responded after a moment, “That you do seem markedly more comfortable.”

Beside her, Brucie looked curiously between the owl-man and the fox-woman, wondering what was so funny that Lily had actually chuckled. It looked odd on her, that smile, and that sound coming out of her mouth. Almost like she was happy, but not quite. Had he had eyebrows, they would’ve been up under his also non-existent hairline in something like sheer bewilderment. Finding no better option, he made an effort to alleviate his confusion by asking, “so… are you two friends now? Or something. Agreed to work together, right?”

Lily quietened and looked at Brucie, then at Carreau. “I suppose we have,” she said. “Now all we need is to decide who will go with us for the coming fights. You said you would go yourself, Carreau… What do you think, Brucie? Where are we strongest? Weakest? And what do we need the most when fighting.”

Brucie started at being addressed so directly and suddenly, and about something so important. Hed looked Lily in the eyes for confirmation, and found her just staring at him expectantly. “I mean,” he said drawing out each word to buy himself time to think, “you attack from far away, and so do I. But I can also be close, and… so can you now, if you know how to use a sword—” Lily nodded, indicating that she did “—but you’re… thin, and fast, but you get hurt easy. We’ll probably need someone who can stay in the front and be big and hard to get away from. Maybe someone who can be both far away and close, a bit like me? And… Maybe someone who can attack from very far away, maybe very difficult to see and make it easier to surprise our enemy?” He audibly breathed in, and exhaled through the contraption on his throat, then looked to Lily, with something like pride in what passed for an expression in a hammerhead shark. “Right?”

She offered him a nod, her eyes lingering on him for a moment longer as she looked towards Carreau, something like pride showing in them. He couldn’t quite decide if it had really been there by the time he could only see the back of her head, topped by those large, furred ears.

“I think Brucie has the right of it. Someone who can be up front to soak up damage and tank, in video game terms—I’m sure you’re familiar with them—a mid range fighter with some durability, and either a long-range or stealth-focused fighter. You know your allies better than I do. Do you have some who fit those descriptions?”

Carreau offered a sagacious nod. “Yes. For the first, I.O. and Margot fit the bill, though of the two I.O. is sturdier and stronger while Margot is a bit deadlier and more flexible. Nobody is better at long-range than Mr. Solomon Screed, though Egon is a powerful mage. As for assassins, Penning and Marotte are likely the best bets, with Penning a bit better for open combat and Marotte the better fit for the stealth role.”

Still standing nearby, Verrine leaned forward, waving her whole arm excitedly. “I could tank, too! I’m very hard to damage, and a great distraction!”

An unbidden smile broke Carreau’s composure. “The best. But what’s your class, again?”

Verrine’s lower eyelids rose in embarrassment, though her smile didn’t waver. “...Apothecary!”

“Not combat-centric, wouldn’t you say?” The owlman spread his hands apart, palms turned upward. “You’d outlast most anyone, but since you’d be limited to fighting with your natural abilities, are you sure you’d be able to deal enough damage to make enemies focus on you?”

Looking off to the side, Verrine clasped her hands behind her back. “Well...they might, uh….just walk around me. Like in the tests.”

Carreau nodded. “From your manner I think you already knew, which is good. Don’t worry, though. I have just the thing for you in the meantime. But I’ll keep it a surprise ‘til then.” He returned his attention to Lily. “Thoughts?”

Mouse had started to snore quietly in the time it had taken Carreau to lay out the potential allies, Lily had to choose from. All had their advantages and disadvantages, but at the end of the day she didn’t need anyone who were hyper specialized for killing, merely restraining and hindering her opponent.

“The one you call Iou, for his strength and ability to withstand damage. I don’t need him to be deadly, just strong enough to hold someone in place, if need be. Same goes for Egon, I don’t need a sniper that can kill in one hit, but someone with the versatility to be able to deal damage from a range, or cast spells that might aid me, or compromise my enemy. And Marotte, for her ability to surprise whoever we’re fighting against. Together with my speciality, I think she should do especially well.”

Something Lily said seemed to amuse her host. “That’ll do nicely, I think. You’ll find I.O. as affable as he is capable for those purposes, and Egon’s firepower will not fail. And you’re closer to the mark than you think with Marotte; his powers of stealth and diversion are not too dissimilar to your own. I’ll recall him from the soul-washed city.” Carreau stood, an air of satisfactory conclusion wafting about. “They’ll be by your side to fight tomorrow, unless you plan to forego sleep and pursue your next battle under cover of night.”

She made an effort to not roll her eyes. Instead she put down Mouse on the ground and stood as the owl-man did, shaking her head. “No. I know all too well the importance of sleep, I will see you in the morning, and you can do whatever you have to do in the meantime,” she motioned towards the exit as she said the last bit, indicating that she didn’t have anything else to talk about, nor any questions or comments. “Meet me outside at dawn, or what’ll pass as dawn down here.”

When Carreau and the slime girl finally left, Lily exhaled sharply and muttered quietly to Brucie, “I hope you don’t mind sleeping outside. I’m not going to sleep in this place. Hard rock beats owls any day of the week.”

Brucie shrugged. “I don’t really need to sleep. Not as you do, anyway. Shark, y’know?”

She looked approvingly at him. “Good,” she said and made her way towards the outside doors. “Wake me if you hear or see anything, or even if you get a bad feeling.”

“Will do.”

The door offered no resistance, the hinges turning silently as she piled the room, an urgency to escape the blizzard outside rediscovered by the sudden realization that shelter had been found.

There were two openings next to the door, round holes to serve the role of windows, save for the lack of shutters or a glass barrier to keep the elements out. Nonetheless, the wind and snow seemed to part away from the apertures.

Only light streamed in from those windows, the same weak, all-pervasive light that had suffused the inside of the snowstorm, but it was the other light source within the treehouse that drew her gaze. There was a fireplace there, at the other end of the room, a weak flame lit over dwindling ashes. It cast dancing shadows over the room which seemed to swallow the light coming from outside such that details of the surroundings were blurred. Unimportant, compared to this light.

Her mind went back to the billowing fire she had seen out in the whites, sitting impossibly atop its large brazier. Back to the child she had left before it.

The latter thought allowed her to reign her wits in, giving her enough focus to notice the other occupant in the room. There was a pair of large chairs facing the fire and, she realized, one was occupied, the top of a head poking above the headrest.

The words came unbidden, before she had a chance to think.

“There’s a child in the blizzard.” The ragged whisper that came from her throat surprised her. It had not been that long since she had last spoken, had it? Yet her throat itched as though those words had been her first in a decade.

The top of the figure’s head tilted. They were listening.

She forced out more. “She’s dying.”

“Children do not die in this place.” A voice just as haggard as hers answered. She frowned. It sounded familiar to her ears. The head shifted, and she knew its gaze had returned to the dwindling fire. “Come. Warm yourself.”

She stuttered for a moment, trying to find words, before realizing she was shaking. She stepped forward towards the fireplace, and took the second chair that flanked the first, as if waiting for her. She sank onto it, and though her limbs did not feel the exhaustion her journey would have earned them, it still felt as though a weight fell from her shoulders. Passage through the wailing, white landscape outside, the same in every direction one looked, drained at the mind. Her eyes fell on the fire, feeling the warmth radiating from it. For a moment, she thought of closing her eyes. When was the last time she had had a chance to rest? Did she not deserve it, after braving the storm for so long?

Yet the sight of the girl slumped in the snow stayed in her mind. “There’s got to be a town somewhere. A way out of this storm. We need help.”

“There is none,” came the weary reply.

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, her irritation giving her the push to glance away from the flames. She flinched when she saw the other chair’s occupant.

Skin sagging over bones. Unassuming clothing that may have fit their wearer once upon a time now billowing over emaciated limbs, leather over bones. Cheeks that seemed to fall into themselves, as though they belonged to a person of much greater age than the one that sat on the chair. She was aware of this incongruity only because she recognized the face of her killer, stretched and pained as it was.

Her eyes met the apparition’s – both of its eyes – and she grimaced. “Gettin’ real tired of seeing that mug.”

“It’s a tiresome thing.” The woman smiled wryly, the expression seeming to split her features. “Yet it is not always the same. Time affords small mercies… and this winter has been long.” She gasped. “Have you come to replace me?”

A hundred different doubts and suspicions plagued at her mind after the question. She stared at the figure askance, and shook her head. “What? No, I’m just trying to find a way out of this storm.”

The figure’s head craned, bones creaking audibly, before it returned to look at the fire. “You shall not find it by walking.”

“Then how?”

All that answered was the crackling of the fire. Glassy eyes reflected the dancing light, revealing nothing. She felt herself shiver. Did the emaciated woman not know the answer? Did she not want to tell her? It dimly occurred to her that she may well have left this place before she reached this state, had she known how.

“Who are you?”

The worn woman blinked, eyes turning to her once more, before shaking her head.

She frowned, before realizing what the gesture meant. No name. There was none to give.

Still, the figure stirred. “I have heard from others, that the one outside calls herself Pithy. But that came after I woke. If a grudge had a name, perhaps it would be Spite.”

“Spite?” she repeated. “Ain’t that pretentious.”

“Twas not modesty that brought me here, no, to play the warden and the grave keeper.” A wracking cough blasted out of the dying woman’s mouth. She realized it was laughter just as the sound ceased, too painful for the fragile figure to bear.

Still, at the mention of a grave keeper, her mind went to the mounds outside. Confirmation that their contents were as she had intuited.

“The cold took them,” she said. She understood readily that the woman before her had nothing to do with the corpses. The graveyard attendant had little to do with the corpses brought to his plot of land.

Spite surprised her by shaking her head. She had to stop herself from reaching out to stop the motion. So revolting was the sound of grinding bone within flesh. “None who fall to this place live in the first place. Still the cold… takes. Such is its nature. Until they find themselves here.”

“Like I did?”

“No,” Spite rasped, and she found herself more than a little relieved by the verbal response. “Even while you dream, you did not come to this place to sleep. It has happened before. We are not separate from the white outside, and thus it can be reached.”

“Where are these others, then?”

“They did not stay. Thought they did not belong here. Out into the white they went. They have since returned, but sharing this roof would do little for them.”

Unnamed graves. “What,” she asked softly, “is this place?”

“A graveyard. A prison.” Rheumy eyes blinked as they stared at the fire. “Every intelligent being dies hundreds of deaths throughout a lifetime. Every time they choose against their wishes. Every time they put another before themselves. Every time necessity demands we disengage what is moral within us. We kill ourselves by living. This graveyard is for her own self. All of us cut down and left behind.”

She did not have to ask who ‘her’ was. Still, despite all the strange things she had seen, the expansive snowstorm and featureless landscape, the multitude times she had seen ‘her’ face, the bizarre tirelessness of her body, even as she felt the numbing winds burdening her journey, this was simply impossible.

Was this not a hallucination in the last moments of her life? Why would ‘she’ find herself here, even if she had truly been killed?

A lance of pain speared through her temple at that thought. She hissed, bringing a hand to her forehead. “That sounds like the problem of someone who doesn’t live true to themselves.”

Out of the corner of her eyes, she caught Spite’s lips stretching into an ironic smile. “Yes. Yet only a wild animal can claim to do such a thing. I see now why you were cut away.”

She found herself irritated by the response, though for the life of her she could not tell why. It did not help that her headache only seemed to worsen. “I wasn’t cut away, I was cut down,” she grunted out. “I’m not that woman.”

“Then who are you?”

“■■■■■■”

Wait. That was not right.

The skeletal figure shifted its body ever so slowly, bringing a pointed ear closer to her. “Could you repeat that?”

Her breathing grew labored. She had a name. She had one. She had known it before, yet now the more she sought it out the more her head throbbed. Yet it was more than that. Strange thoughts forced themselves into her mind, concepts she had known her whole life and others whose existence she had never been aware of way rearranging and expanding, trying to fit like pieces of a puzzle with too many parts. A memory of a song and the boisterous crew that sang it saw its members replaced. Not an eccentric Doctor, but a ship cutter. Not a jolly Captain, but a lean, wiry man captain with bloodshot eyes and a twisting tongue. The ship they had been in was not a home to her, and its name was Drowned Rat of all things.

“I-I can’t… why—” she fixed wild eyes on the desiccated woman. “What did you do?”

“I have done nothing,” said Spite. “The soul sees things the eyes do not. It looks outside itself. It remembers that which is not ours to remember, and dreams without us knowing of things out of reach. You have been dreaming, and just now begin to wake.”

Wake. Wake. What nonsense was this? She was wide awake already. She brought her other hand to her face, as though that would help steady the whirlwind threatening to burst out of her head, but something gave her pause.

She pulled her hands away, brought them close for inspection.

Hands.

With five fingers each, capped in fingernails rather than claws. The only familiarity she found was in the coal hue of her skin.

An anguished cry escaped her throat.

“It will break you if you continue to struggle.”

As her ragged breathing began to border on hyperventilation, Spite sighed. Slowly, with great effort, she lifted a single arm, extending a finger. It touched her visitor’s shivering temple.

The influx of images and memories suddenly ceased. She gasped, feeling the stabbing pain slowly ebb and recede. She blinked repeatedly, licking her lips. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out, so she closed it. It almost felt as if she needed to relearn how to string words together bridging them in her mind into a sentence before she parted her lips again. “I’m not dreaming. I don’t want…” she trailed off.

“Want.” Spite nodded. The sound of bone grinding made her flinch. “Is the dream you see truly worth clinging to?”

The woman stared at her mutely. How could she ask that? This brilliant dream she had. Or perhaps this dream she had stolen from another. Of bonds and trust and people she would put her life on the line for. How could she surrender it now that she had seen it? Even if less and less details remained, even if there was still suffering within, she could not simply do away with its radiance.

“Then Want I shall call you. Who knows? Mayhaps it is a yearning that was needed instead of a grudge.” Spite leaned back on her chair, weary bones resting their weight on the wood once again. “It is nearly time. Come now, sister. Let me show you something. Look into the hearth.”

---

Out in the apartment hall, Pithy’s gaze was drawn to the discarded drawer Dew had taken from the reception desk. It had been left out while the pair tried the keys on the various doors and now sat unattended on the floor. She knelt over it, picking out a set of keys from a floor some levels higher. She had been relieved to notice the keys had been marked with an intuitive numbering scheme, making it easy to tell where each belonged.

As she knelt, the snake creature slithered closer, snout peeking into the box curiously. Pithy shivered and drew her hands away when a forked leaf like a tongue flicked out and grazed her fingers.

Standing with the new keys in hand, she called back, “Put these away, Dew.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the lazy affirmative drifted out of the room.

Pithy bit down a chastising response. Insolence mattered little so long as he did as she asked. There aren’t enough hours in the day to correct that attitude, in any case.

She clicked her tongue in mild annoyance before heading for the stairs, ignoring the nearby elevators. Rather than heading down for the entrance, she took the stairs upwards, aiming for the higher floors. Her boots thumped against the hard stairs as she went up one flight, then another, and another, her steps followed faithfully by the snake.

At the sight of a plaque with the number ‘4’ inscribed on it, she came out into the halls, keys clinking in her hand as she examined the nearby doors. She had come to a higher floor with a clear purpose in mind, after all.

She noted with some displeasure, simply from the position of the doors and the mental map she had of the building she could see that at least half the keys she had brought would not be helpful. Those apartments do not face the streets, after all

She and Dew had secured shelter for themselves, but even then there was no telling when her next opponent might approach, their mechanical familiar tracking her position to the building. She could not prevent them from seeking her out, but the building was large, with several vacant rooms. With some misdirection she might well be able to dictate where they would look for her.

Taking note of the rooms she had access to, she found the apartment room closest to the center of the building’s face and allowed herself inside. Like the one she and Dew had availed themselves of, this one was furnished, with some scattered clothing over chairs and messy collections of paper piled over a desk the only signs that remained of its previous occupant. Unlike the one they had claimed, this one felt smaller, a thick wall sectioning off the kitchen from the living space rather than a counter. The decoration as well was comparatively spartan, with only a mirror and a single painting of a landscape on the wall instead of a flagrant display of the previous owner’s interests on every surface.

This all was illuminated by the scant few rays of light that came from the large windows spanning the wall opposite to the entrance. Pithy approached them, pressing a hand against the glass as she looked out onto the lifeless streets below. The sun had just sunk below the cityline, the remaining sunlight formed a halo over the buildings that painted the streets in a gloom preluding night.

Somewhere out there was her faceless enemy. Did their thoughts also wander towards the resolution of their encounter as they paused for their night’s rest? Or did they focus sharply on the task at hand as they sought to approach under the cover of night?

Or, she wondered, did they meet their match against one of the traitors of the College?

The shadows in the room deepened by the second, matching the thoughts in her mind. Pithy turned away from the view and with a swift glance located the odd light sources she had begun to expect from this city’s infrastructures. Moments later, after some further searching and fiddling, the room was brightly lit from within.

Anyone looking from the outside would inevitably have their gaze drawn towards the large window, the one source of light within the rooms above. Well above Pithy’s own room, which faced in the opposite direction. With some luck, if someone came for her in the night, they would simply go past her.

And if I am not lucky, it will draw the attention of others completely unrelated. The possibility had not escaped her, but she did think it more unlikely than the alternative.

A rustling sound drew her attention, and Pithy turned to look at the snake nosing the contents of the desk. After a moment it lost interest, slithering away from the piece of furniture and pulling several pieces of paper to the floor with the motion. Almost out of reflex, Pithy knelt to grab the fallen object.

A thought struck her then.

They may not come tonight. Or even if they did, there was no reason why her planning should stop at a simple diversion. After all, until then she had been all but thrusted into each of her encounters for the Crucible, coming across them at the least opportune of times or having her attempts to gain an advantage thwarted by a third party. Thrice she had come to be a razor’s edge away from the end of her journey in that very same day.

This time, however she could afford to lie in wait and prepare.

She stood and opened the desk’s drawers, searching for a writing implement.

---

Once she had finished her business inside the apartment, she had taken the time to find other access routes to that floor. Of these, she had found a window at the end of one hallway with a set of metal stairs affixed to its side.

She also took note of an unnumbered door which, when opened, led to a small room with two large containers the contents of which marked the place as a disposal room. More notably, there was a metal lid covering a chute on one of its walls, which she gave a preemptive test by throwing away the keys she had brought up with her.

She casted a spell over the boundary of each key entrance, leaving behind a method to detect the progress of intruders. The cantrip she used to alert her of danger while she slept could well see a lot of use soon.

After that, she had searched the lower floors for back entrances and had, while doing this, found the other end of the disposal chute she had found upstairs, the discarded keys serving as an obvious identifier.

By the time she arrived at the reception desk plant creature still at her heels, it was already dark outside. She caught Dew on his way in, a set of large, flat boxes cradled in his arms.

His brows rose as he saw her approach. “I thought you were checking something outside. I don’t suppose you’re here to welcome me back, right?”

“What is that?” Pithy asked. The aroma wafting from the containers made her keenly aware that it had been a fair few hours since she had eaten anything.

“Ever heard of pizza?” The man grinned. “Tonight’s gonna be more comfortable than I expected.”

Comfortable. In this abandoned city filled with those who would kill them. The thought cooled her interest. “Do not forget where we are, Dew.”

The man shrugged, ambling past her. “I am reminded every time I look at you. Still, pizza.”

Pithy sighed, unwilling to continue the debate. “Wait for me in the room. I may still be away for another hour.”

“Right. I’ll leave some in the microwave, then.” With that, Dew made his way towards the elevators.

The woman looked at the back of his shoulders for a moment longer before shaking her head. She glanced at the snake, coiled and staring expectantly at her.

“What is it?” she asked it. “Would you rather not rest in the room with him?”

The snake’s head tilted in the direction Dew had gone, what passed for lips twisting slightly, then turned to silently regard her again. Was that an expression of contempt on its snout, or was she simply projecting her own feelings over it? Perhaps the creature was none too fond of Dew after their incident upstairs. The thought of another sharing her disdain for the man felt surprisingly uplifting.

She still was not certain why it had decided to follow them. At first she had entertained the notion that it was waiting for a chance to kill her and Dew. The sight of Dew’s transformation had certainly triggered an aggressive response, but beyond that, the creature had shown no intent to harm the one who had brought about the death of its previous owner despite the numerous chances she had given it in the previous hour.

Perhaps she ascribed too much intelligence to it. It may have been able to comprehend language and to communicate to some degree, but it was entirely possible that the large snake’s mind was on the same level as a small child’s. A child who, upon losing sight of their parent, had latched on to the first adult who did not shoo it away.

“Do you yourself know why you follow me?” she asked, but the only response she received beyond a continued stare was a flicker of a forked tongue. “Very well,” she sighed, turning towards the door.

As she stepped out, taking a deep lungful of night air, she produced a slip of paper. She took a moment to hide it before she moved on.

Pithy had had a destination in mind when she had stepped into the night air, and that was the building with the colorful façade she had seen earlier that day. There had been several books on display cases near the windows then, and she had spied shelves upon shelves of them past them inside the store proper.

Now she stood before it again, looking up its tall façade. Nothing had changed since the last time she had stood there, though with the advent of night, the inside of the store past the display cases looked pitch black.

Pithy brought a hand to the door handle and found it to be unlocked. She twisted it open, peering into the darkness for a long moment.

She almost jumped out of her skin when something brushed against her leg, and she looked down to see the large snake brushing past her, slithering into the building. Muttering a curse under her breath, she stilled her heartbeat and moved a step into the bookstore.

A gesture made a magelight appear over her palm. Cold light radiated from the orb over her hand, revealing the same shelves she had seen before, though this time the harsh, small source of illumination brought out sharp shadows that gave the place a haunted aspect. The light also revealed three wooden steps leading down to the main floor an inch away from where she had stopped.

At the base of the steps, the snake stared back at her, head tilted. She could imagine Dew laughing at her if she had tripped over them. Shaking her head, she navigated down the steps and located the now familiar switch on the wall. Flipping it bathed the interior in a warm, welcoming light.

She dismissed her magelight and stepped forward, slowly turning to take in the sheer amount of paper in the room. From the steps at the entrance, the room opened out into a spacious hall, with full shelves lining the walls. Near the entrance she could see tables filled with multiple copies of the same books with signs proudly proclaiming ‘New Bestseller,’ ‘50% Off for these Authors’ and other such commercials appeals. Double-sided bookshelves, short enough that she could peek over their top spread out in rows only some distance away, and to the left of the entrance she could see a counter.

Further away, divided by a single step as if demarking the area from the rest of the store was another section with rows of larger bookshelves arrayed in tighter rows. Just before that, a set of stairs led up to the other floors. She suspected the entrance of the business was purposefully made to feel more welcoming to walk-ins, but the vast majority of their stock would be displayed deeper in.

Pithy picked up a random book from the nearby tables, thumbing through its pages. She paid little attention to its contents, instead noting the lightness of the binding and the mechanically precise writing inside, so similar to the one she had seen appear on the devices she kept running across in this realm.

“The scribing process must have been taken away from human hands,” she observed, with an ambivalent feeling rising in her gut. The snake creature only looked at her silently, making her wonder if he even understood what she had said. It was not particularly important if it did, in any case. She could simply pretend someone was listening. “Where I hail from, making this many copies of a single book would have been a costly, time-consuming endeavors. Scribes would need to transcribe the contents and bind the pages together by hand, and one who wished to have this done would have to pay for literate workers, not to mention the price of parchment.”

She closed the book on her hands and eyed the tag attached at the bottom. It reminded her of the signs she had seen at the eatery she had stopped at after meeting Dew. Using the numbers she had seen there as reference, the one she saw on the book was staggeringly low.

“If someone offered me a tome at the price of a single meal before now, I would have suspected trickery,” she said dryly.

She returned the book to its table. On the one hand, the thought of plentiful, inexpensive literature was awe-inspiring for the sorceress. There had been many hints before, but this spoke of a human civilization the likes of which she had never seen before. Not in a matter of technological advancement so much as of social uplifting. Books as easily available as these suggested a literate population, which in turn suggested widely available education. Education which brought about social awareness, casting doubt on pillars of unjust authority and uplifting the lower echelons of its society.

On the other hand, she only had to look at the plaques over the bookshelves to feel a shiver of dread. Horror, Fiction, Fantasy, Romance. Bookshelves upon bookshelves dedicated to simple leisure, and the placement and price in this store told her that these would be, by far, the kind of piece most often read. The sheer banality of this excess is utterly disappointing. Human nature remains, then? The masses shall be the masses educated or not?

“I heard it said, once,” she told the staring snake, “that a literate world is not a world of philosophers, but a world of bureaucrats.”

The creature blinked dumbly at her. Pithy scowled. Had she been expecting anything else? The sorceress turned away and marched deeper into the store.

There had been questions that had occurred to her since she had learned this was not her own realm, though given the circumstances, she had not felt answering them was relevant to her pursuits. These were not tied to the Crucible itself so much as to the nature of the world she now inhabited and, indeed, had the competition not shown signs of derailment, she may well have ignored them. She did not plan to stay for long, after all.

Now that her paranoia had been justified, however, with the new appearances within the city and members of the College actively interfering with the proceedings, she felt gathering more information could be crucial. She was not expecting the abandoned bookstore to hold direct answers to her questions, but perhaps there would be hints she could garner from what she saw there. A civilization’s written works would say much about their environment and the state of their society.

The one thing she feared was that this bookstore was in fact an Echo such as the ones Nero had mentioned, and any information she might find there might not in fact apply to the realm she found herself in. There were, however, ways to confirm whether this was the case to a certain degree.

Her eye caught on a nearby stand filled with colorful brochures, and she approached it. Clearly meant for visitors to the city, several of these mentioned guided tours, some alluding to unfamiliar objects called ‘buses’ and ‘headphones’. Some of these messages were printed out repeatedly, with the same line appearing over and over under the previous one.

She picked out one which claimed to contain a map and unfolded it, giving her a view of the city. Frowning, she produced the crumpled map she had taken from Dew’s tower. Stuffed under her clothes as it had been, the paper was matted with sweat and torn in a few corners, but even with the large hole she had made down its center, the similarities with the map she had found were many. While the contents of the map differed in certain places (what she assumed was where Echoes had appeared) the size and shape of the city were in fact identical.

“The City of Rome,” she murmured, reading the highlighted words.

Was she looking at what this place had been before it became the City of Echoes?

She heard a rustling noise and glanced back over her shoulder. She forced herself to stay still and not recoil as she caught the creature following her rising, head reaching her eye-level as it angled itself to look over her shoulder.

It was easy to forget how large the blasted thing was until it lifted itself from the floor.

“Maps show an area as though looking from above,” she found herself explaining, masking her trepidation. She brought her thumb up the paper, signaling to the ‘X’ mark on the crumpled map. “We are near here. This other map shows some differences, but this area is the same, is it not?”

The creature stared at the paper for a moment before it looked away, bringing its body down to the ground.

Pithy hissed out a breath through her teeth and stored away her crumpled map. She neatly folded the pamphlet and once again found herself staring at its cover, eye trailing over the repeating messages once again. It may have been a mistake, or a stylistic choice, but a small part of her screamed that there was significance to it.

What is one thing notices aimed at foreign visitors must take into account?

The idea, simple as it was, struck her with the force of a hammer blow, and she stored the pamphlet away. She had garnered that Dew’s world was more like this one than hers. She would have him confirm her suspicions.

For the moment, given the fair likelihood that this business belonged to the city proper and had not phased in from another realm, she set out to browsing, as though the city was not abandoned, and she was yet another costumer perusing their wares.

She payed special note to the indexing scheme of the shelves when she approached them, noting the labels specifying a range of letters. She quickly made a note of the descending order of the names (she guessed these were the authors) on the spines of books as she looked through them, keeping the fact at the back of her mind.

Occasionally she would take a book out, skim the pages, then return it to its place in the shelves. This process only became faster when she found that the blurbs at the back often summarized the contents. She did this for a handful of books in each of the library’s sections. A few she picked out and kept apart, intending to bring them back with her to the apartment to see what she could learn in what little time she had left.

There were already some strange details she had picked up from the literature she had skimmed through. There was no mention of sapient species other than humans in most of the books she had found, be they educational in nature or not. Furthermore, in most sections, mentions of magic were either non-existent, or clearly referred to as something fictional. As strange as it felt to have her known world referred as such, most mentions she could find about elves, dwarves, dragons and magic in general had come from the ‘Fantasy’ section of the store and even through her light skimming she had picked out inconsistencies in their portrayals.

The idea that magic as a force did not exist in this world seemed patently absurd when one considered the fact that she could still use hers with relative impunity, but it was possible that talents did not emerge in this city. What she had read so far only reinforced her suspicions that this society had managed its advancements without the use of such power.

She had to wonder how much of an aberration she was to this realm.

Putting those thoughts away for later consideration, she finished picking out reading material. She headed for the counter, placing the books she had found over it. In the end, she had only chosen three books. One, she surmised to be a general history book, the second was a collection of charts and maps titled ‘World Atlas’, and the third was an autobiography. The last she had picked up out of curiosity for this world’s inhabitants usual life, but she well knew that if she intended to get some rest, there would not be enough time throughout the night to go through its entirety.

There was, however, one last thing she meant to do in this place.

She glanced down at the snake following her. More than once she had glanced over her shoulder to find the snake picking out books from the shelves with a tendril-like vine. It would twist them around as though to observe them from every angle, and then return them to where it had found them. She very much doubted it had the ability to read, so she suspected it was simply mimicking her as she went along.

“Wait here,” she said.

The creature looked up at her and bobbed its head up and down in a nod.

Trusting it had understood her and would not to simply wander off when she was not looking, Pithy made her way to the restrooms.

---

Almost half an hour later, the sorceress and the snake left the store. The lights had been turned off behind them, and the shutters before the front windows had been closed to prevent onlookers from seeing into the store.

Droplets of water fell from the hem of Pithy’s robe as she glanced around to ensure the streets remained as empty as she had left them, her set of books hugged to her chest. Once she was sure the streets were clear, she gestured with a tilt of her head at the snake, and set out towards the apartment.

After the day she had had, the short walk there was refreshingly uneventful. Walking past the door and ushering the plant monster into the building, she withdrew her rapier with her free hand and tapped the threshold with it, placing yet another ward. She did this again on the way up, at the stairs and at the elevator doors, until she was finally standing before the room she would be sharing with Dew.

“The key drawer is gone,” she noted.

The snake besides her bobbed its head.

Pithy knocked on the door.

A few moments later, the knob turned and Dew’s face peeked out. “Was wondering where you’d gone off to,” he said as he pulled the opening wide and stepped back to give her room.

Pithy walked in and caught the tail-end of one of Dew’s weapons vanishing into his pockets, a display of caution that very much pleased her. “There’s no need to worry over me.”

“Who said I was worried?” he said as he sauntered back to the living area. He threw himself onto the sofa, picking up a hand-sized device from the tables and facing the screen on the wall. “Left you some food in the microwave if you still want it—uh, the box with the number pad on the kitchen counter.”

Pithy deposited her haul over the divider, sparing the device in question no more than a glance before she produced the tourist pamphlets she had taken from the bookstore. She wanted to talk to Dew before entertaining any distractions, but she found herself stiffening when noise burst out of the screen.

“Quiet!” she hissed reflexively. Is he trying to let others know where we are?

Dew glanced at her askance and pointed another device at the screen. The volume began lowering immediately.

Pithy let out an annoyed grunt as she approached. Still, she found her eyes straying towards the moving image shown on the flat surface. She saw the ruins of an elegant hall, with debris and torn tapestries littered wherever she rested her eyes. The perspective moved erratically, but here and there she saw doors barred with wooden planks. Bloodied and grimy looking men with glowing, haunted eyes glared from behind the barriers as they tore them from place. The one constant of the image was small text and numbers at each corners, and a firearm held at the lower right of her vision. It was the latter which clued her into the fact that the screen was simulating her looking through the perspective of another. And it was clearly a simulation. No matter how well-drawn, the textures and colors of the representations on the screen clearly did not belong to the world around her. It was, however, close enough to be uncanny.

Dew noticed her interest and flashed her a grin. “So I happened to be looking into the drawers, and what do I find but a Playstation 4 and a bunch of games just sitting there gathering dust? I can guarantee this is the first time someone boots it up too.” He grimaced. “Didn’t know the password for wifi, though, so I’m playing solo.”

Pithy stared at him quietly.

“…though I guess that doesn’t mean anything to you.”

Pithy shook her head. “Is this something common to your realm?”

Dew chuckled, mouthing the word ‘common’ to himself as though it was the funniest thing he had heard that week. “Oh yeah,” he said nodding. “That’s a good way to say it. It’s kinda weird, though. I know this game, and it’s just plain weird having it here. It’s like a copyright strike waiting to happen.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, feeling her mouth suddenly run dry.

“Well, I guess in something more up your speed, it’s like, you go to a different, completely unrelated world and expect to see it has its own… creative inventions, I guess? Then you get there and find books and songs pretty much identical to some you already know, made by the same authors even.” He glanced at her, smiling bemusedly. “On that note, I checked. The box has the same publishers written on it. I wonder how that happened.”

“Could this not be an echo from your world?”

Dew gave her an incredulous look. “Didn’t I say it’s the first time this thing’s booted up? Of course it’s not from my world.”

Pithy did not have words to describe the feeling that began to take root in the pit of her stomach, settling there like a heavy rock. “That is… certainly odd,” she choked out. She glanced to the pamphlets in her hand. “Dew,” she said. “I want to confirm something. Look at these for me.”

“Can’t I do it later?”

“Dew.”

The man huffed petulantly, rising to look at her form his seat. He took the proffered pamphlets and frowned. “Rome…” he read out. “Is that where we are?”

“Does it mean anything to you?”

“Nope!” he said happily, “though it does have this holier than thou ring to it for some reason. Was that all you wanted?”

“No. Here,” she said, pointing at the repeating text she had noticed earlier.

“Oh. Yeah, that’s a bit weird. Must be a misprint.”

On every single kind of pamphlet in that rack? “What is it supposed to be?”

“The language. These things usually have translations in multiple languages for foreign tourists. Makes sense, right? But it looks like they messed up and wrote them all in the same one.”

“I see. That must be it.”

But of course, it was not that. The pamphlets did indeed contain the same message written in different languages. It was simply that she and Dew, despite being able to read them, could not register the difference.

Up until then, she had thought she and the others had been speaking the trader’s tongue, but she was no longer certain. This was not a case of a translation occurring within her mind, as could be achieved through the use of certain magics. She had made sure of that when examining the indexing of books at the store’s shelves. Had she been somehow reading the titles after being translated to another tongue, there was no guarantee that the indexing would carry over. Even if the tongues were literally similar to the number of characters and changes in author names were minimal there was no reason beyond some monumental coincidence spanning worlds for the characters to be in the same order she was familiar with.

Somehow the knowledge of these languages had been forced into them, and they had been then made to speak and read them naturally, unable to even register the fact that they should have been unable to. They could have perfectly gone their whole stay in this realm without a reason to bring it into question, beyond the mild disquiet that it was indeed odd for all these beings from different worlds to communicate with more ease than a foreigner in a neighboring country.

It was, however, not the language itself that concerned her.

What else? she wondered. What other change could have been made without me knowing? My memories? The way I think? Could she trust the things she thought to be true, to be so in truth?

“You okay there, Pithy? You’re looking paler than usual. It’s actually kind of creepy.”

The woman blinked and shook the doubts from her mind. She forced her taut muscles to relax. “Yes. It’s nothing.” What she had to do still had not changed, and it was too late to change course in any case. “You said you left food in the kitchen?” she asked on the way there.

“Yeah,” he answered, frowning after her. He suddenly blinked, as though remembering something. He picked up a bottle from the ground and tossed it at her.

Pithy saw the object make a lazy arc towards her and snapped her right hand up to catch it. The bottle fumbled against her fingers and fell to the ground. The snake creature, which had slithered nearby, tensed at the sudden clattering, coiling as though prepared to pounce on the offending object.

“Woah there, butterfingers.”

Pithy grimaced, hiding embarrassment. She knelt to pick up the drink. “Finish that soon, Dew,” she said tilting her head at the screen. “If the next foe comes at us during the night, we will not have much time to rest. I will alert you if that happens.”

“Yeah, alright.”

Pithy was surprised. She had half-expected the man to jest about her not being his mother.

One way or another, that was the last exchange the pair had for the night. Pithy ate what had been left out for her, and while Dew had suggested she would enjoy what he had found, the direction her thoughts had taken had all but squashed her appetite.

Eventually she retired to the adjoining room, taking her books with her. The earlier conversation made it difficult to focus, however, and the progress she managed to make before the day’s exhaustion took her was not nearly close to what she had hoped for.

Though she’d suffered it once already, nothing couple prepare Juniper for the unadulturated agony that crackled through her veins. In fact, the memory of that inexorable torture served more to fill her with dread than steel against its return, and the cobblestone-floored plaza became suffused by the cries she could not suppress. Cyril’s body, too, jolted and spasmed where it lay, as though a brutal electric current was flooding just enough life into his rattled nerves and torn muscles to convince them to contract and twitch on their own. It wasn’t long before the pain died out, but the brevity of the torment was a small mercy, particularly since Juniper had remained conscious throughout. Sweat and dirt stained her brow and clothes, and while no new injuries could be seen on her body, the veins in her wide-open eyes were red as blood. On her hands and knees she hyperventilated, strainedly murmuring clipped snatches of a language Runch didn’t recognize. Several meters away, Cyril’s battered form had lapsed back into motionlessness.

”Ever since I first discovered how to do this, it has become the most painful part of these fights.” Runch held his worthy opponent still, respecting Cyril enough to ensure the convulsions didn’t lead to bumping his head on any stones or cause even greater damage still to the wounded knight. ”But pain, even the most horrible agony, passes. Death does not. Once I win, even if you despise my very being, I will ensure these sacrifices to be worthwhile, and all will be well good knight.”

The captain never once looked away, never blinked as he held Cyril still. He took it all in, took responsibility for the consequences of his actions. His original opponent had been a psychotic assassin and thus did not warrant such concerns. Then there was Motley Crue, the vampire, who had proven to be unworthy of such compassion. The same could not be said of Sir Boniface, no matter the veneer of gruff and irritable nature. A gold pot could be banged up and scuffed on the outside, but it remained a gold pot. The same was true, Runch suspected, of a gold heart.

Erina cautiously approached the shrine maiden as she began to utter foreign words. The kitsune wished to offer comfort, but did not wish to be the target of Juniper’s wrath. ”I know your pain. I too have gone through it twice. The anticipation, in some ways, is worse than the experience.”

Though by now the pain did not torment Juniper quite so badly, something Erina said provoked the woman to suppress its remnants as she affixed her former opponent with a hateful scowl. “Spare me your catechism,” she growled, “If you really wish me no more suffering.” Struggling to her feet, Juniper limped across the devastated cobblestone plaza in the direction of a bar & grill very much set in one of Oldtown’s numerous antiquated styles. She only turned her head as she passed by Runch and the body he held. “Whatever your plan is, I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed. Normal humans can’t take that kind of head injury, and after that agony, too? He’ll die of thirst before waking up from that coma.” A dry chuckle, more of a cough than anything, escaped her throat. “For the best, probably. Even if he did cut off my legs I wouldn’t wish him to be stuck in this wretched waste, a hopeless, purposeless failure. Like me.” With nothing more to say she resumed her journey, and pushed through the door into the restaurant.

Runch could not help but laugh as Juniper strode away in a fit. ”Omnomnomnom! You would think she’s unfamiliar with my famous bloodberry cereal, known to vitalized, re-energize, and stimulate healing!” As he spoke, the captain created exactly the recipe he so fondly bragged about, dropping small bites into Cyril’s mouth, manually mashing the pellets with Cyril’s jaw, and then letting it slide down the man’s esophagus. He repeated this process numerous times over the course of several minutes, neglecting his own wounds despite the bleeding.

”There,” he sighed, wiping his brow, only to realize he still had that ridiculous armor on. With great frustration, and comedic difficulty, he began to remove it piece by piece as he spoke aloud to Erina, hovering nearby. ”I have done what I can without the aid of my ship’s doctor. What remains is up to his willpower now, and from what I’ve seen of that there should not be any further problems! Omnomnomnoooooo-!”

Runch lost his balance in an attempt to remove the left leg of armor, falling square on his backside. A small yelp escaped his lips as he bruised, the adrenaline of active combat having worn off. Erina couldn’t help but (poorly) stifle her own laughter. ”Well what about Juniper?” she asked, one hand still covering her mouth.

Shaking his head to rouse himself, the pirate replied, ”She’ll be difficult to talk to right now, not that she can be blamed for it. Still, I’d rather try to reach her and fail, than go on living without having tried at all. What sort of man could I call myself then?” Taking great care, he lifted the unconscious knight upon his back, then gestured toward his shield and glaive. ”Would you mind grabbing those?”

Erina nodded in acknowledgement, hopping across the patches of cobblestone that were still intact, and not covered in marshmallow goop, with the vigor of a schoolgirl skipping hopscotch. Once she returned to Runch’s side, Erina made known her own concern. ”Are you certain about this?”

”I’m always certain,” Runch shot back with a wink. ”When it comes to making smiles.”

The kitsune could not help but roll her eyes in the face of such pure cheese. Still, in its own way, it was warming. Without another word the duo carefully navigated the area into the restaurant, Runch taking great care not to jostle his burden.

Though not immediately visible, Juniper had already fetched a clear, tall bottle and brought it with her into a corner. She could not have failed to hear the others enter, but she did not look up, instead holding her head in her hand.

Runch took a moment to take the scene in, drink in the bar with his eyes. So much of this world was a bizarre hodgepodge of styles, architectures, cultures, and values. So much of this city was utterly foreign and alien. While the same could be said of the design of this establishment, a watering hole was a watering hole no matter where you went, so he found it easy to acclimate to.

Spotting Juniper holed up in her own little corner, the pirate and the exorcist calmly sauntered over, but chose to at least give the maiden some space. Tiring a bit, Runch produced a bowl from behind the bar and filled it with his healing bloodberry cereal. Beaming with pride, he stopped a moment before beginning to dig in, realization striking. Quickly he found two more bowls, and filled those as well! ”Omnomnom! I was almost rude there for a moment!”

He slid one bowl over to Erina, who began eating quite happily as memory of her last serving came to mind, and the third bowl over to Juniper.”It’s delicious, nutritious, energizing, and it stimulates the body’s healing. Omnomnom! I made sure to make you a variant that pairs well with alcohol.” He wiggled his mustache playfully despite Juniper having not even looked up yet. It was in that moment that he noticed… Half his mustache was missing! AAAAAAAAAAAAAH! Runch’s eyes turned ghostly white as his mind shrieked in utter horror, yet nary a peep escaped his lips.

The pirate’s comical behavior did not gel with the heavy reality that weighed down on his would-be friend. Juniper had hoped that her departure, let alone her plea, would have convinced the two to leave her alone, but Runch seemed intent on following her and making nice with her. Perhaps, Juniper considered wearily, he simply wasn’t capable of understanding her situation. In his world, a few laughs and words of respect over a gift of food might very well mean forgiveness and comradery, but real life did not work that way. Wounds healed slowly, resentment festered, despair bloated up, and grudges persisted. Much to her self-loathing, she could not even force the blasted pair to leave her alone, so instead she growled at them from behind her hands. “Won’t you take a hint? Even if I did need your pity, I wouldn’t accept it. You’ve nothing to offer me but further insult and deeper dismay.”

Erina remained silent, partly to enjoy the meal provided to her, and partly because she knew how Juniper felt. The feelings were somewhat mutual, and the two women had come from similar places. Perhaps there was something she could add to help improve Juniper’s demeanor, but likely not. She allowed Runch to say what he liked… Unfortunately he was still too freaked out and internally screaming in horror. ”Runch?” she asked, prodding him with a spoon to the shoulder.

The pirate roused from his mental anguish, shaking his head, then jumped straight into response as though he had been actively listening to her the entire time. ”I won’t pretend to understand your position. I know it’s impossible. Like a winter berry and a summer berry planted together, we come from entirely separate histories. I already made such a mistake when I offended Erina here, earlier.” He gestured to the kitsune, who perked up a moment, then went back to eating her fill. ”I won’t bother you any further if that is your desire, but I will say this. We never had any grudge between us. You are not now, nor were you ever, my enemy, despite having been my opponent, and the same goes for Sir Boniface here. This competition need not breed any rot on our spirits. In fact I believe that we have gotten to know one another, in a most unorthodox way surely, and could be friends. I promise you that when I win… And please note I said when, not if-” he hastily added. ”Everyone will benefit.”

Runch hastily scarfed down his entire bowl, wiped the crumbs upon his sleeve, and then shifted his weight in preparation to leave, ensuring that Cyril did not fall lopsided on his back. ”I can’t make you eat, but it will help. Live the life you desire to live; my crew will welcome you with open arms if you change your mind.” The floorboard creaked as Runch took his first step. Erina pushed aside her bowl, having just finished. The two of them, Cyril in tow, headed for the door without another word. Of course, Runch kept his pace ever so slightly slower than his usual gait, keeping up hope that Juniper should heed his message.

A minute of silence passed after the pirate’s departure before Juniper moved, and then only to slump down on the table. Her bottle stood nearby, as of yet untouched, and it rattled when her forehead hit the wood. For a brief time she wondered whether or not she’d made the right decision by allowing the others to take Cyril away, but in the end it didn’t matter. She couldn’t have if she tried, and the man -who hadn’t wronged her much less than Runch himself- was little more than a lump of meat, now. The pirate’s magical mix might be able to heal physical wounds, but could it overcome the damage done to Cyril’s mind? In her heart the shrine maiden hoped it wouldn’t. He didn’t need to reawaken into this lost place, with nowhere to go and nothing to do, and hear the clown laugh while telling him that losing his life’s purpose was no big deal.

Juniper knew that sooner or later she would have to leave. Maybe something in the City would kill her, though despite her misery she felt disinclined to throw her life away, or maybe by some miracle someone from the College could get her back home, as unlikely as that Barnaby woman made it seem. She looked up from the table at the misty bottle set upon it, then painfully roused herself to go and fetch a glass to pour its contents into. Even here, in the depth of her failure, she didn’t need to sacrifice her dignity.

Bit by bit the sun descended across the horizon, its reddish luster turning the cloud-strewn blue sky to yellow and orange, until the embrace of night inked it dark blue, purple, and finally black. Darkness fell over the City of Echoes, a place where the unnatural quiet turned modern buildings into the ruined monuments of a forgotten age and every storefront sign into an epitaph.

If the City was dead, though, it was the restless sort of dead. Hook-clawed, scrabbling monsters lurked in the darkest shadows, particularly in the areas that must have once maintained the densest populations, but those familiar, unintelligent threats did not leave their territories to walk abroad like the pale things that appeared that night. Their white, wispy forms evoked the tales of ghosts, but their feet never left the ground and they circumnavigated obstacles that presented themselves during their haunting patrols, keeping their eyes out with the watchful discipline of hunters on the prowl.

While these solid specters differed drastically in appearance, some mirrored others exactly, suggesting that there existed only a select number of specific kinds. A number of them bore inhuman features, like the noisome, blobby things with minute legs and cavernous maws that squirmed around, hunger wafting from them like the stench of death, or the gorgeous women with draconian features who strutted imperiously about, their reptilian eyes scanning every corner. Walking machines of remarkable size and sophistication, betraying no hint of a human operator, shook the ground with every footfall; feral creatures that stood upright, clad in ceremonial garb, leaped across rooftops using their vicious claws. Below, fungus-infested skeletons waited on streetcorners, sentinels with swords drawn. Perhaps more oddly, more human entities also composed their ranks, like the brawny men in striped suits, soldiers with futuristic gear, and slender assassins.

All through the night, the drones lay in a powered-down state, waiting for their internal timers to roll around to morning and have them begin the hunt anew.



The rays of dawn poked through the perennially clouded sky, illuminating a city no more ravaged by abnormality than it had been the night before. Outside each of the remaining competitors' havens, the flying machines sent by the tournament's vanished announcer whirred to life.

This included one that, at an unknown time in the night, arrived at the temporary abode of Pithy, its previous keeper eliminated the preceding evening. It pointed toward the thicker city, yet from angle so low to the ground that it scarcely avoided scraping it.

Once found and consulted, the drone assigned to Lily maintained an upward angle, its orientation such that if Lily returned to street level its back would be facing south, where the skyscrapers gave way to rows of smaller buildings that grew thinner and thinner until they reached the City's southern border.

In Oldtown, Runch's own guide indicated a generally northwest bearing—generally because the drone changed its angle often and suddenly, as if his next opponent was teleporting around.

At seven o'clock the drones each gave a series of beeps before launching into a prerecorded message. “Hello and welcome to the big leagues!” came the voice of the Crucible's bespectacled commentator, known to some as Oren and others by that name's inverse. “If you're hearing this that means you've made it to the semifinals. That means two big matches: one in Uptown and one in Downtown. Once that's sorted out, there's just one more little brawl to tidy things up, and then your dreams are a reality!” The words rang with enthused finality, but after a brief pause another message followed it up. Though the voice belonged to the same young man, his tone sounded drastically different. “Soooo....here's the scoop,” Nero said, his voice low and serious. “If you're getting this message, it means things have gone bad. The tournament's still on, in the sense that if you collect all the souls and find the wishing machine you'll have it granted, but don't expect to receive any help from me or the College. In fact, if you haven't already met some of them, there's a good chance they'll be out for your blood. But beware: all research indicates that there's something else out there, something...fundamental. The College had help finding you, and I'm sure that whoever -or whatever- wanted you here hasn't gone anywhere. Good luck.”

Having heralded the dawn of the third day, and something more deep and sinister than anything the contenders had yet encountered, the drones fell silent once again.

The sound of small rocks hitting metal caused Lily to stir back to consciousness. She opened her eyes to see Brucie standing not far off, looking up at the giant bird, that made up the base of Carreau's Castle. They had found a place where debris from the stalagmites and stalagtites, had formed a small hideyhole, just large enough for the three of them to stay out of sight together. She untangled herself from her tails, revealing Brucie who had been sleeping in her lap. She shook him awake and lifted him off of her, much to his visible dismay.

She stood and stretched, feeling the soreness of yesterday's battles coming back to her. The flask she had been given healed her well enough, but still her muscles ached slightly from suddenly being used more than they were used to. She had gotten lazy in the last few years, and decided she would have to rectify that.

"How long have I been asleep?" She asked and undid her braid, letting it fall free for its full length.

Brucie turned to face her, casting one last look at the towering bird, and said, "Six-seven hours, I think. No clock, or sun down here to tell." He walked over to where Mouse was now lying, next to the bag still half-filled with pastries and bread. He dug into it and pulled out a few, left some on the floor for Mouse to gnaw on while he put the rest in his own mouth. He then leaned back against one of the large rocks that made up their hiding place and quietly watched Lily work on re-tying the braid. "How do you manage that?" He asked.

Lily stopped her work and looked at him. "Manage what?"

"Your hair." He pointed to the tips of it. "It's at your knees almost. How do you deal with it? Just having hair makes my head feel itchy."

She snorted, and returned her attention to her hair. "Practice, patience, and habit," she said and redid the pins that held it near her head, then started working on the braid proper. "Had it this long since forever. Just got used to it. Also braiding it makes it shorter, in a way, so it only goes to my hips." She looked up from where her hands were deftly weaving her hair together into her trademark braid. "This'll take a while. Could you keep an eye out for the castle? If it's been about as long as you say, they're probably going to start coming out soon."

"Roger," Brucie said and returned to his earlier perch, this time looking straight towards the castle-topped bird.

The quiet peace that she often enjoyed from the simple act of braiding her hair, was robbed of her not moments later, when the whirring sound of a small machine shattered the quiet around them. She looked over to the side where the familiar drone hovered in place, albeit at an upwards angle. She was about to simply ignore the buzzing of its propellers turned into beeps, eliciting an exasperated flick of her ears.

"Just the drone," she called over to Brucie, having heard his curious grunt at the sound of the beeping. She turned her attention back to it just as the recording began, the sound of the pompous 'narrator' already souring her mood with his first few words. Nevertheless, she listened, and it turned out, that, for once, listening to this baboon was important. She was in the semi-finals, that much she already knew. It was what came next that chilled her blood, and fanned the flames of the familiar feeling of vitriol. Her teeth clenched and jaw tightened almost of their own accord, and she had to fight from clenching her fists hard enough to puncture her own skin.

Of course. It had to have been too good to be true. Of course there was more to the tournament than just a college, that wanted to see humans, monsters and more fight to the death to get their heart's desire. With the message over and delivered, Lily was left shaking; her entire body tensed up like a spring. Mouse must have noticed her anger, for her walked over to where she was standing and pushed against her leg, trying to get her attention. Only when she opened her eyes and unclenched her fists did he stop, instead now looking up at her with a curiously tilted head. She crouched down and put her hand on his head, scratching him behind the ears as she remembered the breathing exercises she had been taught, to control her anger. She breathed in, then out, using the presence of Mouse as an anchor.

When she opened her eyes again, what must have been minutes later, her anger was gone and instead replaced with determination. Fuelled by the fires of her defiance and the lingering embers of her temper, that never quite seemed to quiet, but determined nonetheless. The college, or whoever was behind it, had brought them here for something. They had dangled what she desired the most right in front of her nose, and she would be damned if they were going to snatch it away from her.

The College wanted to fight her? Bring it. Her hands were already drenched in blood, had been for years. A few more humans who dared get in her way wouldn't weigh anymore on her conscience.

She stood up straight and headed towards Brucie, stopping a few metres short, looked towards him and then disappeared.

Brucie, who had been watching her approach in his peripheral started, looking intently at where she had been moments before. "Lily?" He asked aloud. "Y'there?"

"Walk towards me," she replied.

He dutifully obeyed and trudged towards her, still glancing back at the castle every other second. The fifth time he did so, and looked back, Lily had reappeared. "See you again," he told her to which she nodded, a satisfied looked in her eyes.

"I had an idea," she explained. "Normally I can't really move while invisible. Walk very, very slowly at best. Being in his castle gave me an idea." The look Brucie gave her was... reading the shark was always a challenge, but she seemed to notice a glimmer of incomprehension in his beady eyes. "You know what, take five steps back, wait a few seconds, then five steps forward again, okay?"

He nodded and did as she asked, first marching five steps backwards. At the fifth step his expression changed to something that could look like comprehension, and he gave a metallic thumb's up in the general direction of Lily. He walked forward again, and she came into view immediately upon his second step. "You disappeared when I walked away!" He exclaimed.

"I did. Like I said, if I just make myself invisible I can hardly move without breaking it. But, if I create a bubble of illusory of magic in an area, I can use it like a film, where I filter out anything I don't want the person inside to see. Looks," she nodded behind Brucie, and as he turned she made the dome she had created moments earlier opaque. It was perhaps half a dozen metres in diametre, and stopped just behind Brucie. "You were inside that, and I filtered myself out." She smiled. "I decided you couldn't see me, but you could see everything else. I might be able to do the opposite as well, giving myself a wider area of invisibility, but I haven't tried yet."

She turned towards the castle on the crow, where she was beginning to spot activity in the windows, lights turning on and the like.

"Bird-Man is waking up," Brucie muttered beside her.

Lily nodded. "He, and his entourage of weirdos."

As twilight fell to nighttime, Runch had made a point to take up shelter where he felt safe with Erina and the still unconscious Cyril. The previous night gave way to a massive storm which nearly drowned him, he was not about to take such a risk again, and so set about creating a fine structure from the top of a building. There with his bori bori powers he ensured a drainage system to keep any flood waters away, and a comfortable dwelling from which they each could sleep that night. While his caution certain had been warranted, the suspected danger turned out to be something completely different, for no storm clouds raged upon the world this night. Rather, shadowy spectres of creatures, large and small, formed among the streets. The pirate captain inquired Erina for her expertise, but she could not identify them without a closer inspection. Only one detail could be provided from the kitsune: whatever they were, they were not ghosts. At least none she had been familiar with.

Runch kept a close eye when he could, spying the figures as they moved about in a neverending patrol. Thankfully none came up to his dwelling, and so they remained safe. However, despite the things' off putting appearances, they felt strangely familiar. It wasn't until halfway through his nights sleep that Runch realized why. They took the forms of many individuals he recalled seeing at the gathering, before they had all been dispersed throughout the city. Then these were... Losers? The thought began to creep into his head, a nagging feeling of discomfort. What actually happened to the losers that these things were spawning at night in such great numbers? He would have to wait until morning before dwelling further on the matter. No rest meant accomplishing nothing during the day.

---

Several beeps stirred Runch from his deep sleep, jolting him upward. No sooner had his mind focused on the reality of the waking world did the announcer's voice come in from his nearby escort drone. Semi-finals, eh? Only two more battles. Well, two more "official" battles. More College staff could find him, or whatever else this bizarre city had lurking in it. Wait, the city! Runch practically jumped toward the window, gazing out to inspect the streets. The shadowy spectres from last night were gone, no trace left. Peculiar.

Then the drone's voice caught Runch's attention again, as Oren took on an entirely new tone and persona. It had thrown the pirate for a moment, being so used to the man projecting something altogether more upbeat and bombastic. Oren didn't tell anything Runch hadn't already found out for himself, but the idea that Oren knew himself, well, that at least said something in itself. The captain pondered, slumping back against the artificial wall he had constructed the previous night, as to the course of actions he would take moving forward. His drone was clearly pointing toward a new opponent (though it seemed to be malfunctioning giving its erratic movement) and so he could most definitely progress forward that way. Then again, Oren just admitted that there was something else going on that the College had no control over, and limited knowledge about. It would be incredibly selfish to forge onward for a wish in the face of such a mystery that affected them all. What if the machine was far more nefarious than anyone knew? And of course, there was Sir Cyril Boniface, still unconscious from his injuries in their battle the previous day. Runch swore to take care of the man until he recovered, and fully intended to fulfill that promise.

That settled the matter, then. The captain glanced around over to the two makeshift beds he had made for his traveling companions. Cyril remained asleep, while Erina had been up, apparently in some sort of meditation. He wouldn't bother her for now, and approached Cyril to check on the knight's well being. "Are you able to move?" he asked, in hopes the vanguard would suddenly spring to life and do a jig. Of course, he checked for vitals as best he could as well. If Cyril did awaken, then that would be a most splendid development, sweeter than the finest fruit! If he did not, then the captain knew what he would have to do: carry the man back to his ship, The Guppy, where his very own crew physician could provide care. Yes, that would be best.

At the apex of Deadbeat Sky’s extendable staircase, before the door flanked on either side by armored angels, a familiar figure reclined in what was unmistakably a fold-out chair.

While made of period materials, chiefly wood and leather, its construction spoke of a hint from the far-flung future, at least as far as the more medieval-themed Armada was concerned. If the furniture’s style suggested any sort of incongruity, however, its occupant seemed unaware. Clad in leather, bandages, a poncho, and his signature wide-brimmed hat, Mr. Solomon Screed embodied everything stylish –or, perhaps, quaint- about the Wild West. This, of course, made for yet another anachronism, not that the mummified gunman seemed to care.

When Lily, Brucie, and their doggy companion approached, he rose from his comfortable portable to give his master’s guests a bow. “G’mornin’,” he greeted, his voice rather less raspy than how the others might remember. A half-full mug of black liquid situated beneath his chair provided the reason why. “Ah hope, even in this here dismal cavern, yew lot slept well through the night.” Straightening up, he moved to the side, dragging the chair out of the way as he did. “I.O. and Egon are en route. As for Marotte…”

The mummy’s cracked lips broke into a smile, then began to change. Screed’s entire body shifted, not with a flash of magic or puff of smoke, but in a rather horrifically organic matter. Bandages unwrapped themselves, becoming tendrils that then receded; his hat shrunk and thickened, sliding down over his face as its top gathered together into an uncanny mockery of human features. Bright colors appeared as seams split apart to reveal eyes, and in another second a gaudy jester of flesh stood before Lily.

After the speedy transformation finished, the creature took yet another bow, though one more reminiscent of a performer than a servant. ” I̸ ̷am̀ here, M̡ada͠m̶e̸, to̶ ͏fight ͘at y̕o͟ur̨ ͘sid́e.”

A moment later, the ground began to shake. From the rightmost of the five paths leading out from the main door, a colossal, bipedal stag beetle approached, his shell a brilliant metallic green that sent motes of light rippling off the walls. A gray beard stretched down from the bottom of his greathorned helmet, overlooked by round, friendly black eyes. Around him a thick eddy of smoke swirled, and as the titan came near the fumes resolved them into the shape of a diminutive, besuited specter.
The brawny bug spoke first. “Hello, Ms. Lily,” he rumbled. “I am Immovable Object, but please call me I.O. I look forward to lending you my strength.”

“Ya know who I am.” Egon took a deep breath through his cigar, then puffed out a plume of smoke that molded itself into accusatory finger at Marotte. “But you oughta know betta than to pull off some kinda stunt like that wit’ some ‘n who don’t trust us yet.” His smoldering, fiery eyes regarded Lily’s trio. “So what’ll it be, chief?” The other two joined the ash specter in gazing expectantly at Lily, ready to proceed at her command.



Beneath a nigh-cloudless sky, tousled by a cool breeze, stroked by the morning sun’s gentle rays, Oldtown was at peace. One could almost forget the lethal, ongoing trial-by-combat and the ominous mystique that permeated it, but like a stormy horizon it lay in the distance, threatening to surge in and wash the City away.

Though brimming with optimistic hope, Runch’s inquiry went unanswered by the limp knight. Still, his heart beat on, pumping blood throughout the body restored by the pirate’s supernatural cereal. Even the impression left in the side of his head behind the temple appeared to be mended, and the ripped flesh on his ear scabbed over. When Runch checked his former opponent’s eyes, he found no glaze in their murky brown depths, yet still something about them troubled him. When had he opened the Knight Sylvestre’s eyes?

A few moments passed before those inexplicably open peepers fell closed, then opened again with conscious slowness.

A wide grin slowly crept across the captain's face as he observed his former opponent slowly coming to. Such wonderful news it was to witness! Still, there was something to be said of the man's pride, if Juniper's parting words were any indication, and so Runch thought it best to step aside for a moment in order to let the knight see something other than the face of his heated enemy first. Cyril would likely need to get himself re-acclimated, and didn't need that shock to the system, yes?

Erina took notice of the vanguard's stirring as well, pulling herself from her meditation. She could only roll her eyes at the goofy sight of Runch creating a new bowl of cereal off to the side, ready to serve the Knight Sylvestre as a good morning gesture.

---

---

Samuel had thankfully gotten away from the creatures of blackness summoned by the odd merchant, but the flight had left him hungrier than before. He had thought to hunt and prowl in the night for a potential food source, but once he had caught sight of similar beings creeping around the city streets, he thought better of it. This many hunting for me, for such a minor insult? No, it couldn't be. If that being were hunting for me this would be massive overkill, and he didn't seem the sort for that. Which must mean the old man's creatures are searching or something else... Assuming these are related to the ones he sicced on me.

Regardless as to his ponderings, the situation remained unchanged. He would have to camp out on a rooftop until morning, then seek out a meal. Terrorizing people left such a bad taste in his mouth, but... It certainly was better than the alternative. Without another thought, the magician set about perching himself in a suitable location, and let the sweet bliss of sleep drift over him...

Samuel awoke early the next morning from a dreamless sleep, the usual situation for creatures of his ilk. Yawning a small bit, he stretched out, losing his balance for a split second, then caught himself remembering where exactly he was. A frown formed on his face. A quick survey told him that the creatures of the night had gone away, a relief in itself, but not without creating some cause for alarm. Either they found what they had been seeking, or could not manifest in the daylight. Even if the latter was true, the chances were that they had discovered anybody he could use as a source of food. Samuel still sensed the kitsune's presence, but she and her... associate were deemed too dangerous to go after. Even if he fed from their fear, she was definitely the type to retaliate with extreme prejudice. Thus Samuel decided that he would be better off seeking someone else.

A large tower in the distance stood out as a noticeable landmark. Heading in that direction would be a good place to start...

Pithy gasped, throwing her eye open with a start, and immediately regretted it.

Frozen air burned her lungs, and fire blossomed along her ribs and under her jaw wounds disturbed by the motion.

Yes, she was wounded. Long cuts along the underside of her jawline and along the side of her ribs, blood welling from the openings cut open by a needle-like blade much like her own.

But her enemy was nowhere to be seen. Neither was the mirror-filled room she had been in moments ago, where the contestants had descended to fight each other in the name of their patron deity. There was not much of anything to be seen, truth be told, besides an endless expanse of white.

Snow covered the ground, while a dense mist shrouded her surroundings.

What happened? What is this place?

An image of her standing over a blonde woman, rapier pointed down at her, raced through her mind like a thunderbolt. Blue eyes like hers—they were nothing like hers—glared up at her—she would never have worn that expression—daringly, half-mad, as if looking forward to what came next. The feeling of flesh giving way, of an airway crumpling—what had been the point of that death?—under a metal tip.

“What a ghastly expression.”

Pithy found herself agreeing, until she realized her own lips were stretched into a wide smile.

Stilling her features, she turned slowly, trying not to upset her wounds. A figure had stepped out into view, so silently that she wondered if it had always been there, and she had simply missed it.

It was covered in a white cloak, shrouding it down to its feet. The face peering out from the hood’s opening was also white, featureless save for the large, black pits where its eyes would have been. It was taller than her, and the cast of its shoulders as well as the timbre of its voice brought a man to mind, but those were the only details she could make out regarding its identity.

It did not matter. She knew who she stood before.

“I come to have my wish granted,” she found herself saying.

“Yes. As do all who reach this place.” The voice was deep. The words spoken, steady, slow, but with a sharp clarity that was almost cutting. “Except for those whose wish is the struggle itself.”

“I have struggled for too long already.”

“Too long, yes. Now your time is short. You paid a price once so you could stand here today. Now, you wish to strike another bargain, but in order to gain what you want, it must come at no price to you. The toll must be paid by others.” The mask paused. “Perhaps you are too eager to pay.”

The image of the blonde woman’s last, blood-choked gasp flashed through her mind.

Stung, Pithy scowled towards the white expanse, unable to meet the masked figure’s gaze. “Such a wish should not have come at a price in the first place,” she spat. “Do you judge me, then?”

“The judgement has already been made. Should you emerge victorious from among the other Champions, one of the wishes within you shall be granted.”

Her excitement was short-lived. “What do you mean by ‘one of the wishes’? There is no other wish; I am not of two minds about this.”

“No, not about this. Rather, you are of two minds. The price you paid, after all, was to take something else into yourself. A child of this realm. An open gate.”

Gradually, puzzlement morphed into a trickle of terror. Not here. It could not get in her way now, when she had gone so far.

“...no. No, you cannot mean that. Such a wraith has no ego of its own! And even if it did, a bargain was struck!”

“A trap was set, rather, but that is a matter of semantics. In any case, just as you affected a change in yourself by coming into contact with this being, so did it change in return.”

Pithy closed her eye, taking a slow breath. This was not something she wanted to hear. She had had her suspicions, but now that he had said it, she could not easily dismiss it.

“What...” she began. “What does it want?”

The cloaked figure did not answer. Instead, it changed its posture, masked turning to face something behind her.

Pithy felt a searing heat coming from behind her. Forgetting all about her wounds, she whirled.

A large bonfire raged behind her, rising from within the snow as though fueled by it. And through it, as though standing at the other side of the flame, was a small silhouette.

A word rose over the roar of the flame.

“Mother?”

---

Want blinked, shaking her head. Looking around, she saw she had returned to the tree-house hidden in the blizzard. She was still sitting on the chair before the dying fireplace, the emaciated Spite sitting at her side. She, too, blinked disorientedly, as though just coming out of a daze.

Eventually, Want found her voice. “What was that?”

“A dream,” rasped Spite, sluggishly shifting on her chair. “They originate somewhere else. A deeper place privy to its own hidden insights, ephemerally rising through the folds of consciousness. Easily forgotten.”

“That was my dr—“ Want paused. “Her dream?”

“Yes. Was this dream something that happened to the one outside?”How should I know? she began to answer, but instead, she asserted, “That never happened.”

Another torrent of memories streamed into her mind, prompting a grunt of pain. Arriving into the city of Bren. Streets packed with people of every kind and origin. A room filled with mirrors. A woman with an otherwordly aura and savage blue eyes.

After a moment, Spite prompted, “Can you tell me about it?”

Want glanced at the emaciated woman, the headache slowly fading away. “Don’t you remember?” she asked, annoyed.

“Ever since I found myself here, I have no way to see what happens without. I only know what I can guess at from dreams and what others like you have told me.”

Want paused, her eyes turning towards the few flames still dancing on the fire place. While her gaze still felt like it was drawn to it, unlike before, she did not feel as though she was falling into them. She sifted through thoughts not her own, trying to piece everything together.

“The Elemental Championships,” she said.

“Championships?”

“A combat challenge. They are a competition held before the Elemental Lords. The prize was a gift from your patron Lord.” Even as she said it, she could not help but feel it was strange, as though she could not decide whether she was recounting her own experiences or someone else’s.

Though perhaps strangest is the experience itself.

What were the chances that someone would find themselves in a situation like this twice in as many days?

Even Spite seemed skeptical. “Would the Lords truly grant mortals a wish that easily?”

“It would seem that the tournament is held every year, and the winner indeed receives their prize.”

The woman scowled, the gesture making the wrinkles on her face sink even deeper. “How is it structured?”

“Any can sign up to participate. All they need to do is to choose a Lord to represent. The entrants are then sent to different arenas, where they battle in a free-for-all against the other competitors in order to impress their patron.

Once a certain amount of time has elapsed, eight Champions are chosen, one for each Lord. These are restored to fighting conditions and are sent to a final arena to compete against the other Champions. Like before, the battle ends after some time, with one Champion being declared the winner. The means the Lords used to choose them are known only to them.”

“She was chosen to be a Champion?”

Want shook her head. “I—She did not make it past the first round. She... she killed a woman who faced her. That woman came to be Wind’s Champion.”

“The dead woman.”

“The Lords did not seem to consider that an obstacle.”

Spite grimaced. “Leaving us to dwell in dreams on the fact that even a corpse is of more worth to the gods than us.”

Want frowned at the callous remark. After a moment of reflection, she asked, “What about the end of it?”

Spite gazed into the fire. “As I said, I am warden, and gravekeeper.”

“Then the dying girl I carried—“

“No girls are dying in this world. To die one must be alive in the first place.” She began coughing at the end of that pronouncement, seeming to fold into herself.

Want stood from her chair, kneeling at her side and placing a hand at her back.

Spite shook her head, as though the gesture amused her. “Even if the wraith has changed, the nature of its existence has not. The bargain remains. Warmth... we kill ourselves a little every day, at every turn of a thought. Everyone does. Whether this place existed before the bargain was struck or not, I do not know—I was not here before that—but now it serves the specific purpose of holding our end of it.

That is why I asked you that when we met. It is no longer enough to simply feed the flames. The wraith’s wish is to be born, but the mother would not survive the process. We can, however, buy time. Please, Want. I implore you.”

Will you replace me?”

Want was silent for a long moment. Saying yes meant that she would stay in this cabin until the end of time. Slowly withering away in the hopes that one day, the problem would get fixed. Her other option, however, was braving the blizzard outside. It would lead her nowhere in this enclosed world, and she would eventually end up under one of those mounds surrounding the tree house.

Regardless, this was not an option she would be able to pass on to someone else. She could tell Spite was at the end of the rope, and the possibility that another would find this place was not worth considering.

Slowly, she shook her head. “There has to be a better way. What if the wraith has truly gained an ego? What if it’s something more? Staying the course will see it killed.”

“It’s killing us now,” Spite pressured. “We must make sacrifices. You leaving will doom us all. Please!” Spite’s hoarse voice devolved into a coughing fit at that point.

Want stood, shaking her head. She turned towards the door and started walking. At the doorstep, she turned around, chancing a glance at the emaciated woman.

She recoiled at the look of utter despair she saw in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

And then she was outside. She walked past the graves she had passed on the way there, stopping only when she reached the last row. The one dug-out mound, was now full.

She rocked back as if struck, and something jingled at her feet. Desperate for something else to focus her attention on, she glared downwards, eyes falling on the bell she had found at the tree-house’s entrance.

Remembering what had happened the last time she had seen the small item, Want knelt and grabbed it, slowly as to avoid jostling it.

When she looked up again, the scenery had changed.

The multitude of mounds had disappeared, as had the tree-house. In its stead was the white expanse she had become intimately familiar with as of late. Turning around, she saw a familiar figure curled over the snow, before a multi-colored flame, larger than she recalled even from her higher perspective.

She glanced at the bell in her hand and instantly understood its purpose.

Did you do this, Spite? What a roundabout way of living up to your name.

She set forth, steeling herself for what she might find. The small girl did not stir at her approach, dead to the world as she had been when she had last seen her. But not dead. She could tell by the slow rising and falling of her chest. Further, the bluish tint of frostbite had receded from some of her skin, the fingertips on her right hand showing some color, now.

This really was a losing battle, wasn’t it? It still feels as though it’s happening to someone else.

Want knelt at her side, cradling the girl in her arms. She was dimly amused by how easy it was to hold the small figure in her arms when she had had to drape the girl over herself to drag her out from the snow before.

Taking a steadying breath, she held the bell higher, and gently shook it. The crystalline pangs seemed to bounce over the landscape, echoing in her ears for long after she stilled the bell.

As she expected, the girl in her arms stirred. After all this time, piercing blue eyes stared up at her.

If the girl was what she thought, there was no telling what would happen. At this proximity, she had placed herself at its mercy.

She did not care. If the girl turned on her then as the monster she had come from would have, there would have been no hope in the first place.

Yet, she could not help but be surprised when those eyes welled with tears. The girl buried her head in Want’s chest, shoulders shaking as she weeped. Dumbly, Want wrapped her arms around her. With one hand, she slowly began to stroke the back of the small girl’s head.

They stayed like that for a time, a small girl sobbing in a woman’s arms.

Finally, the girl extricated herself from Want’s embrace, sniffing all the while. She looked up at her, face a mess of freezing tear-tracks and snot. Her mouth opened and closed, as though trying to remember how to speak.

Want brought her cloak up, delicately wiping the girl’s face. Once she finished, she asked, in a tone softer than she had thought herself capable of. “How long have you been out here, lil’ girl?”

“I-I d-don-d...” The thin, sweet voice faltered and trailed off. She shut her eyes, new tears trailing down as her features twisted with effort. Haltingly, she started once again. “I don’t... remember.”

“Have you seen anyone else out here?”

The girl shook her head, long black hair swaying with the motion. “No. I couldn’t find anyone, even though I walked for so long.” She sniffed. “Are you going to take me home, miss?”

Want gave the girl a rueful look. “I can’t.”

Panic gripped her features. “Why not?”

“Because I’m lost too.”

“Oh.” There was a pause, the girl looking down, as if embarrassed. “Sorry.”

Want smiled in spite of herself. “Me too. But are you okay with that?”

The girl nodded, and Want could feel her grip on her cloak tightening. “I missed others.”

“Do you have someone waiting for you?”

The girl nodded. “My parents. My sister.” Timidly, she added. “You look like her.”

Want stiffened. “Your sister?”

“My mom. You’re pretty, like her. Your skin is strange. though.”

“Yeah.” An ironic smile played on Want’s lips, while a nostalgia not all her own tugged at her heart. “Could you tell me about them? Ah, but before that...

“What’s your name, lil’ girl?”

---

A rattling sound drifted into the bedroom from the adjoining room, disturbing the sleeping figure’s rest. With some effort, a single blue eye fluttered open, drifting towards the window.

The cold, artificial lights coming from below rose to illuminate the gloom, and a purplish hue on the horizon told of how close to dawn the night was. Yet for all that, it was still night.

Pithy drew herself up on the bed, raising her right hand up to part the stream of black hair that had fallen in front of her to rub at her temple.

She winced as fingers clumsily thumped against her brow and groggily looked at the offending hand. Thin, pale, lady-like digits stared back, as they always did. However, they did not respond when she tried to move them. In fact, she felt nothing from her wrist up.

“Woah there, butterfingers,“ Dew’s voice echoed in her ears.

Her breath caught in her throat as the dread lurking in the back of her mind rose to the forefront, and she clutched the hand close to her chest tightly, as though a crushing grip might restore the sensibility in her nerves.

It did not.

A knocking at her door startled her, and she looked up just as Dew slid it open. “Pithy, we got a problem. Come see this.”

She was secretly glad for his interruption. Even as his uncharacteristically serious tone caused its own kind of disquiet, focusing on something other than her own condition gave her a chance to compose herself.

Dew did not wait for her, quickly retreating back into the dark living room.

She threw the sheets out of the way and swung her legs off to the side of the bed. She went to put on her boots, but hesitated as she began to reach out to them with her bad hand. Reconsidering, she stood and headed out, pausing only to snag a knife from the belt on the nightstand.

The sight of the plant snake silhouetted against the window greeted her. What passed for its snout was pressed tightly against the grass, while the rest of its body shivered, occasionally shifting and roiling with nervous energy atop the paraphernalia-filled cabinet right below it. One of these shifts sent a leather-bound suitcase tumbling down to the floor, joining a growing jumble of detritus and revealing to Pithy the source of the noise that had woken her.

“Dammit man, did no one train you not to climb over the furniture?” Dew clicked his tongue as he approached the window.

The creature gave a plaintive whine in response.

Curiosity overwhelmed her, and Pithy too walked closer to peer down to the streets below. She tensed as she saw the figures moving about. When she recognized what she was seeing, she cursed under her breath. “When did they appear?”

“Not sure,” he answered. “I woke up when the plant thing over there started knocking stuff off the table. That’s when I saw them.”

That must not have been too long ago, yet you seem wide awake. Has this rattled you, too? As far as they knew, these things could have been there since dark fell. They did not seem to be illusions either, or at least, she could not see nor sense anything that would indicate as much. She might have barely missed them the previous day.

Dew shivered. “This is creeping me out. I’m not the only one that recognizes some of those things, am I? For better or worse, that dragon girl is seared into my mind, for one, and I don’t need to tell you what has the snake all riled up.”

Indeed, he did not. She had already picked out the slim figure of a skeleton standing at the street corner, with various lumps growing on its figure. She had little doubt that those were fungi. Pithy saw multiple of these creatures, in fact, leading her to believe that the only thing keeping Bonesword’s snake from crashing through the window and leaping off the building to meet its ‘master’ was sheer confusion.

“It’s like someone took a pick of mobs and spawned a bunch of identical ones on the map. Boss mobs at that.”

“What do you make of it?” she asked.

Dew shrugged, grimacing. “I don’t know. I don’t like them. Everyone we saw when we got to the college felt like… people, you know? These guys, though? They give me a bad feeling. I kind of want to shoot them.”

“Don’t.”

“I only said I wanted to, no that I was going to. I’m not stupid, okay?” He scratched at his chin. “You have any idea what’s happening?”

“Ideas?” she repeated dryly. “Dozens. Each scares me more than the last.” Pithy glared at the figures milling about below. “I left wards in this building to detect intruders, but as far as I can tell none has been tripped. They seem to respect dwellings, at least.”

“So… what do we do about them? Who knows what’ll happen if we walk outside while they’re all out there. Are we just gonna sit tight until they leave?”

“As long as they do not threaten us…” Pithy frowned, glancing away from the window look at her companion. “Yes.”

“Oh.” Dew paused, features gathering in a pensive frown. “Guess it’s mornin’ as usual, then. Time to use the restroom.” Having proclaimed that, the man made a beeline for the bedroom.

Pithy ignored his frivolous tone, giving him a wide berth. The snake writhed besides her, letting out another sibilant whine. She grimaced at the piteous tone.

“Bonesword is gone. We all saw it happen. These things are… something else.”

The creature let out another complaint at that. To Pithy’s relief, however, it threw one last longing look out of the glass before retreating from the window, dejectedly coiling into itself in a corner of the room.

That left her free to focus on what was in front of her. Though what that was, she was not entirely sure. As she looked out the window, she brought the knife she still held close to her free-hand, beginning to absent-mindedly clean the dirt from under her nails with it.

What she saw was a troupe of mysterious figures taking the shapes of the Crucible’s competitors. Those who had been defeated, she assumed, given that she could see no copies of herself from her vantage point. Or perhaps, those who died she amended. Neither could she spy another Dew from where she stood, but there was no telling if there were other kinds hiding somewhere else.

The reason for their appearance was less simple to discern. As she had told Dew, a number of possibilities had occurred to her. The first was that their opponent had mobilized the night before, and had used some mysterious power to bring about what she was seeing now. She did not think that was the case, however. Had her opponent been searching for her, the building would have been breached long before Dew had roused her. Moreover, she expected to see one of Nero’s automatons flying around, had that been the case. Given that she had yet to see one of those enter a building, she had long come to the conclusion that the drones Nero had assigned to them performed poorly in enclosed spaces, and if her enemy had done as she had and hid the drone somewhere to hide their presence, they would have no way to track her.

The second, more worrying thought, was that this had been brought about by the powers of the College’s renegades. However, the same issues as before stood. If she was being hunted, the building being untouched when the doppelgangers may well have been milling about since night had fallen was highly unlikely.

If she abandoned the idea that she herself was being hunted, however the presence of the figures below took on an even more sinister cast. Taking a step back from her present circumstances, Pithy entertained the notion that this was not something localized to her area of the city, but rather that these things had manifested themselves throughout the entire City of Echoes. Was it possible, then, that these creatures were not only the means to an end, but an end in an of itself? Is it possible that the purpose of our battles was to gather information on our abilities? Could the gathering of souls be a pretext for getting the materials necessary to create these things? It would finally explain why the College had gone to such lengths to recruit beings from other realms.

Was the Inquisitional College attempting to build an army?

She shook her head. The idea did not line up with what she had heard from Nero regarding the College’s activities. If the rebellious scholars truly wished to stop the Crucible, they could not be linked to what she was seeing. Perhaps Dr. Barnaby had an inkling regarding the true workings of this Crucible, but even as he pursued his own plans, he had seemed as clueless to its proceedings as the rest of the College’s staff to her.

However, if she was to believe Nero, the College was not alone in its machinations. Someone had given the College the competitors’ names. Something had ensured they would reach them across worlds. She could no longer ignore the possibility that the College itself had been manipulated into hosting this ritual.

But then the question remains, why us? There are much greater powers than I in my own realm, so if whatever rests below this city has the power to peer into other worlds, to amass all this information about their inhabitants, why not another?

An answer she was far from fond of was quick to come to her, and that was that they were chosen because they would willingly play along for as long as was needed while the promise of a wish remained.

She smiled ruefully, painfully aware of the way doubt had insidiously crept up upon her. She had paused at every step of the way to try and work out the angle those who had set her on this path were working towards, and what had it availed her? See, Pithy? You have thought yourself into a nightmare. And still you would carry on because what other option is left to you aside from—

“What the hell are you doing!?”

Pithy looked up, startled by the exclamation. Dew closed in on her from the bedroom door, roughly grabbing onto her arm. Shock turning into anger, Pithy forcefully pulled away. “Get your hands off…” she began, but at that moment she felt something humid slide down her limb.

Her temper cooling, she looked down to her right hand. A red hue covered it, glimmering under the weak light drifting up from the streets below. Blood welled from deep gashes on her fingers, cuts she had performed mechanically, unconsciously, as though mindlessly scratching an itch. Drops of the viscous liquid dripped from the knife on her other hand, but for all of that, she had not—still did not—feel a thing from the mangled hand.

Dew grabbed onto her again, leading her to the kitchen counter with a serious expression, and this time, she did not resist.

They sat down on a pair of stools, with Dew bringing her arm close to examine her wounds. The first-aid kit they had pilfered earlier that day was already on the table.

The man’s attention shocked her. His eyes roamed over the cuts before glancing to her left, expression hardening into a scowl. “Of all things, the ice queen has to start cutting herself. Put that shit away already.” Blinking, she realized she was still holding tightly onto the dagger. The man grunted. “I can’t see anything like this. I’m turning on the lights.”

Pithy stirred. “No.”

Dew halted mid-way through standing up. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

Pithy let out a slow breath, placing the knife on the table, and held her good hand up, palm facing upwards. A weak, cold globe of light appeared over it, floating over the counter.

Grimacing, Dew sat back down. “Damn, how the hell am I supposed to bandage that…”

His expression took on a confused cast as he looked at the wounds, occasionally glancing back up to her as though to confirm something. She knew what he must have been thinking.

Cuts such as these should have been exceedingly painful, yet no such thing registered in her expression. Her arm was steady, not trembling in the slightest. Strangest still, the flow of blood was already stopping, and what had come out had a viscous, half-coagulated appearance. As though it had been left out for a night.

“I can’t feel it, Dew,” she confirmed. “But I need to see something. Can you clean off some of the blood, and hold one of the deeper cuts open?”

Dew wrinkled up his nose. “Are we supposed to be playing ‘Operation’, or something? I don’t think this is how it goes.” Nonetheless, he pulled out some cloth, and began wiping away at the red fluid. Once enough was wiped away that they could make out the wounds clearly, he began to do as he was told. “Is that… is that ice?”

Pithy nodded. She could also see the crystal that protruded from deeper in the scarred flesh, only slightly shallower than where bone would have been. “Good. It could have been worse.”

The man gave her an incredulous look. “’Could have been worse?’ Are you nuts? How aren’t you freaking out right now!?”

“And where is the point in that?” she hissed, before catching herself. She looked down at the mangled hand, tone growing somber. “Do you remember what I told Nero up in his tower?”

“Yeah,” Dew nodded. “You said you were sick, and you found a cure for it. For a while, at least. Now it looks like your cure was a new disease, and that’s how the College ropes you in. So, is that what’s gonna happen to you? You’re slowly turning into an ice sculpture?”

“In a manner of speaking. However, if I had time until the whole of my body was turned to crystal, I would not be in such a hurry.” Pithy sighed, glancing at the human besides her. He almost seemed concerned for her, which served only to make her more conflicted. She supposed it would not hurt to humor him now, however.

“It is unclear how magic contamination of this kind works, or interacts with the body, Dew. One would think having entire body-parts replaced with crystal would leave on in a state of constant agony. Or at least, that the cold would have an adverse effect on the rest of the body, but truth be told, I can hardly feel the crystal.” She frowned, then brought her good hand up, parting her hair so the mask of jagged crystal encasing part of her face was clearly visible. “No, let me correct that, I can feel the cold when I place my hand close or near to it, but I cannot feel the connecting tissue. It just feels like there is nothing there. In that regard, I suppose I must be fortunate.

“When I first lost my eye, there was no ice to speak of. One day, I simply could not see from it. It took some time for the crystal to spread like you see now, but when I first saw it, I realized that even if there was no pain, I was still losing parts of my body to it. And it has only continued to grow. You can live without one eye, but tell me, what would happen if this ice spread down just a little further? What if it covered my jaw, locking it in place? I would die of starvation, and that is merely one of the more merciful ends I envision. Imagine now, that this rot spreads to the brain—it is already very close, is it not? When I woke and could not feel my hand, my first fear was that the worst had come to pass, and I was only seeing the first, most innocuous effects.”

“So when you said it could have been worse, you meant—”

“Sensory deprivation is nothing. Partial paralysis? One can live with it. Physical distortion of the psyche and memory? Insanity? Or worse…” Pithy added in a low voice, before snorting bitterly. “Outright death would be better. Seeing ice in these wounds means I still have a chance.”

She could sense Dew’s regard for a silent moment, before the man sighed. “Pithy, I’m going to be honest with you. I’ve been thinking.”

“A truly shocking turn of events,” she drawled.

“Hardy-har-har. Seriously, though. I’ve been thinking that I don’t really need to be following you around. I probably could’ve bailed at any point where we split up yesterday.”

Pithy found herself tensing. Admittedly, she had hoped that the man would be too oblivious to notice it. However, the fact that the man had not only put it together, but confronted her about it left her confused and unbalanced.

She might have needed all the allies she could find, but Dew had made it patently clear that he wanted nothing to do with her. Why was he still with her, then?

Her disconcerted expression must have been visible even in the poor lighting, as he added, “Yeah, figured you were just bluffing.”

“It occurred to me as well, after a time.” Pithy replied, at length. “There is no doubt there is some compulsion at work, but no matter what I said, you remained too uppity for a proper thrall.” She glared at him suspiciously. “If you realized, why are you telling me? Is this where you attempt to extort me?”

“Uh… no.” Dew gave her an incredulous grimace, shaking his head. “Geez, lady, you just expect the worst out of everybody.”

The comment, coming from the buffoon that had been trailing after her for the previous day. He who had disrespected her at every turn, and almost ruined their best chance to find Nero again. If it had not been for him, she may never had had to play the guinea pig for Kno One’s wielder.

She had to throttle the urge to reach for the knife again.

Pithy spoke through gritted teeth. “Feel free to prove me wrong,”

“Look, when I joined this tournament really, I was just looking to be the best quickscoper out there. ‘Be,’ not ‘become’, and that’s important, because getting there’s not really something I want taken from me. For the most part I just thought that getting in on this and cleaning floor is what the greatest quickscoper would be doing.” He paused. “Well, there was also the bit about stopping all hackers forever, but you sort of screwed me out of that… you know, pretend I never said anything.”

“I have had ample practice,” she drawled.

“With what?”

“Get to the point, Dew.”

“Well, it’s just that at this point I’m not really against someone else getting their wish granted. Besides, I’m starting to think that the College people have a point when it comes to stopping some omnicidal maniac from getting his wish. I mean, you don’t know what sort of people are in the running.”

Pithy eyed him dubiously. “If I recall correctly, you were of a mind that I was such a person.”

“Yeah, well.” The man glanced away. “After the whole weed debacle I got to thinking that, maybe, juuuust maybe… I was too quick to judge. Who knows, maybe getting cured will finally make you less of a bitch.”

At her continued silence, the man began scratching the back of his head. “Well, it also occurred to me that if you lose I’ve no idea what’ll happen to my soul or whatever you sucked out of the heart-thingy. I really don’t want to have a repeat of the end of our fight.”

Pithy blinked. It had not occurred to her until then that Dew might suffer in any form from her defeat.

Which is telling, in many ways. Pithy looked at her hands over the counter, noting the contrast between the two. One deft and delicate, the other mangled and inert. Is there to supposed to be some symbolism at play here?

“I see. Since you claim this is for your own sake, I sincerely hope you do not expect gratitude,” she said somberly.

Dew snorted. “From you? Hah, never in my wildest dreams!”

"Good." Her lips turned in a wry smile as she turned her face to look at him. “I have a feeling that today, this will all come to a close. Let us get ready.”