Platform(s): Windows PC, possibly other platforms as well. likely available as a downloadable game with a demo version, available on WildTangent games or similar websites. it being a PC game is 100% certain. Genre: my best guess would be tycoon or puzzle, generally some kind of casual game Estimated year of release: early to mid-2000s, definitely pre-2010 Graphics/art style: bright, colorful, generally the 2000s “girly” aesthetic. i remember it being a more cartoon-y art style, but it could have been anime-inspired as i wasn’t aware of anime at that time Notable characters: i don’t recall any specific characters, but that it was girl-centric. think of barbie, myscene, polly pocket, or even divastars where there’s a group of friends who are all girls. i don’t believe it was any of these brands though, if it was branded at all Notable gameplay mechanics: the main thing i remember about this game is collecting colorful charms or beads, and possibly turning them into charm bracelets or other jewelry. i do not remember what the objective or reasoning was, though. i think it took place in a mall, but could have been individual stores, though i’m pretty sure it was some form of retail setting. i don’t think you had anything to do with building the mall/store itself, but you may have been able to decorate or rearrange things within the store - i was not able to play the game for long, so it’s possible other mechanics come in later! Other details: i played this game as a child on my grandma’s pc, where i typically downloaded game demos from sites similar to WildTangent games - i unfortunately do not remember the site names/am having a hard time finding them. it’s possible this was a game my aunt (a tween or young teen at the time) had a physical copy of, but because i was only able to play it once and for a short amount of time, i find it most likely that it was a demo.
from looking for this game before posting, i have the following to note: - i do not think it was the Charm Girls series, as i could only find information about them being on the nintendo DS and the Wii. if there is an obscure PC game in the series though, it’s possible - it was not Nakamas, which i read about on another TOMJ post, as i know they were human girls - near the end of posting this i remembered the Lego Friends series, which sounds incredibly familiar. i can’t find much information on their games, but based on gameplay footage it was not the 1999 PC game. i haven’t found anything about other PC games in the series, but this is still currently my most likely lead!
thank you to anyone who can provide any help, or who simply also remembers this! i remember being completely fascinated by the graphics and aesthetic of this game, and wished i could have played it more at the time!

I posted in here a lot during my drinking, & I had many resets on my sober app. I've been drinking on and off since I was a teenager, but once I hit 21 it started to go downhill. Drinking every weekend to every few days, to every day, then from the time I woke up until I passed out blackout drunk. I was always trashed by noon.
I wasn't taking care of myself, my hair was dry, my sweat smelled sweet or like vodka towards the end. My piss smelled like popcorn. My liver & kidneys hurt. I was really overweight after being small most of my life. I was lost and didn't know what to do, so I kept drinking. I felt like I was killing myself, all my friends avoided me (I'd avoid me too), and I live across the country from any friends or family. I was lonely & I couldn't recognize myself in the mirror anymore, and I was killing my marriage.
Rock bottom was round 3 (I think) of trying to quit. Went on a long bender with vodka, and woke up one morning with the shakes so bad I couldn't walk. I was scared, and my husband kept drinking. The panic attacks were unreal when the withdrawals started to kick in, and finally I told myself that I was done. I want my life back.
I did my best to relax and care for myself the first day, but once nighttime struck I started hallucinating. I heard my TV turn on in the living room & had my husband check because I thought someone broke into the house. Nope. Seen shadow figures, heard a man singing opera music, heard angelic singing, felt bugs crawling on me, it was horrible. I thought I overdid it & that I was going to die. I was sweating so bad I couldn't sleep and when I did the dreams were insane.
Going to the doctors the next day was embarrassing, but they treated me with kindness & prescribed me valium to help with withdrawals. I remember the receptionist saying "We'll get you right, girl." And that gave me hope that I could get better.
The medication helped, and within a few days I was somewhat over the withdrawals. The hallucinations were gone thank God, they actually traumatized me. I couldn't tell what was real or in my head. I was losing it.
Over the next few weeks I slowly started to get my life back. I started antipsychotics for bipolar 1 disorder, and a few months after wellbutrin for my anxiety. Life has been alright since.
I'm now almost 10 months into my sobriety, and I couldn't be more proud. My husband hasn't drank in awhile as well & currently goes to group every day except the weekends.
Here's some pros to being sober: -I've lost almost 50 pounds -my hair is soft & shiny -my sweat doesnt smell like vodka -my house is actually clean, and doesn't look like an episode of hoarders. -mental health is better -I remember what I ate for dinner while watching Yellowjackets (my current fav show) -no fighting with my husband. -I'm not super broke anymore -my head is more clear -I am now starting to recognize what I look like in the mirror. -no more waking up and immediately worrying I said/did something wrong. -I'm not in my bedroom & in bed 24/7. -started the GED process (passed my first test!)
Cons: -it's a little awkward to be around people who do drink, but I have no urges to. -I drank Dr Pepper like a mad man when I quit lol -I'm hungry af all the time, but I control it. -I do get bored at times, especially with being alone a lot, but video games are helpful. And reading.
I had a few older people tell me before I had withdrawals that I'd be fine and wouldn't have any because I'm younger, but I quickly learned that is false. It was a very dark time in my life, and I don't ever wanna be back there.
I still think about all the things I did when drunk that are embarrassing, and I wish I could get rid of these thoughts, but it's the consequences of my own actions. It gets easier, but certain things remind me of those darker times. Some movies or shows, some music. Maybe that's weird but I just associate drinking with certain media.
Sorry this is long! I just wanted to share with you guys, maybe this will help someone or some of you can relate to my experience.
I thought I was a lost cause & that I'd never get better, but I did. I kicked the withdrawals in the dick, and I took my life back. I went down the aisle of the liquor store for my last time when I least expected it. I am myself again, and I am learning to love myself & life.
If you read this thank you. It's been one hell of a ride, but I did it. And I'll continue to do it, I'll hit 10 months soon. Then 11. & then a whole ass year.
IWNDWYT 🫶

Nen Type: Transmutation
Nen Ability: Transmute nen to have the properties of a malleable plastic, giving it the potential to be both hard and soft, deform-able and rigid. While it cannot store energy like elastic, it can diffuse energy significantly better, and grants it the ability to be molded into things unlike elastic (can be shaped into anything, and the shape could then be materialized through sub-classing conjuration and/or strengthened via enhancement).
Potential Uses: Nearly Limitless (Bound to physically possible things and imagination)
-Attacking (Can be made to be as hard as most metals just like plastic, and can switch between thick and thin for blunt and sharp)
-Defending (Can be made hard for sharp and redirection barriers, or soft and thick for blunt based barriers. Hisoka’s bungee gum has limitless stretching capacity while connected to him, so the plastic nen would presumably have limitless deformation capacity once mastered)
-Utility (Can be roughly shaped into any form while pliable and then hardened to maintain its shape. Keys, limbs, cups, sheets, anything, but the molded nen cannot be detached, or given to another without being conjured [Example, can be used to make a key that I could use, but to give someone else the same key, the molded nen would need to be conjured into one])
Conditions/Restrictions: The biggest restrictions come from the simplicity and specificity of the ability. Transmuters can manipulate every chemical and physical property of nen. This can be making it like a liquid, a gas, or as hard as diamonds. It can also make abstract concepts such as heavy, and magnetic. By limiting it to the properties of plastic, it cannot be electric, magnetic, gaseous, liquidous, acidic, poisonous, bright, tasting, smelling, any temperature, or adhesive. It is fully limited to being transmuted into something flexible, malleable, and sometimes hard (basically a variable, non-Newtonian semi-solid). As it is a transmuter ability for a transmuter, detaching it from one's own nen makes it significantly weaker and with very little range.
I couldn't think of any special way to use it to bolster the advanced nen techniques, so we can just assume that their application is unchanged by this hatsu.

A while ago, I ran into something very interesting in my local library: a 2012 reprint of a Finnish 1912 novel about the sinking of the Titanic, called “Titanicin perikato” (The Destruction of the Titanic) by Esko Waltala – the only Finnish novel ever written about the disaster!
I picked the book up and looked into it, and it turns out it’s actually a Finnish translation/adaptation (or, in modern terms, an instance of blatant plagiarism) of an original Swedish novel called “Dödsfärden” (The Voyage of Death) by Willy Grebst.
The novel claims to be based on survivor accounts and other facts, which is why I thought people on this sub might be interested in reading about it. While it’s not a fully accurate retelling, as you’ll soon find out, I think it’s a fascinating window into the way the story of the Titanic was perceived in the Nordic countries right after the disaster.

The fictional characters and the plot

The original novel focuses on Swedish characters, but the Finnish edition I read has changed the focus to Finland. The story features three main characters: fictional Finnish second-class male passengers Onni Laurila, Toivo Saarela, and Niilo Vieremä.
In a nutshell, these three are the most insufferable Mary-Sues/Gary-Stus I’ve ever encountered in a work of fiction.
They’re all learned young men, going to America to make it big. Vieremä is an engineer, traveling on the Titanic to learn about her machinery, while Laurila and Saarela have both graduated from the University of Helsinki. Their major is not mentioned, but I’m sure it must’ve been languages – seeing how each of them seemingly speaks six or seven of them fluently, allowing them to discuss with a variety of passengers onboard. Engineer Vieremä, then, steps in to play the role of Thomas Andrews: he’s studied the ship so carefully that when disaster strikes, he can accurately assess the damage and inform his friends about the ship being doomed.
Our heroes are remarkably brave, immediately deciding to do what they can for the women and children, stoically observing the sinking, and going into the water with the ship. Obviously, it then turns out all three of them are great swimmers and very resilient to cold temperatures. (I guess whatever free time they had between studying all those languages, they spent ice swimming in Finnish lakes.) One of them estimates that he is going to survive in the freezing water for at least four hours.
After going into the water, our trio of McGyvers build a raft from two planks of wood, their lifebelts, and some rope that one of them just happens to be carrying in his pocket. In friendly Finnish fashion, they then proceed to beat each other up to stay warm. The beatings work wonders: afterwards, they keep going back to the water like it’s nothing, in an effort to save several women and children. Unfortunately, they all perish before our heroes can get to them. They then pick up some cognac, bread, butter, and milk that’s floating in the water and have themselves a nice little picnic, waiting for the Carpathia to rescue them. And of course, they politely let every single other survivor board the rescue ship before boarding it themselves.
The cast of characters also includes an American family called McDean, traveling in the first class. Saarela falls in love with their daughter Alice, but unfortunately, she is engaged to another first-class passenger – an unpleasant, cowardly Italian prince/charlatan. In a dramatic moment during the sinking, Saarela is pushed into a lifeboat, but he climbs back and offers his seat to the prince instead, thus making a thoroughly unselfish sacrifice for Alice’s happiness. Taking note of this heroic behavior, and learning of her fiancé’s cowardly nature, Alice then ditches the prince on the Carpathia and confesses her love to Saarela instead. They’re married just weeks after the sinking. Jack and Rose who, this is the true love story of the Titanic!
In the finale of the novel, Alice, who’s lost both her parents in the sinking and is the sole heiress to their vast fortune, makes large donations to Laurila and Vieremä. Laurila, who has a fiancée waiting for him in Finland, decides he doesn’t want to make it big in America anymore, goes home, gets married, and starts a bunch of charities to improve his poor home village. The end.

The historical accuracy

So, there’s a lot of made-up stuff in this book, but what about the historical accuracy? Didn’t they claim it’s based on survivor accounts? Well, in short, the historical part of the story is a mixed bag.
The author and the translator of the novel have clearly read a lot of news coverage about the Titanic. They feature many real historical figures and have the basics of the event down, but they also take a lot of artistic liberty whenever it suits their fancy. For example, there are several remarks that show they know that the first and the second class had different dining salons, smoking rooms and such – but even so, the second-class heroes dine in the first class several times, so they can easily gossip about, get to know, and fall in love with the first-class passengers.
The word “unsinkable” is mentioned a lot, and much is made of the 16 watertight compartments. Every single character has been assured that the Titanic cannot sink, some of them by White Star Line representatives and others just by word of mouth. Even so, they’re all borderline obsessed about the possibility of a shipwreck. Several characters have premonitions about the ship sinking. A lengthy passage is dedicated to stories about former maritime accidents involving icebergs, featuring some real ships such as the SS Arizona and the SS Pacific.
When the Titanic finally does hit the iceberg, there are a bunch of inaccuracies and exaggerations, maybe because the authors had read false/sensationalized information, or maybe just to make that part of the story feel more exciting. For example, it’s mentioned that all the lights go out for a while. Panic sets in very soon after the collision. In a disturbing scene, we’re told that crew members with revolvers are holding third-class passengers back, threatening them with immediate death if they dare to move before being given permission. Archibald Butt is shown firing a revolver when chaos breaks out on the boat deck, which encourages several crew members to start firing theirs to bring back order.
Other parts are more accurate to our current understanding of the events, such as the near-collision of the Titanic and the SS New York early in the story, and the affair of lifeboat 13 drifting under lifeboat 15. Interestingly, the ship breaking up in two in its final minutes is mentioned. So is First Officer Murdoch committing suicide, which the narrative voice comments by saying it’s no one’s business to judge him for that decision.

Who’s to blame?

The novel spends quite a lot of time trying to find someone or something to blame for the disaster. It comes to a twofold conclusion: in part, it was J. Bruce Ismay (and capitalism), but in part, it was the Hope Diamond that the fictional McDean family brought onboard.
The way the novel portrays Ismay is interesting. On the one hand, he’s definitely painted as the bad guy, a powerful CEO that even the captain has to obey that’s obsessed with going fast and breaking records. But on the other hand, the narrative voice points out that Ismay is only acting like this because White Star Line shareholders expect it of him – it’s his job to keep them happy, and going faster means more money to them.
Ismay also gets a moment of redemption during the sinking: he is shown helping two maids into a lifeboat. When the women protest, claiming they don’t deserve to be in the boat because they’re “only maids”, Ismay points out that all people are equal in the face of death. The last time Ismay is featured in the story is when the narrative voice reveals he’s in one of the lifeboats, and wonders about the state of his mind. Is he feeling regret, or coming up with excuses for his actions? Surprisingly, the narrative voice doesn’t shame him for entering a lifeboat; instead, in the same chapter, it encourages the reader to refrain from judging the survivors in general for fighting for their lives during the sinking.
Then there is the Hope Diamond nonsense. There’s a full chapter on its backstory, mostly made up of course, with plenty of details about how it’s been causing misfortune for centuries. Then it explains how it ends up onboard, and several characters remark upon its reputation as a cursed item, wondering if it’s going to cause trouble during the voyage. After the ship hits the iceberg, however, the diamond is practically forgotten about, only to be very briefly mentioned again.
In the last chapter of the novel, which is to my knowledge all written by the Finnish translator, the narrative voice has more to say about who’s to blame. First, it blames Ismay for “putting the ice warnings into his pocket without caring about them” (a weird claim to make, seeing how earlier in the story, Captain Smith is shown dealing with the ice warnings), but it also criticizes the British Board of Trade for their outdated lifeboat regulations. This is the only time the fact that there weren’t enough lifeboats is mentioned. The bulkheads only going up to E Deck is not mentioned at all. Instead, the narrative voice suspects that the doors between the watertight compartments likely didn’t close properly, allowing water to flow through.

Some interesting details

• It’s mentioned that there were cows onboard the Titanic, so that the rich passengers could get fresh milk. According to the narrative voice, you can’t have cows on smaller ships because small vessels rock too hard in rough seas. Fair enough, I suppose it would be stressful having to deal with a bunch of seasick cattle.
• Speaking of exaggerated claims, the novel also talks about an onboard greenhouse, filled with thousands of fragrant flowers and palm trees. I suppose the author had heard about the Verandah Café and decided that some potted plants simply didn’t sound impressive enough for his book.
• There is an unnamed Thomas Andrews character (he’s only referred to by titles such as “the chief engineer at Harland & Wolff”) that keeps claiming the ship is unsinkable after it has struck the iceberg, and calls the panicking people cowards.
• The book features the lyrics (both in English and in Swedish/Finnish) and the music notes to Nearer My God to Thee. Feel free to sing along while you read the relevant scene, I guess!
• The Finnish translation/adaptation has several more chapters than the Swedish original. In one of them, the translator praises the Titanic’s engineers, highlighting how their choice to stay in the engine room meant that the lights stayed on and the pumps continued their work all the way through the sinking.

Conclusion

In conclusion, there is quite a lot of accurate information to be found within the novel… but it gets lost between all the romanticized, saccharine nonsense the author and the translator have come up with to fluff the story up. Some of it is so over the top you can’t help laughing out loud.
The novel clearly reflects the attitudes of its time and its author(s) – and oftentimes, those attitudes are not pretty. Willy Grebst, the original Swedish author, had ties to an antisemitic newspaper, so it’s no big surprise that there are antisemitic remarks in the novel. There is also an instance of anti-Irish and anti-Italian sentiment, with people of those ethnic backgrounds portrayed as more cowardly/hysterical than their English and Nordic counterparts.
On the other hand, there are also some parts that feel somewhat progressive for the time: for example, there is a scene where someone has to leave a lifeboat because it’s too full and will sink otherwise, and several women argue that instead of defaulting to a man, all single and childless people regardless of gender should draw lots to decide who should die. (The scene then ends with not one but three American men voluntarily jumping overboard.) Greed and rich people not using their money for charitable ventures is also heavily criticized.
All in all, the novel leaves me wondering how its readers in 1912 felt about it. Did they think that inserting fictional elements into the story of a real, very recent disaster was in bad taste? Or was reading a fictional retelling like this helpful when dealing with the anxiety and sadness the news about the disaster had caused? To my modern-day taste, it’s a silly, tacky story – but a very entertaining one at that, so I’m glad to have come across it.

Sources

The original Swedish novel “Dödsfärden” on Litteraturbanken: https://litteraturbanken.se/f%C3%B6rfattare/GrebstWA/titlaD%C3%B6dsf%C3%A4rden/sida/5/faksimil
The Finnish translation/adaptation “Titanicin perikato” on Project Gutenberg: https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/57901/pg57901-images.html

--- Table of Contents ---
Autumn 4986, 16 Aoimoth
Shon and Nangran hobbled their horses at the base of a steep hill deep in the woods north of Hamerfoss. They'd left at fourth bell, before any of the other Squires had woken for their morning run, and it had still taken them hours of riding through narrow trails to reach this place. At least they hadn't run into any monsters. The snow that had dusted the landscape during the night lay thick here, crunching underfoot and occasionally flopping noisily to either side as it fell from the tall evergreen branches.
Shon adjusted the strap of his sword across his chest and reached his left hand back to brush shaking fingers over its hilt. He'd been glad when the Paladins insisted he take it with him. To them, it marked Shon as a representative of Hengist and the Temple. To Shon, it was a sign of his hard work and resolve. Having it was a comfort.
Nangran started up the hill, and Shon hurried to follow. The smith hadn’t spoken a word since they set out, not even to try and ease Shon’s anxiety, for which Shon was grateful. Master Daunas had tried to sound confident as Shon saddled his borrowed horse, and The Major General had offered him encouragement as they mounted. Neither realized how much that just drove home the desperation of the situation in Shon’s mind.
The smith pulled his heavy cloak tighter, and Shon looked away. He hadn’t bothered to wear his cloak. He'd never really felt chilled in the winter like others seemed to. Now that he knew why, he wished he had. Cold continued to swirl around him, enhanced by his worries. If he could just block those emotions, the power would never have been a problem to begin with.
The trees thinned the higher they climbed, disappearing almost entirely as they crested the top of the hill. The clearing looked over the treetops, offering an unimpeded view of the horizon. Forest all around, with flatland to the south and rocky mountain peaks to the north. Only a handful of small trees grew in the clearing, and in the middle stood a little ramshackle hut only slightly larger than an outhouse.
Nangran threw his arm out, stopping Shon from walking past him, "Don't touch anything. And don't be surprised if he says no right off."
Shon nodded, trying to swallow down his fear so it wouldn't be seen in his eyes. Dropping his hand, Nangran started forward again, finishing, "Be honest, but not insulting." The instructions, -or perhaps advice?- seemed like common courtesy, which made Shon wonder why quiet Nangran had bothered to say anything.
As they drew closer to the little shack, Shon could make out a sign on the door. He squinted to read it and had just made out 'No Soliciting' when the door swung open, banging against the wall and sending birds into flight. An old man, so thin he looked like a skeleton with yellow skin pulled tight across its bones, stormed out. Wearing nothing but a loincloth, he was shaking a thick stick at them that glinted with red rubies in the low autumn light.
"I already paid my dues for this decade! So you can take your request and shove it-" Shon’s hand instinctively reached for his sword, but Nangran just crossed his arms over his barrel chest. The old -virtually naked- man stopped yelling mid-rant and lifted one shriveled arm to shade his eyes as he squinted at them, "Eh? Flintchest, what’re you doing way out here with a blasted mage in tow?"
Rather than answer, Nangran started forward again, he didn't much care for talking, let alone shouting. Looking from Nangran to the loincloth man, Shon slowly lowered his arm, but still took position to the left and just behind the Smith as they approached the crazy man with the glittering club.
"No mage." Nangran said as he came right up to the strange old man, "Squire." he glanced over his shoulder at Shon and finished, "Sorcerer."
The old man spat on the ground and moved his squint to Shon. Running his eyes from the top of his black head to the tip of his polished boots and back, exaggerating the movement before he stopped at the Squire’s cold blue eyes.
He spat again, then barked "Where's your familiar?" scanning first the ground at Shon's feet then the sky above his head.
Shon blinked at him, furrowing his brow in confusion at the question. The mage snapped his fingers impatiently, "Your familiar! All Sorcerers have a familiar."
Nangran came to his rescue, "Just woke last night," he said shortly.
The mage spat again but didn't argue, "Well, come in then." Shon looked sideways at Nangran, but the Smith had already begun following the skinny old man into the shack. Shon hurried to catch up.
Inside, Shon's eyes were assaulted with a sparkling rainbow of colors. The room they'd entered was considerably larger than the outside would suggest, with plush carpet and a stuffed high-back armchair in front of a blazing fire in the opposite wall. Shelves full of exotic plants, glowing glass jars, and glittering stones filled every available space, reflecting off one another and setting streaks of light to dance on the floor and walls like sun rays through crystal.
There was too much to take in, so Shon focused on their host. The old man was slipping into a thick robe of deep purple velvet. He'd hung the club on the wall beside the door, which looked just as decrepit on this side as it had on the outside.
"Make a habit of greeting visitors half-naked and swinging an old fireball wand?" Nangran asked as he slipped out of his cloak.
"Keeps the conversations short." the old man replied tersely, tying his belt and turning to his guests. With boney knuckles on boney hips and glare firmly planted on his wrinkled face, he snapped, "Don't bother getting comfortable, Flintchest; you'll be leaving soon enough."
The Smith ignored him, hanging his cloak on the hook that had presumably held the mage's robe. "Got a favor to ask," he said, but the old man was already shaking his head,
"More like a favor to cash in. That's the only reason you're in here and not smoking in a hole outside."
Nangran ignored the threat and motioned from Shon to the old man and back. "Archmage Ivelm." The mage looked Shon up and down again as Nangran made the introductions, “Squire Shon.”
"Not much longer, I'd say." Ivelm said to Nangran as he finished his second examination, "It's to the Guild with this one. Too much magic." he turned his head and spat in a brass can by the door. It rang out with a loud ‘ting!' and Ivelm sniffed, looking down at Nangran again, "What do you want, Flintchest?"
"Need a seal. So the boy doesn't freeze Hamerfoss more than it already is." the smith crossed his arms, watching the mage and somehow still seeming completely at ease.
"Eh?!" Ivelm exclaimed, leaning far forward. Shon had to try hard not to crinkle his nose as the old man brought his face close enough that Shon could smell Ivelm's breath. Garlic, the mage ate a lot of garlic…
"So… you don't want to be a mage, do you?" he demanded, glaring down his nose at him. Shon shook his head and would have answered with a 'no ser.' except the mage continued, "Rather swing around some hunk of metal like a brute?"
Shon blinked stupidly, and Nangran cleared his throat, "Watch what you say about my swords, old man."
Ivelm ignored the smith as soundly as Nangran had ignored the Archmage, and continued to Shon, "The powers of the universe are at your fingertips. Blood blessed with the strength of the elements, and you wanna throw it all away," he threw his arms into the air, still uncomfortably close, "And for what? Some illusion of an honorable death by the sword?"
Shon didn't know what to say. He looked past the affronted mage's face, only an inch from his own, to Nangran. But the smith gave no sign he was going to help. Shon’s future depended on convincing this strange old man, this Archmage, to help…
Shon wasn't the type to try and convince anyone of anything, but the least he could do was explain himself. Shon stepped back from the mage to address him from a more comfortable distance. "I chose to dedicate my life to perfecting my art, and my art is martial combat," he said. Ivelm wrinkled his nose, his mouth twisting as if he were going to spit again, but Shon continued, "magic would be better served in the hands of someone who wants it badly enough to work for it. Like I've worked for my martial skills."
Ivelm leaned away from Shon, his eyebrows lifted into his frizzled gray hair. Shon looked to Nangran, hoping for some sign that this was a good response. The smith smiled from behind the mage.
"Soooo…" Ivelm drew the word out, "You think only those who dedicate themselves to strict study and practice should wield the power of the universe?" he leaned forward again, turning his head and fixing one eye on Shon like a bird. As if trying to catch him in a lie.
Shon nodded, confused, then asked, "Isn't that what it takes to effectively wield magic? Focused study?"
Ivelm didn't answer the question, instead turning his face to examine Shon with the other eye, scanning him up and down yet again. The old man had looked him up and down so much Shon wouldn't be surprised if the next question were about his hair or boots.
But Ivelm didn't ask another question. Instead, he stood straight and spat into the brass can with another ringing 'ting!' "I like this one," he said, turning his back on Shon and facing Nangran, "But it's too much." he shook his head, lifting his hands in helpless surrender, "Too much power, and ice at that. Stubborn element that one. And it's so finicky to block just elemental magic..."
Ivelm continued talking but Shon heard very little of it. A hole had opened in his gut, and it felt like his heart was racing his stomach to fall into it. But Nangran just rolled his eyes at the mage, interrupting, "Used to be the name in new magic items... made shackles to hold Archmages." he squinted at Ivelm, who had frozen mid-head shake, "Must've gotten rusty out…"
Ivelm snapped his fingers under the Smith's nose to stop him talking, "The mind does not rust, Flintchest!" he huffed, one bare foot tapping under his robe, "Not like your swords and shriveling muscles." Nangran just stared stubbornly, his thick, muscled arms still crossed over his broad chest.
The mage continued to tap his foot, his nose in the air. But as the silence stretched, Ivelm looked down at the smith, who continued to say nothing. The silent battle of wills ended when Ivelm threw his arms up in disgust and shook a finger under Nangran's nose, nearly hitting it, declaring, "I'll show you. I'll make a gem especially for this lad, and you'll see the mind only continues to grow sharper!"
He spun on his heel back to Shon, who had just made out the smith's returned smile from behind the mage when the old man snapped his fingers in Shon's face, making him jump. "Well, what are you waiting for? Come here so I can take some measurements!" Ivelm swung around again and marched across the room to a large workbench with plants and gems scattered across it. Shon scrambled after him, praying his thanks to Hengist and suddenly feeling light enough to float. His anxieties dropping away and melting like snow in summer.
***
It was already noon, and no one had come to see Her. She jumped up to grab the bars of Her window, pulling Herself up to peak out but seeing nothing but new snow and tree trunks. She was full to bursting with nervous energy, amplifying every sound and sensation. Footsteps sounded outside Her door, and She dropped from the window, sprinting across the room and resting Her ear on the wood.
“Ran, recheck the lab. Brom, with me.” Archmage Morndancer spoke with his strange alternation between draconic and common as he passed Her door without stopping. She could easily make out the swish of their robes on the stone hall leading away. Three people, Brom, Ran, and Archmage Morndancer. And yet the scurrying of too many feet to be only the two apprentices and Archmage Shaloon, sounded from the floor above. There were strangers in her tower again. Many strangers. Something was happening, something big…
She ran to Her window again, just for something to do, seeking some way to burn off some of the anxiety of not knowing what was going on around her.
A roar from down the hall, a roar of pain, sent ice washing through her veins. She slammed into the door at full speed. Pounding on the wood, She called out, “Brom?! Ran?!” Nothing. Then a yip cut short, followed by barking and yowling.
She shook the handle with both hands, rattling the door on its hinges, “BROM! RAN!” Something was happening to Her treasures, something terrible… The door handle began to glow, the metal warping and sagging as it melted. The knowledge that She would be in more trouble than She had ever been in before was nothing compared to Her terror. She wrenched the handle back with all Her might, splashing molten metal across Her bed, lighting fires that flared in her panic, and sending smoke to curl up to the ceiling.
She didn’t care. She shouldered the door open and ran.
“Red?!” She passed the first open door but couldn’t stop as Ran called out to Her. Reaching Her treasures' room, She tried to stop but slipped, slamming into the ground with a sticky splash. A final whining bark started a buzzing in Her ears as She stared, transfixed, at Her hands. They were painted red. Warm and sticky. The overpowering stench of iron nearly made Her gag as She looked up to see Morndancer toss aside a glittering golden wolf pup, the body flopping limply over the corpse of its mother and siblings.
Her world went red.
***
The last sample was taken care of, but something roared with enough ferocity to shatter glass.
Morndancer's head snapped around in time for him to fall back, shielding his face with his hands as the Firewyrm exploded. White-hot fire engulfed Her and spread out to the stone floor and walls. His robes began to smoke, the new fire protection spells woven into them being overpowered by the sheer ferocity of the blaze.
Brom had no such spells, and he had only managed a single step towards the girl before he fell to the ground, writhing for only a moment before lying still. The Archmage heard Ran scream from the hall before the journeyman stumbled past the door, flailing wildly. Barely discernible as human inside the flames.
The Firewyrm moved towards him, stepping through Brom’s head, turned to ash, and blown up to dance in the air on the same heatwaves causing the girl's hair to wave wildly about Her. She didn't seem to notice, Her face was expressionless and her eyes glowed as red as the scales across Her cheek. Morndancer tried to snap his fingers, but the golden collar around Her neck melted, Her clothes burning off and leaving Her naked and terrible in the flames.
His robe was burning now, and only the pain of that could pull his eyes from the Firewyrm as he pointlessly tried to beat the fires off. He fell back, hitting the wall, which drooped, sagging and dripping molten stone onto his head and face. Then he fell further back, into a gate that opened behind him.
Shaloon pulled him through the portal and into the library three stories up. The Firewyrm roared again and the tower walls shook with the force of it. The gate closed, but Morndancer continued to burn. He could hear screaming. Was it him? Was he screaming? Fire burst up the spiral stairs in the middle of the room, and apprentices, both their own and many sent from the central and western Talon, scrambled about in a panic, some even leaping from the windows.
Shaloon cursed, holding out her hand and summoning her sword again. She had to draw the circle five times before a second gate finally formed, and she dove through it, pulling Morndancer along with her as it quickly closed. An apprentice reached through, and his arm fell at Morndancer’s feet, miles away in the sitting room of his manor back in Smildna.
He laughed. Shaloon slapped him, and he laughed. Ronni, his daughter, burst through the door, her own daughter, only a year old, perched on her hip, and still, he laughed. “What’s wrong?! What happened to him?!” he barely registered his daughter's words and continued to laugh, rolling around on the ground in mirthful madness.
“The Firewyrm She…” Shaloon started, but Morndancer yelled over her in draconic,
“She is true! She is pure! She is rage! The children will come and raise the grandchildren! We have only to await the coming of those Chosen!” the room faded around him, becoming washed out and gray then finally black as he continued to laugh and shout, “They take those who slew them and use them to raise themselves anew…”
He couldn’t feel his burns or the hands trying to settle him. He saw only darkness and stars. And the eyes of his Master boring into his soul from the outer planes.
***
Shon couldn't remember ever feeling so drained in his life. He'd been tired before, exhausted even, but it had never felt quite like this. The eccentric Archmage Ivelm had ordered him to 'empty his energy' into stone after stone. Measuring the weight, color, and temperature of each. Making notes in chalk directly on his table and talking to himself. Shon was shocked the first time he saw the smooth rock handed to him change from a translucent white to an onyx as black as his hair, but by the time they'd gone through the twentieth stone, Shon had decided to stop counting.
Ivelm, however, seemed to get more and more excited with each one. Giving Shon reason to suspect the mage may be taking the energy for himself. After what felt like hours, Ivelm finally stoppered the potion he'd mixed with the most recent jewel, glowing a soft pale blue, and stepped back from the workbench, bony hands on bony hips.
"It can be done." Ivelm swiveled to face Nangran, "He's strong, I don’t know how he managed not to manifest until now, but it's all focused in one elemental direction." he rubbed his chin and looked at the ceiling, completely ignoring Shon's arched eyebrow. "It has a bit of divine flavor as well. But I suppose that shouldn't be surprising for a training Paladin." The mage stopped musing and glared down his nose at Nangran, who had made himself comfortable in the oversized wingback chair by the fire, "It will have to be a lot bigger than a piece of jewelry would allow."
The smith just hummed and sipped at his mug. When had he gotten a mug? Shon looked from one old man to the other. It was apparent Ivelm wanted Nangran to ask him for details, but the ever stoic smith said nothing.
Shon was tired. His limbs felt heavy, and the weight of his simple uniform felt more like platemail. He was just about to ask what the Archmage meant, to hurry them along, when Ivelm threw his hands in the air and said, "You'll need to find somewhere to put it. I would recommend that." he pointed at the hilt of Shon's sword over his shoulder, continuing, "If the lad is insisting on swinging a metal stick around instead of harnessing the ultimate powers of the universe then that same stick might as well sap the power literally as well as figuratively." Shon arched an incredulous eyebrow but Ivelm wasn't paying attention, finishing, "I can get it down to about an inch and a half orb. At the smallest. If you want something different, say so now."
Nangran set his mug on the ground and stood with a grunt and a groan. Shon just wanted to go home and sleep for a week, so when the smith reached for the hilt of his sword for a closer look Shon hardly noticed, until the squat smith jerked it down to eye level. Shon swung his arms like a drowning man and stepped wide to prevent himself from falling over.
"Quit wigglin'," Nangran grumbled, studying the sword's pommel with a professional eye. "One and a half'll do, preferably in a tear…"
The mage snorted and continued to ignore the struggling half crouched Shon, his voice dripping sarcasm as he addressed the smith, "Shall I wrap it in silk for you as well?"
"Na." Nangran let go of the sword, and Shon stood straight, lifting his leg to shake out the knee. "Drop it off when you’re done." the Mage snorted again but didn't counter.
None of them were interested in extending the visit, so Nangran grabbed his heavy cloak and shrugged it on while Shon waited by the door. "It will be at least a fortnight," Ivelm called from his position by the workbench, not about to walk them out.
Nangran grunted his confirmation and opened the battered and decrepit door, letting the wind and early autumn snow blow in on their way out. Shon followed numbly, his eyes unfocused as he walked, and ran right into the much shorter man. Nangran hardly moved as Shon bounced off of him. He was squinting into the distance, one large hand shading his eyes. Shon stared at Nangran for a moment before following the direction of his gaze over the tree line.
Smoke. A LOT of smoke. The black clouds billowed violently into the sky, occasionally lit from below by sparks shot high into the air.
"Elm!" Nangran shouted. Shon had never heard the man call so loudly. The Archmage must have also been shocked because the door to his hut swung open and he stuck his head out to look to either side, eyes wide.
"Flintchest, what?" but he soon saw what, "But, that's the old chemist's tower… What?" he stood in shocked confusion for a heartbeat before turning back into the hut. Shon looked from the shack to Nangran, but before he could say anything, the mage was back, struggling with two long rods, one blue with what looked like waves painted all around, the other black and studded with diamonds.
"Don't just stand there!" Ivelm snapped at the two as he finally managed to slip the blue rod into a sheath at his side. He then pointed the diamond rod at the space between two close-growing trees. Shon heard him say something unintelligible, and one of the diamonds shot out of the tip of the rod to hover between the trees before expanding into a portal.
Beyond the magical gate, Shon could hear the fire roar. It sounded how he imagined the burning hells might sound, but as he followed the two men through, he realized his imagination was tame by comparison.
The smell of burning flesh and hair choked him as they stepped clear of the gate's magic. The heat smashed into them like a wall, and all three brought their arms up to shield their faces. Around them were the charred remains of what looked like humans, their faces buried in the mud as if they'd been trying to run from the blaze. Shon had to swallow the bile that rose in his throat and focused instead on the fire Ivelm had said was a tower.
It was completely engulfed in bright flames of all colors. Squinting through the light, he could see the stone walls melting like wax. The arch of the doorway sagged in the middle, and Shon's eyes went wide. Someone was in there.
He would've had to shout over the roar of the flames, but it didn’t matter; Ivelm was already raising the blue wand, jerking his fingers in strange ways and mouthing words impossible to hear. Water shot out the tip of the wand with the force of a ballista and hissed against the glowing stones.
It wasn't possible. It must be a trick of the flickering flames. But the figure turned its face to them, long hair whipping about as it took steps in their direction.
"Don't just stand there, boy!" Ivelm screamed. "They must have a fire-resist spell; those things don't last forever!"
Nangran grabbed Shon’s upper arm, pulling him a step closer to the fire and down so he could shout in his ear, "Freeze a path."
Shon swallowed. He was so tired, literally drained. He didn't know what to do or how to do it. But the figure in the fire reached out to them only to pull away from a drop of molten rock. Shon fell to his knees, placing his hands on the ground and pleading silently to Hengist. He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to control the power. He tried picturing a path of snow between himself and the tower base, concentrating on it until the mental image overlaid the real world, as he did when imagining phantom fighters during practice.
Ice snaked its way from Shon's fingers towards the burning tower along his mental path, powered by the fear that he wouldn't be fast enough to save the person inside. The water from Ivelm's wand helped carve the way, and Shon grunted physically as he struggled to push mentally. His breathing came heavy and ragged. He could feel the fire melting the edges of the ice as if it were a part of him. Still, he fought back and forced it to continue to form into solid sheets moving closer and closer to the figure still trapped in the tower.
Wherever the ice formed solid, it stayed. The fire drawing back from it until, finally, it reached the doorway. He urged the ice to climb up the doorframe, to hold it in place and keep it from falling, from moving at all.
Shon was seeing double. He struggled to focus on the figure and flinched as they stepped onto the frozen path. The ice hissed and melted under their bare unsteady feet, he could feel it... feel them, their heat, on his ice.
It was a young woman. Or an older girl. She was naked; her clothes burned away by the fire. Her long hair was being blown forward by the heat of the burning tower, obscuring her face. As she moved closer, Shon could make out strange red stripes snaking around her body, standing in stark relief against her pale skin.
Ivelm stepped in front of him then, throwing Nangran's cloak around her shoulders as she crumpled to the ground. Nangran himself knelt beside Shon, resting one massive hand on the Squire's back. "You can stop, lad…" his voice trailed off, and Shon felt an emptiness open in his chest. No one could have survived that, not if they hadn't already made it to the entrance like the girl. As if to punctuate the thought, Shon managed to focus his eyes only to see the tower's entrance wall fold and collapse in on itself, the stones flowing like soft wax.
--- Table of Contents ---
Sorry for the double post today. I wanted to keep Ch 14 & 15 together.
Thanks for making it this far, you are the real MVP

I (26F) quit working for my parents. They are mentally, emotionally, and financially abusive. Their “help” was a “part-time job” I did for 6mo while getting back on my feet. It was not that, but a way to use and manipulate me. They are both so sick. They are my parents and I broke down in front of them. I felt so scared and fell into trusting them. They make it out to seem they wanted to see me grow, I work in a 100%. commission based industry that is related to their business, and this was the opportunity to help me as an individual. That turned out not to be the case. Against all my better judgement I chose to partake in this rather than my other non-related gig work. They lied about their expectations and job description (there was none), and they just constantly and excessively wanted me to cater to their emotional regulation problems and play therapist while at work. Visit managedbyanarcissist and familybusiness for more context. I worked for them for several years over two years ago and left because of similar issues. I feel stupid for taking the bait. I was struggling financially and showing some signs of depression. They like when I’m doing good for them, but resent me and show signs of jealousy when they see I’m doing good for me. They cannot stand me and it is so confusing the way they make you feel. My mental health was declining SO terrifyingly fast, I have other things going on in life that are stressful, but this has just tripled all the nervous system dysfunction.
He has a history of shorting my checks and his excuse then was that he thought he told me he was going to start paying me less. This time around he was relentless about how he makes no money in this business after he gets done paying me. Piles a string of unrelated tasks and won’t solidify a role of responsibility. More and more work on me without context or guidance. In his reality, he truly cannot be wrong. He gives changing goal posts/unclear instructions, and I am forced to engage with him, I’m his captive audience. It’s an environment that doesn’t allow for disagreement. I was preparing myself to grey rock, but pretty much when I heard him start blowing up on the phone, I knew I was done right then and there.
He blew up on the phone and was telling me stuff like “you’re rotten and effing me over, you’ll never go anywhere in the business world, go eff yourself!”. I was way to calm (literally trauma) and sent him in my Emom an email that I was just quitting immediately. I tried leading with love but also be completely honest, and told him he needed to seek help if we can want some resemblance of a relationship. My Ndad, sent me the most malicious, rambling, profanity laced message, and continued writing me multiple more strings. They are going on a 3 week vacation out of the country. His rational is that I gave him short notice and my actions caused him to lose money and that he had no one to do my job now. He is a typical boomer and thinks that a two week notice is required and enforced like martial law. At that point he did indeed admit this was not a part-time job, and that he expected me to do everything for what he was paying me. He micromanages and changes everything based on which ever way the wind is blowing that day. Nothing about my job was is in writing so I cannot express any boundaries or hold him accountable. I only got through about three sentences and have not been able to get through the rest. I get the gist. My sorry excuse for a mother chimed into the email saying she was so sorry and that she just had a feeling he couldn’t be a dad and a boss at the same time.? This comes from the woman that is constantly blaming/shaming/guilt tripping her daughters for reacting to their explosive dad‘s temper tantrum’s. But also cries and and becomes condescending when people don’t feel bad for her. She said to us all privately that he’ll never change, he’s just like that, he loves you guys. From there my Emom got to work on a literal PR campaign/damage control phone tree on his behalf. She probably cried or grossly omitted/skewed facts to garnered sympathy and create a narrative that she is concerned about me. This situation has open my eyes and double down on my belief that she is just as bad as he is. How can she seriously be shocked when her daughters refuse to engage with her either? The fact that she lays in bed every night with her daughter’s biggest bully has led me to believe she will never change either and is completely untrustworthy. She’s using my older sister like a literal tool for all of their games and I’m so mad she is putting her through this.
I am done. I cut them off. The only bill they were paying was my phone. I will not be contacting them to get them to release my phone number and I don’t want them to have it. This happened two days ago. I will be going tomorrow to the Verizon store to figure this out. I opened up another bank account and will be moving my money into it so as they do not have access to my banking and routing number (they had this for payroll). I am going to sell my townhouse, I bought pre-Covid and am sitting on about 95k in equity. I will be investing it fully into myself, my health, my own business, hobbies, travel, and building deeper relationships with the people who have made me realize how much I am loved. Where I live I could do nothing and coast off that for two-three years while I build up my self-esteem and the highly technical skill I have been gaining by doing night community college classes. I am still deciding whether or not to go to the police department and try to get some thing in writing that I made an appearance on this day and I seemed mentally competent and was not in fact missing. My worst fear is they start going that route while spiraling out of control with hate and anger. Maybe I’m paranoid and reading to much on this sub. But now my body is starting to shut down from stress, I’m feeling sick.
This is it, I really feel like I’m doing it. I hope it’s the first and last time. My dad is rolling into his dementia years, and my Emom has done nothing but made excuses for his gross behavior as long as I can remember. I am horrified of her becoming the Boy That Cries Wolf with my dad. Once he really does need help people are just going to regurgitate her own canned response, he’s just like that. He has the capacity to be a dangerous person and his cognition/impulse control is starting to fail him. My mother cannot be everywhere he is to “calm him down” and he has embarrassed our family with his temper tantrum‘s for our entire lives. I literally don’t know if she realizes he can, and at some point will become a danger to himself or others. That rakes through my mind, but the type of help he needs is not some thing I can give. Once he is totally not able to control himself, she is going to have to call an ambulance and he will need to go to a facility, they both will.
My older sister is a textbook golden child, she was parentafied, and still participates in the triangulation from time to time. My younger sister is completely disconnected from them mentally and is low contact/info diet. I feel like my actions caused my dad to throw a hand grenade into the family. My mom immediately after the event transpired called my older sister, who has tried to call me now for the last two days and keeps asking me to call her back. She’s on vacation with her own family and I’ve tried to convince her over text that I’m doing fine and just that nothing is wrong, but she keeps insisting to talk to me over the phone. I just don’t know if I can trust her. Honestly, I do not know what they have told her, but I’m afraid she’s going to “you’re sensitive and over reacting” and “we need to help them” me into submission. On the other hand, my mom could have called and done her whole charade, and my sister could have seen right through it and just want to be checking on me to make sure I am safe and OK. I hope it’s the latter but we have a complicated relationship so it’s hard to tell. I blocked my parents on everything so the thought that she’s now going to assault me with more of their words/thoughts/opinions/“help” just hurts my brain. If I do call her, what are some canned responses I can use if she tries to bring it up or is nosy about it?
Edit: Grammar and context.

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Autumn 4986, 15 Aoimoth
“Slow down, Squire!” Master Daunas walked around the sixteen Squires. They were all going through the basic motions of knife fighting together, but Shon knew the Weaponsmaster was talking to him specifically. He'd fallen into the rhythm of steel clanging off steel as the eight pairs of Squires went through the practiced strikes of a rehearsed fight. His partner was keeping up, but just barely. If Shon sped up, the boy would fumble, and Shon could disarm him. But that wasn’t the point of this exercise. It wasn’t a sparring match; it was a two man kata. Shon let out a long exhale and slowed down, matching his partner’s pace.
“Sorry,” Kefir, muttered to Shon, “You should try and get Zihler next time. He won’t slow you down.”
Shon arched an eyebrow at Kefir as the two pivoted in unison, spinning but staying together, so they switched places and continued without breaking rhythm. Or that was what was supposed to happen. Kefir stumbled just a little. He still wasn’t very good at quick pivots like that, and knife forms were full of them. Shon slowed down to wait for him to recover, matching his thrust with a counter as rehearsed.
“Don’t give me that look. I know you want to go faster. Zihler’s the most likely to keep... up...” Kefir had to space the last two words as they dodged each other again. More twists and turns he tended to overshoot.
He wasn’t wrong. Shon did want to go faster, wanted to push himself to his limits, and always just a little beyond, but “Speed isn’t the point of this exercise.” Shon said, and Kefir’s brow furrowed. Though if concentrating on Shon’s words or the continued form Shon didn’t know, “It's precision and practice. Keep partnering with Rerves, who's even worse, and you won't improve.”
They slammed together, the hilts of their daggers locking together as they sidestepped in tight circles. Shon could see at least ten different ways he could end a match right here. His left hand was free, as this was a single dagger exercise, and his opponents hardly ever paid attention to his feet. But that wasn’t the point, and Kefir would learn nothing from Shon downing him now, even if it was.
“Thanks,” Kefir spat sarcastically. Shon gave him a purposefully deadpan look in response, and he continued, “You’re the same, though. You won’t get better if you pick the weakest partners.” the two disengaged, jumping back and falling into a ready stance in one motion. Kefir took a heartbeat longer than some of the other boys but didn’t stumble at this speed as he had the last three times they went through the drill.
“I’m better than Zihler…” Shon said, not in pride or arrogance but in truth. When they had first started knife fighting weeks ago, he had partnered with those who seemed to be at the same level as himself or higher. Pushing himself to reach their level and surpass it. Add to that the fact that he often used his free time for more practice, and Shon had jumped to the top of the class as usual only a week into this new weapon.
Shon brought the topic back around to his point, “Practice is practice no matter how fast I go, as long as I have precision.” and, as if to prove his point, the form reached the culminating move, where Shon and Kefir needed to thrust at each other while turning just enough for the blade to pass by their chests. Shon slowed his thrust only at the end, just enough for Kefir to finish his dodge. Adjusting speed in the middle of a strike without pulling it completely wasn't easy, and they both knew it.
That was the end of the kata, and they both stepped back. Kefir looked down at his knife, sighing, “I suck at this, give me a shield or a hammer, and you wouldn’t have to hold yourself back.” he glanced up at Shon and forced a smile he obviously didn’t feel, “Then maybe I could teach you a thing or two…”
Shon nodded, perfectly serious, and when Kefir didn’t seem to understand, he added, “Exactly.”
The bell rang and the other Squires started heading for the weapons rack to return their knives, but Shon held Kefir in place with his eyes. He looked confused, his expression asking the question before his words could, so Shon explained, “You're better at armor and shields than me.”
That actually got a genuine smile from Kefir, “Everyone is better with armor and shields than you, Shon.” Shon humphed but couldn't argue, and Kefir laughed, “You know, if you spent your extra time actually practicing with the stuff you need practice in, instead of the things you're already the best at, you would get better.”
Shon ran his fingers through sweaty hair. It was only two finger widths long but still needed to be cut. He wanted to argue that practicing with the heavy weapons without armor in his free time was the only reason he was still the top in those as well. But instead, he nodded in acquiescence to Kefir’s observation.
“Hey,” Kefir stepped forward and poked Shon with the hilt of his dagger. Even with his thicker winter uniform on, they avoided touching him, “I get what you’re saying. We each have our own strengths and weaknesses. Thank you for trying to help me with mine.” The thanks was genuine this time, now that the frustration of the practice was over, and Shon nodded. Kefir continued, “Why don’t we make a deal? I’ll let you help me catch up to you in this if you let me help you with armor work. Master Daunas wants to get you in plate, but if you can’t even move in banded mail, you’ll never make it in the heavier stuff.”
Shon let his head fall back in frustration but nodded. Kefir laughed and the two returned their daggers without further words. Shon split from the rest of the stragglers in the courtyard, moving towards the bench beside the wall and the barrel for catching rainwater beside it. This deep into autumn, the water was sometimes frozen in the mornings, but Shon preferred it that way. Reaching in, he splashed handfuls of it on the back of his neck. The others would be heading for the hot showers, but with sixteen of them and only ten shower heads, Shon would wait until they were all done before washing properly.
“I’ll meet you after study time!” Kefir called as he walked by to try and reach the showers with the first group. Shon waved without turning around. He knew Kefir was right. He should focus his extra time on improving his weaknesses. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.
***
The mess hall where they had their meals had one long table set in the middle with enough space for fifteen Squires on each side. Around it were set smaller circular tables for the Paladins stationed in Hamerfoss and one larger near the door for the officers. Against one wall was another long table with plates, bowls, and food where they would each gather their meal before finding their seats.
The seats weren’t assigned, but Shon always sat at the farthest end of the Squire’s table, with his left facing the walkway so he wouldn’t bump anyone with his elbow as he ate. No one ever took the spot. It was an unspoken consensus amongst the Squires that that was Shon’s seat. The rest tended to congregate in the middle, talking and poking friendly fun at each other, extending their break into the dinner meal.
Shon took his place and started eating without joining in. They didn’t try to include him most of the time, and he was content to just listen. “Hey, Shon,” Rerves called from down the table, and Shon looked up from his plate to show he was listening, “I hear Kefir’s going to help you with armor tonight. Can I come?” Shon shrugged, turning back to his meal. Rerves went back to his conversation, and dinner continued as usual. The Squires ignoring Shon.
They filtered out of the mess hall as they each finished their dinner at their own pace, some heading to the chapel for prayer and others to the library for study. Shon made his way to the library, pausing in the doorway and debating with himself. If he joined the others at the larger table, they would try and talk to him. They seemed to think it was their duty to include him if he was there. But if he sat alone at the two-man table by the window, they would leave him alone. It meant he wouldn’t be able to ask them questions if one came up, but it also meant they wouldn’t bother him with pointless asides…
Tonight, he joined the study group. The subject they'd started a few weeks ago wasn’t one he had taken to easily, an in-depth history of Gasha province, so he wanted to be able to talk when needed.
It started as soon as he finished the first page, “So Shon, when do you think Master Veon-Zih will be back?”
“Winter Solstice,” Shon answered shortly, rereading the sentence. The others whispered around him about Master Veon-Zih, something about if he would dance with the pretty baker again this year…
“Hey Shon, do you know if Monks train in dancing too?”
Shon placed his finger over the paragraph he'd reached, knowing he would have to reread it after the interruption. He shook his head. When they continued to look at him, he sighed, glaring up at them. This was supposed to be study time… “He learned how after he left the Monastery.”
He reread his paragraph and managed to finish the chapter before running his hand through his hair in frustration at the text. Looking up, he said, “We’ve read about the war between Gasha and Swailand, but this doesn’t say anything about why they went to war in the first place.”
“Fishing rights, I think?” Thom answered, flipping through his own book, “Knowing those Horsa Bast…” he cut off before finishing the curse, glancing at the Paladin acting as librarian, before continuing, “I bet they wanted to extend their fishing to the area around Gasha, and they are just as likely to fight each other as us.”
Rehlien slid a new book Shon’s way, “Here, read this one next. It gets into the justification a little more than that one.” Shon nodded his thanks, taking the book and placing it under the one he was still finishing.
But his question had opened the door to more derailing chatter, “You really like to know the why of things, don’t you, Shon?”
Shon nodded, hoping this talk would at least be relevant, but “You’re like that in etiquette too. That’s probably why you struggle so much.” Shon shrugged. Etiquette didn’t seem to have a point, but that wasn’t what they were supposed to be studying now, “I find some things ‘just are’ because of tradition…” the boy trailed off as Shon glared at him, his words freezing in his throat. When silence had returned, Shon went back to his book. He should've just sat alone.
***
Kefir and Rerves were already waiting in the sparring ring by the time Shon showed up dressed in his banded mail. The armor rubbed uncomfortably around his neck and the thick gambeson underneath bunched at his joints, limiting his range of motion by at least a few inches. It also weighed him down, which he'd managed to convince himself was good for strength training, but was incredibly frustrated by for sparring.
Kefir already had his sword and shield and held an extra bastard sword for him, so Shon went right for the ring, stifling a frustrated sigh as he took the proffered weapon.
Rerves grinned at the look on Shon’s face, saying, “We figured you'd be miserable enough in the armor alone, that we should channel some of Soleil's compassion and let you use your best weapon instead of the hammer.” to which Shon was grateful. Making him practice in the armor with a weapon he still hadn’t mastered would've been adding salt to the wound.
“Let’s do some stretches and warm-ups first.” Kefir started, “Your problem isn’t being afraid to take a hit with the armor,” Rerves laughed out loud, but Kefir continued with only a grin, “It’s in having to adjust your mobility. So let's re-imprint that before we try any sparring.”
They went through stretches, the two of them seeming to match Shon in flexibility only because he was hampered by the armor, then moved on to solo sword forms. Even though the armor was only about thirty-five pounds evenly distributed, Shon still felt sluggish. When they moved on to sparring, Rerves beat him soundly while Kefir watched, tilting his head back and forth like Master Daunas and trying to give advice that didn’t help. Shon could fight, he knew the proper blocks and parries better than they did, but too often he would either not make up for his lack of speed or would overcompensate and swing too hard.
Kefir took his turn, lifting his shield and watching Shon raise his sword to the ready, “Honestly, Shon, I don’t know what to do besides have you practice more and just get used to it.”
“Sometimes that’s all you can do,” Rerves said from the side as he slipped off his helmet. Shon knew they were right in some regards but couldn’t entirely dismiss his frustration at the thought that he was missing something that he needed to learn and not just have beaten into him. He was grateful for his companion’s help but annoyed at their inability to teach.
Rerves gave the order to "Lay on!" and Shon and Kefir engaged. Shon could predict Kefir's moves, could practically see them in his mind's eye, but barely reacted in time, his arm not bending as far or fast as he wanted it to. He gritted his teeth, glaring at the other Squire, trying to sidestep around but moving too slow compared to Kefir, who just needed to turn in place. Shon took a step back and planted his feet. If he could force Kefir to make the larger motions, then perhaps he could focus on redirecting the boy’s attacks.
Kefir hesitated. Shon was most dangerous when he stood his ground, and they both knew it. The hesitation just gave Shon more time to try and strategize. Not that it had helped at all before. Maybe if he could somehow slow Kefir down, or focus on trapping his weapon, then it wouldn’t matter that Shon wasn’t as fast as he would be without the damn armor. Kefir tested Shon’s guard with a few half-hearted attacks that Shon deflected, waiting. When the other Squire finally committed fully, Shon let go of his sword with his left hand, twisted to dodge, and grabbed Kefir’s sword arm.
Just stop. Stop long enough for me to hit you… Kefir tried to pull away but couldn’t. Despite the poor grip Shon had with the thick gloves that were part of the armor, the two Squires seemed lashed together. Kefir twisted his shoulders so he could lift his shield to deflect Shon’s oncoming attack, but his feet didn’t move. His eyes went wide, and his shield came up barely in time to hit Shon’s sword, the tip still reaching over to clang off Kefir’s helm with a glancing blow.
Kefir fell backward and Shon, still clinging to his arm, was pulled on top of him. The boy yelled, and Shon rolled, letting go of Kefir and hearing something like glass breaking over the clanging of armor and screaming of his fellow. Shon rolled to absorb the shock of the fall and twisted to find Kefir on his back, his knees still straight and his boots stuck to the ground. Encased in ice.
The ice climbed up his boots to his shins, but Kefir was gripping his arm, trying to pull more ice from where Shon had been holding him. It continued to grow, soon encasing his hand and sword hilt. Rerves rushed forward, trying to help pry the sword free while the ice on his legs grew past his boots and under his greaves. Kefir screamed again, in pain and fear.
The Paladins on the wall began yelling, their leader taking command, sending some to help the boys and others to run for the fortress. Shon watched in horror as Kefir’s legs and arm were slowly encased in ice, his lips trembling and turning blue. He would be covered soon, Shon knew it, could picture it happening, like a waking nightmare. It would trap his brother Squire and anyone else touching it…
The ice started clawing at Rerves fingers, trying to gain hold and freeze him too.
“What in all the hells?!” Master Daunas showed up with a gaggle of Paladins and the Cleric, who all fell around the boys. Some took out their belt knives and tried to break the ice apart; others began to chant spells to either melt the ice or keep Kefir warm.
Master Daunas searched above the throng for answers and, finding Shon, cursed. He ran around the larger group, grabbing Shon by the arm and wrenching him away, practically dragging him across the courtyard towards the fortress proper. Someone called out in triumph as Shon reached the fortress door and Daunas forced him through it.
What had happened? Had they freed Kefir? Would he be alright? What happened?!
Daunas was still cursing as he slammed the door and spun on Shon, who stared blankly through the Weaponmaster. Panic, he was trying so hard not to panic. Was trying to figure out what had happened, trying to play through the entire thing again, picturing it from outside his body. Was the ice what had allowed him to hold on to Kefir? Was it still climbing up Kefir's legs? Was that why the older Squire wasn’t able to pull back and block properly? Had Shon...
“Calm down, boy.” Daunas reached for Shon’s shoulders but pulled back a moment later, shaking his hands and cursing as they reddened from the cold, “Breathe, boy. Look at me, think warm thoughts.”
Think warm thoughts? What did that even mean? Shon found Daunas’s eyes and saw the Weaponmaster scared for the first time, “Breathe, slow and steady, like old man V taught you. You need to control your energy…” his lips were pale and trembling, his breath coming out in a cloud before him. had it been that cold outside? Shon couldn’t feel it...
Shon closed his eyes and breathed. Control his energy… He pulled himself in, finding his center and gathering around it, “That’s it, boy, like that.” Shon breathed in his energy, his ki, holding it in his gut, storing it for later when he could use it to focus a strike and give it more power, just like Master Veon-Zih had taught him. And just like Master had taught him, he tried to let go of his worries, to clear his mind, if only for now.
Kefir would be alright, almost every adult here could cast healing spells, and at least half of them were with him now. It was okay. Shon could relax, let go, calm down… Suddenly exhausted, Shon nearly collapsed right there in the hallway. Daunas caught him, slowly lowering him to the stones.
Shon could feel himself slipping into unconsciousness, but not fast enough to miss Master Daunas’s last curse, “Damn it, boy, why did you have to be a Sorcerer?”
***
“He has to go to the Mages Guild.” Major General Davies Selibra, Paladin head of Hamerfoss, stated to those gathered in his office. It was a simple room containing two sets of closed cabinets on either side of a large desk facing the door with two seats positioned in front of it. Shon sat in one of those seats, his head hanging and fists clenched tightly in his lap.
Master Daunas slammed his palm down on the desk. He seemed too agitated to sit, or perhaps he just didn’t want to sit next to Shon, who was radiating cold like a fire radiated heat, “We can’t, Selibra! He’s the most promising fighter I’ve ever trained. He’ll lose too much time.” the Weaponmaster's words puffed out as white fog from his lips.
Major General Selibra sat behind his desk and rubbed his temples, “It’s the law Daunas, he either needs to get a clearance or be sealed.”
“Can’t be a Paladin with the tattoo…” Smith Nangran muttered from his position leaning on the door. Shon was too focused on his predicament to wonder why the Smith was even here. A thin layer of ice began to form at his feet.
“It’s the law…” Selibra said again, weary, “If he had awakened sooner, he might have been able to get his clearance before training, but…”
Daunas threw his hands into the air, bellowing, “It takes years to get a clearance. If they even let him. Those Mages would rather just mark the boy up and be done with it!”
A sealing tattoo. They would want to block the magic. Seal it away in his body where it couldn’t hurt anyone. Kefir had suffered severe frostbite as well as a broken ankle. Lucky for him, he was surrounded by divine conduits and was fine, but what if Shon lost control again? Who would the ice entomb? Master Veon-Zih? Innocent citizens he was supposed to protect? Shon’s nails dug furrows into his palms as he clenched his fists tighter. The ice crawled up the legs of his chair and crystalized on the backs of his hands.
The adults continued to talk around him, “The law is clear, Daunas. The magic either needs to be trained or sealed. There are no exceptions.” The law never made exceptions. It’s what kept everything running at top proficiency. Shon admired that… and understood it, as even now he couldn't control the sorcerous ice.
Shon tried to slow his breathing, relax his hands. The ice cracked over his fingers as he forced them out of their fists. It was responding to his emotions, his fear, and horror at what he'd done. What he was. If he could just pull it in, stifle the emotions feeding it, then the magic wouldn't be able to control him…
Ice continued to inch up the chair, and Selibra rubbed his hands together to warm them. They'd been pointedly and purposely ignoring the winter-like cold since bringing Shon to the office.
“Tattoos aren’t the only way to seal magic…” Nangran stated from the door. Daunas and Selibra stopped arguing, and Shon’s head shot up. He turned slowly to watch the Smith who combed absently at his beard, “Law says sorcerer magic needs to be trained or sealed, doesn’t say how.”
“I know the law Nangran,” Selibra still sounded defeated. “A council of Mages, including one of the rank Archmage, must determine if a Sorcerer is capable of controlling his or her power. If they determine the power is too great a risk to the kingdom, then said power will be made unable to manifest. Sealed.” the Major General recited, most likely for Shon’s benefit. Shon's heart pounded in his chest, and the fires that lit the room dimmed.
“What are you suggesting?” Daunas asked Nangran curiously. The smith only talked when necessary, using grunts and nods instead of words whenever possible. That was probably why Shon liked him so much. It also meant he wouldn’t have contradicted Selibra unless he had a reason.
“Know a guy. Used to make sealing items for the guild…” Nangran said with a shrug, as though Shon’s future didn’t hinge on his point, “Owes me a favor…”
“You’re not talking about that mad hermit who comes barging in here once or twice a year, are you?” Daunas asked, looking stunned.
Nangran nodded with a confirming hum. “Still Archmage in good standing…”
The Weaponmaster looked ecstatic, shouting, “Nangran, you’re a genius!” he slammed his hands down on the desk again, breath puffing out in thick clouds as his excitement grew. Nangran grunted.
Daunas turned back to the Major General, who actually looked intrigued. Shon’s heart tried to beat its way out of his chest. “This is it, Selibra! This Archmage can make the boy a sealing item. I’m sure the Temple will vouch for him. He’s our top Squire.” Shon was still too terrified to feel proud of the compliment and watched Major General Selibra with wide desperate eyes. Ice started forming on his hands again, looking like clawed talons.
“The Mages Guild hasn’t given out sealing stones for generations…” Selibra hummed, and Shon barely stopped the desperate whine before it could escape, his fingernails drawing blood on his palms as he balled them into fists again, breaking the ice claws. “but we can at least try.” Selibra finished, focusing on Shon, his brown eyes still looking sad, “Are you sure you want this, Shon? As a Paladin, you won’t be able to train with your elemental magic unti-”
“Yes, Sir!” Shon shouted, leaning forward in his seat and breaking the ice off its legs. He fell back a moment later, embarrassed by his outburst. More quietly, he said again, “Yes, Sir. I don’t want this magic. I want to be a Paladin.” more than anything in his entire life, he'd wanted to be a Paladin…
“Very well,” Major General Selibra stood, resting his fingertips on his desk. Speaking as if to himself, he muttered, “Perhaps this is a sign from Hengist.” looking up, he addressed Nangran, “Tomorrow you will take Squire Shon to this Archmage friend of yours. Gods willing, he will be able to seal the sorcerer magic without hindering his divine capabilities.” he failed to hide a shiver from the cold.
***
Her candles burned hot and bright, flickering wildly as She paced around Her little room. Something was happening in Her tower. There were far too many people with strangers' voices out Her window and beyond Her door.
Brom and Ran continued to visit, but they wouldn’t answer Her questions, wouldn’t take Her for samples, or to see Her treasures. The first made Her angry, the second gave Her energy, and the last scared Her enough to stop asking questions. What if they took Her books again? They hadn’t given Her a reason She couldn’t see Her treasures, so maybe they would soon… maybe tomorrow...
***
“Tomorrow,” Morndancer stated as Shaloon let herself into his room. The transfer preparations had taken months. MONTHS! They were Mages. No. Greater than Mages. They were Warlocks. And yet, everything still took far too long. They could instantly communicate with allies across the kingdom but still had to spend time making the proper arrangements. They could travel miles in a blink but still had to painstakingly pack every book and file, disassemble and disenchant the golems guarding the tower over days and even weeks. If it had been a true emergency -if they'd been found- they could've destroyed everything, vanishing all evidence of their presence and research. But the Master Archmages had forbidden it in this case.
“The western Talon is ready to receive us,” Shaloon confirmed, “What of the subjects? Archmage Yarna has no interest in animal husbandry..."
“The Firewyrm is all she is interested in. It is the only reason she agreed to take us.” Morndancer sat on his bed and stared at the pseudodragon perched on his desk, its leathery wings half furled and its tail twitching over the side of the desk, “I will handle the animal subjects tomorrow. Just make sure you are ready to open the portal out when I am done.” she could only open one portal a day, sometimes two but it would leave her incapacitated for at least a day after.
“Tomorrow then,” Shaloon confirmed, leaving him alone with his running mind and the little pretend dragon, that seemed to stare through his skin and into his soul.
***
Shon couldn’t sleep. Once again, his entire future hung on what would happen tomorrow. And just like the divine test and the road to Hamerfoss, there was nothing he could do to speed up the process. It was out of his hands. Out of his control. Just like the ice now clouding the window and the frost freezing the blankets to the mattress.
He tapped the blank page of his open journal with his pencil. The images running through his mind were the last he wanted to solidify on paper. He tried drawing something else… Kefir smiling warmly at him for the second thank you. Rerves leaning forward and shouting to him across the dinner table. The study group conversing in whispers instead of studying…
He wrote about it all between the drawings but everything that happened after pushed at his mind, the scenes forming in his vision. Shon drew Kefir again, lying on his back and tugging at the ice forming on his sword arm. Then a group scene with the Paladins falling around him, their faces focused, and hands glowing with spells to try and save him… Master Daunas’s scared eyes as he ordered Shon to ‘think warm thoughts...'
With two pages full of various sketches and commentary, Shon dropped his pencil and rested his head on his desk. Why? Was this why he was so cold to the touch? Sorcerers were rare; those with ice power were the rarest even amongst them. Should they have noticed something was wrong sooner? Would Hengist really accept someone like him? Chose a Sorcerer to be one of his extensions in Daanlin?
Shon closed his eyes, breathing slowly and trying not to cry. If they forced him to go to the Mages Guild, he would never be able to fight again. He was sure of it. All his hard work and dedication. All those years of disciplined practice, gone in one instance where he lost control. Where he almost killed a friend.
Everything he was, everything he would be, hinged on the following day. “Tomorrow…” Shon whispered into the dark, his candle finally flickering to die in the cold.
--- Table of Contents ---
Thanks for making it this far, you are the real MVP

PART 15 <==H==> FIRST
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Will was excited, the past few weeks seemed to herald a new change in Ilicia’s and Agrana's relationship. He had been surprised when came back that first day to find Agrana eating and chatting idly with Ilicia. He was more surprised when Ilicia told him what had happened and when Agrana came to him to assure him of the end of her attempts on Ilicia's life. Will had nearly exploded trying to contain his shock.
It was now commonplace to see Ilicia and Agrana chatting when Will was not around. Will suspected his grandmother did something to facilitate this, but she assured him she had done nothing other than explain her relationship with Karva. Will was suspicious by nature, and as the Princess's Man, he was obligated to be suspicious of all things having to do with the princess. And an Ogdeshi taking a sudden interest in the princess and serving her was suspicious.
Will knew Agrana was a woman of her word. But he also knew her as a master manipulator, and he had confidence in the fact that Agrana would see little wrong with killing a large number of humans to get what she wanted. The thought of Ilicia coming to harm sent blood rushing through him in a way that threatened to bring on the natural occurrence of the Orcish blood rage.
Will was excited. All of this rushed through his head as he walked with Ilicia. He knew he was worried, and he hoped today would provide some reassurance for his ever-active imagination. Today was the day after he completed his training and he was to spend the entire day with Ilicia. She walked next to him, her arm through his, as he led them both through the twists and turns of a forest path that ended in a strange building seeming to grow out of the wood of a gargantuan tree.
The door opened automatically as they approached to reveal a wood elf-man in clothing that seemed to emanate a sense of regal energy. The elf smiled at them and bowed. "Master Will, Princess Ilicia, welcome and please do come in."
Ilicia smiled back at the man. "Thank you sir."
"How is the family Jullian?" Will asked as he stepped through the door, making it feel three inches too small in all directions.
"My wife is well, she is in the kitchen cooking as usual. I will be serving you today as my children are not here at the moment." Jullian said with a quick bow. He led them through the building which Ilicia realized was far larger than it appeared from the outside. They passed several other couples and groups that were seated at different tables as Jullian led them up a sweeping flight of stairs and out onto a balcony that appeared to be several hundred feet in the air and protruding from the tree.
"Will, what is going on with this building?" Ilicia asked, getting a twisting feeling in her stomach as she looked over the railing.
"That would be my wife's fault, she does as she will." Jullian said to Ilicia with an apologetic smile. He bowed once more, and then turned and walked away.
"What is this place Will?" Ilicia asked looking around and noting more and more things that simply felt off. She opened her mouth to speak again as a silver platter with goblets of water floated over and unloaded its cargo before simply vanishing into thin air.
Will laughed at her shock. "Jullian is a wood elf."
"Even I noticed that." Ilicia said wondering where Will was going with this.
"His wife is a goddess." Will said with a smile at how quickly Ilicia's jaw dropped. "We are not sure what she is a goddess of, but she has a penchant for cooking and brewing and she loves Jullian with her whole heart. She fell in love with him when he found her wounded in the woods and stayed by her side, talking of his home in the woods of his youth, he cooked for her and cared for her for three weeks before she could rise on her own."
"Wow." Ilicia said, "Do you know how she was injured?"
"No,and I am not sure anyone knows except Trina. That is the name she has chosen to go by. She also tells people that she is simply Jullian's goddess when asked what she is a goddess of. She is a rather interesting character, if she ever comes to say hello I am willing to bet you will like her."
Ilicia smiled at Will and Jullian reappeared. "So what would you like to eat?"
Will smiled and rattled off a list of food which all sounded strange. Ilicia looked around to see where he had made his selection, but Jullian simply smiled at her and told her to ask for anything she desired. Ilicia realized what was going on and ordered her favorite food from home. Jullian smiled, bowed, and vanished through the doors once more.
"Anything we want huh?" Ilicia asked with a mischievous grin on her face.
"She is a goddess. But I will warn you Ilicia, last time I started trying to challenge her in her ability to cook anything, well let's just say she is willing to humor most things. If she feels you crossed a line, she will let you know by making your food so spicy you taste it for weeks, and that's only after the second or third bite." Will said, his tone indicating he was speaking from experience.
"What did you ask her for?" Ilicia asked.
"My dad told me he used to eat at a place called 'micky dees' so I ordered one of everything from their menu, thinking I would have her stumped with food from another world." Will said and then looked up. "She made it all and delivered it to me, told me to enjoy, and told me if I ever asked her to make such ludicrous and disgusting food again, I would find myself unable to eat solid food for a year."
Ilicia laughed and smiled at Will as Jullian brought out a small cart loaded with plates of food he began to lay on the table.
They ate their food and talked about various things. When they were finished eating Jullina brought them dessert. Will turned to Ilicia and broached the topic of Agrana.
"Ilicia," Will said in a serious mood now, "why did you take Agrana as a member of your staff?"
Ilicia was caught a little off guard. "What do you mean? Why would I not take her onto my staff? Her skills are self-evident."
"Oh, I know. I remember well who first taught me other than my father." Will said this with no anger, simply curiosity. "But I would still ask why you did this. Is the protection I provide lacking? Do you anticipate me leaving you anytime soon? I simply want to know what your reasoning was in making this decision."
Ilicia thought for a moment and then spoke. "I had several reasons, mostly I wanted her to not want to kill me. But since then I have come to some conclusions as to why having her around will be better than not."
Will nodded and Ilicia leaned forward taking his massive hand into both of hers. "I do not think your protection is lacking in any way. I am fairly certain that should I ever be kidnapped, you will tear apart the continent one rock at a time, laughing the whole way."
Will shrugged. The noncommittal way he agreed with herreminded her just how powerful Will really was. Ilicia continued. "The short answer is, you can never have enough bodyguards. The long answer is, I think that while you are the Princess's Man, you will begin to fulfill a far more important role in political functions once we return to the kingdom." She finished her thought in her head, "Hopefully that position is as my fiance or husband, and you can leave all the bodyguard work to Agrana."
Will thought about this for a moment, his eyes never leaving hers. Ilicia knew he was probably mulling over important thoughts, but a part of her wanted him to just look at her like that as he took her on the table. Ilicia shook her head and spoke once more. "So in addition to helping with my safety in that regard, if you leave to deal with the man who killed your father, I will still have a guardian."
Will nodded at this and seemed to relax. "Very well, but I want you to know if she ever makes a move against you again, I will kill on the spot."
Ilicia nodded, knowing from his tone that this was not a discussion but rather a statement of fact. That mischievous voice in her head also wanted him to command her in that tone. Ilicia blushed at the thoughts she was having and looked away from Will.
Will smiled at her when she finally got her blushing cheeks to cool. "So, we have eaten and now we have a whole day to ourselves. What would you like to do, Ilicia?"
"Well, I would like to visit your grandmother's library if she will let us." Ilicia said, remembering the room of books she saw Yilan in earlier.
"Of course." Will said with a smile.
Jullian appeared. "Is there anything else you would like?"
"No, Jullian it was fantastic as always." Will said with a smile.
"Thank you." Jullian said and turned to Ilicia. "If you have a moment my wife has requested a moment of your time."
"Of course Jullian." Ilicia said, turning to Will.
"I will wait for you outside." Will headrf down stairs on his own.
Ilicia followed Jullian through the building which only further exemplified how incredibly large the building was compared to its looks on the outside. When he finally led her into a kitchen that could have fed the entire castle she grew up in, Jullina bowed to her, smiled at the glowing woman standing behind a counter, and then turned to grab a tray of food and leave.
"Come Princess," the woman gestured to a stool set next to her. "Have a seat and talk with me for a moment."
"Of course." Ilicia said, falling back on court manners in this rather strange incident.
"Firstly, call me Trina," the goddess said, "and secondly, what do I have to do to make you forget your love of Will?"
Ilicia's jaw almost hit the counter. "What do you mean? Why would I ever do such a thing?"
Ilicia was angry, a deep anger that burned deep in her gut. Trina stopped what she was doing, knife paused mid-cut. "I care for Will, his father and mother both were dear friends of mine and always treated me no differently than anyone else. As a divinity, I have some small gift of foresight, and you need not be in love with Will. More importantly, he needs to not love you."
"I see why you wanted to talk to me only." Ilicia said indignantly. "Will would kill you."
"I spared with the boy once, and he very well might be one of the very few mortals who could kill a god, but that is beyond the point." Trina said with a calm voice of understanding. "I need to know what I would have to do, to what I would have to give you, to get you to remove Will from your life."
Ilicia panicked. She hated this woman. She looked into Trina's eyes. "You will have to kill me. I love him, there is nothing you could give me that could replace Will."
The goddess stared hard at Ilicia who did not back down. Trina chuckled. "Those Garrow men sure do pick firecrackers. You know there was a time where Will's father took one of my daughters on a date? She came home and said she would bless whoever he married because he was a handful. Then he went and married Yilan's daughter and they gave birth to a man who is by rights almost a god in terms of his ability and power."
Ilicia's head was spinning as she tried to follow Trina's words with her ears, and with her eyes the flurry of time-defiant movements her hands made. Trina paused again and looked Ilicia in the eyes. "You are a brave woman, and you will need to be. A time will come when the love you hold is used against Will, I hope you are strong enough to face the repercussions. Will is getting anxious, and I can not warp time any more than I already have without causing you harm. Take this and go to him, cherish him while you can princess."
Trina handed Ilicia a sweet roll and then hesitated before placing her hand on Ilicia's head and bowing hers for a moment. Ilicia felt a wave of energy wash over her. "Go forth with my blessing child."
Ilicia stood and left the kitchen to find Jullian waiting to take her outside. The sun was setting, where it had been morning just an hour or two ago. She looked back to the building and then to Will. She shrugged and slipped her arm through his. As she shared the sweet roll with him, Trina's words echoed through her mind.
One phrase in particular rattled her to her bones as Will guided her back to Yilan's library. "...I hope you are strong enough to face the repercussions."
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PART 15 <==H==> FIRST
FROM THE AUTHOR: Here it is, the next installment of The Princess's Man! I hope you all enjoy this and have a fantastic day!
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Hey Madison. I recently started designing map prints of the Madison area, including this one called "Sounds of State Street.” My idea was to highlight various music venues, performance spaces, and events — both current and historic.
I would love to know if you think I'm missing any notable venues or events, past or present.
Are there things to add with interesting history? For example, I already have the venue where Otis Redding was supposed to play had his plane crash not happened. And a venue where U2 once played.
Any ideas welcome!

First Chapter
Chapter Fifteen
“Thank you, Ms. President, and Mr. Secretary-General. It’s my privilege to come and speak to everyone present during such a momentous time in human history. One which, I hope, will lead to a brighter future for us all…”
US President Correa’s boilerplate beginning flowed out as she scanned the room. Behind her rostrum sat a larger dais tiled with green marble, behind which sat the UN President, Secretary-General, and Under-Secretary-General. Two huge screens flanked the dais, and those screens now showed Correa’s face as she continued.
“…and we are committed to our country’s pledge to finding a peaceful and just way for Coalition technology to be incorporated worldwide, and to not attempt any reverse-engineering of our own. Make no mistake; we do not do this out of any sense of altruism or fairness, as pleasant as that may sound. We will hold this pledge sacred for the simple reason that, if the United States were to attempt such efforts the rest of the world would, without a doubt, find out. That, of course, would lead to a great instability.”
‘Great instability’ was diplomatic-speak for ‘the rest of the world then gangs up on the USA and then everything goes to hell’.
“I know there has already been a great deal of debate in this august hall as to the best way to proceed forward, in a fair and impartial manner. We believe that we have found what one might call a ‘trial run’ which will allow us to work out such matters.”
The general murmuring from the many semi-circular rows of desks in front of her increased.
“To begin with, during the first weeks after first contact we wanted to make sure our guests from the Coalition would not starve to death. Much like humanity’s own ships during the Age of Sail, Coalition exploration vessels store enough provisions for years…but such provisions never last. They have very advanced recycling, but mostly for water and even that is only a stop-gap measure. It is unknown even at this time as to how long it will take to repair the Exultant Finger of Rithro, and we did not want to risk the crew running out of food.
“Therefore, we undertook an emergency effort to have their ship’s medic examine various Earth foods to determine their compatibility with our guests’ varied biochemistries. I am pleased to report that there are quite a few Earth foodstuffs which are indeed compatible, although there are some specific items which act as allergens amongst some of the Coalition species. During these efforts, we did learn a bit about how their alien biochemistries work…information which has been duly published and is now openly available. We also began to get glimpses of something wonderful, and asked the Coalition crew for more details. They supplied us with some general ideas of what their medical technology can accomplish; I must emphasize that we do not possess any knowledge of how they can perform such miracles.”
Now the murmuring got quite a bit higher, but not quite to the point where they’d have to call for order.
“Yes, I use the word ‘miracles’ advisedly. For example, take Captain Sadaf. You have all seen her, and how she moves like a person in the prime of their life. Now. What if I told you that she is a little over four hundred years old?”
The murmuring died down into a shocked silence.
“Her species, the auhn, is no more long-lived than we are…but they are able to regenerate and remove the effects of aging. I hope the esteemed ambassadors can see what I am driving at. I propose that we set up a research institute, international in scope, to be placed at a neutral location which is still to be determined. The purpose of that institute will be to study and adapt Coalition medical technology for use in humans.”
Now the murmuring started again; she hoped they were actually listening instead of hatching side-deals with each other.
“You all have families and friends. I’m sure you have at least one family member, one good friend, who died of some horrible and unnecessary affliction. Think of what this means to the world, to us. It is also an excellent way to determine the inevitable issues and frictions which will arise from such a concerted international effort, and that, in turn, will inform our efforts in mutual reverse-engineering of other Coalition technology.
“I know this is, in many ways, a frightening time. Change can be frightening. But I am convinced that you will all know the right way forward, and that you will all see the need for us to unite in this matter, even if others may not be so clear-cut. I thank you for the opportunity to speak.”
As she stepped away from the rostrum, the UN President cleared his throat.
“We will now begin the debate on Madame President Correa’s proposal. Paper copies, with specifics of the proposal, are now being distributed to you all. We’ll now begin the debate period…yes, the gentleman from Portugal…?”
__________
Correa’s Chief of Staff was a shorter, tubby man with an olive complexion by the name of Pablo Rosas. He and Correa sat in a White House conference room, staring at a big screen which now showed the results of the UN vote. “Well, I suppose that went about as well as we could expect,” said Rosas.
“Yep. I was surprised they even agreed with our asking them to kick in some money.”
Rosas chuckled. “Keep in mind that all of this new medical tech will be available for anyone patent-free. Should be air-tight legally, since nobody here on Earth invented it; we’re merely adapting it. I think that was the sweetener we needed to get it passed.”
The president gave a brief nod, then tapped a few keys on the controls in front of her. The screen now showed a world map. “Now we just have to figure out where to put the damn thing without everyone getting butt-mad about it.”
“Hmm.” Rosas laced his fingers over his substantial gut as he regarded the map. “Someplace not ‘the usual’, then.”
Correa growled in frustration. “I keep thinking Switzerland, but I know there’s gonna be a lot of shit flung about that it’s too European-centric. Taiwan would be great; they’ve got both a good tech base and excellent transport infrastructure.”
“But way too controversial, for obvious reasons,” replied Rosas. “Japan?”
“China will, again, kick up a fuss. Huh. New Zealand?”
“That might work. They tend to be more neutral…but then again some might say they’re in too close with Australia, and that this whole effort is too Western-centric.” His eyes flicked back to north on the map. He was about to move his gaze elsewhere, but then he paused. “What about Iceland?”
“Iceland?” Correa almost scoffed, then looked more thoughtfully at the map. “Okay, they’re a NATO member which is a minus. But they tend to remain mostly neutral, which is a plus. Decent transportation infrastructure…don’t we have a naval air base there?”
“I think so, let me check…” Rosas tapped at his phone. “Hey, Jack? What can you tell me about any US naval air bases in Iceland? Just the highlights.” After a couple of minutes, he responded with a curt, “Okay, that’s enough, thanks.”
He put his phone away. “We kinda-sorta have one, at a place called Keflavik. The base there used to be a lot bigger during the Cold War. Then we shut it down after the Soviets were no longer a going concern. Iceland uses it now, and they allow us to fly submarine-search aircraft out of there, but a few years ago they nixed the DOD’s request to rebuild it into a more permanent base.”
“That does work in their favor. It makes for better optics if they’re known for keeping NATO at arm’s length.”
Rosas sat up. “Think the UN will go for it?”
“We can only try. I’ll have our ambassador in Reykjavik make some discreet inquiries, let’s see if they’d be okay with our proposing them as a candidate.”
The Chief of Staff smiled. “If it goes through, this institute will be pumping well north of a billion dollars per year into their economy. That should make it more than ‘okay’.
__________
Agent Cécile Savoie sat in a secure-location breakroom, silently grumbling as she held an as-yet un-drunk mug of coffee in her hands. As the agent-in-charge of the security detail during the Camp David incident, she’d been put on administrative leave, right alongside every other agent who’d been there. But it wasn’t like she had much down time; the inquiry board into that incident now summoned her damn near every other day for yet another round of tedious questioning.
“Hey,” said Hanson as he strolled in, looking just as sour as she felt.
She looked up in surprise. “Hey yourself. I thought you were assigned to the alien detail.”
“I was,” he said as he seated himself across the circular table from her. “Guess being in Alabama when the shitshow went down wasn’t far enough away to be completely out of suspicion. I just finished running my own gauntlet. But the rumor is, I’m getting it easy compared to everyone who was at Camp David, including the special forces people. Especially you.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty much a colonoscopy every day,” she muttered. “Going over the timeline, where I was at which times, who I had direct line of sight on, who I was in radio contact with.” She finally sipped her coffee.
Hanson’s sour expression deepened. “Do you really think it was one of us?”
She sighed. “It has to be. My gut tells me that there’s more than one mole and I told the inquiry board as much. The fuckers who got in knew too much about our patrol patterns, where everyone was, when they’d have a clear shot at an infil. That means someone with access to our methods and comms, and as to the latter we don’t use CB radios.”
The other agent leaned back. “Fuck. I wish I knew why any of us would do that. We’re supposed to be quiet professionals, not frothing radicals.”
Savoie turned the mug in her hands. “Not to tell tales out of school but, through the whisper network, they’ve been leaning hard on the captured dudes from the attack. Apparently one of their main ‘objections’,” and here she made some one-handed air quotes, “is that they think the whole Breaker thing is a ruse. It’s all smoke and mirrors, so that we’ll beg the Coalition to come and save us. And then…well, it gets vague after that but I guess they claim that at best we’ll get turned into the galactic equivalent of a Native American reservation. Worst case, we all get harvested for our precious bodily fluids.”
Hanson stared at her for a moment in disbelief. “That is, if you will forgive the uncouth term, utterly retarded. For chrissake, the Hubble got some beautiful shots of their ship once they’d spun that shield around to reveal it to us. I mean, I’m no spacecraft expert but even I could tell it had gotten the shit pounded out of it.”
She responded with a shrug. “Hey, Flat Earthers are still a thing.”
“Flat Earthers don’t stage FUCKING mortar attacks in our nation’s capital,” snapped Hanson. Then he subsided and spoke more softly. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be so on edge. This whole thing just pisses me off.”
“Join the club,” said Savoie as she sipped more coffee. “I just don’t get it, though.”
Hanson made a gentle ‘continue’ wave of his hand.
She leaned forward. “Okay. Our comrades in the CIA managed to identify the four who made it into the compound. They were all mercenaries, each with at least ten or fifteen years of experience in kicking ass around some of the worst hot spots in the world. Syria, Burma, bunch of places in Africa. One of ‘em even turned out to be ex-Wagner group.”
“Okay?” It was a leading single-word question, but not an unkind one.
“So why was the rest of the attack made up of nothing but a bunch of goddamn shit-kickers? And that includes the aborted attempt in Decatur. I’ve seen the files of those we rounded up in the Camp David attack. They were all low-life idiots just banging around, maybe they might have once held a gun in their lives. Hell, from what I’ve heard, the shootings that triggered the alarm at Camp David were an accident; those intruders were supposed to sneak around that patrol, not kill them. They all had the same top-of-the-line kit, so we know whoever is behind this has deep pockets. Why not hire an entire bunch of competent people instead of doing it onesy-twoseys?”
“It is a puzzle.” Hanson got up and set a styrofoam cup of water into the nearby microwave. As the cup turned within its electromagnetic prison, he leaned against the nearby counter and pondered her question. “Maybe the team in the woods was intended just as a distraction?”
“That’s what I thought at first, but then I reconsidered. I mean, what if the four who went in failed? You’d still need a proper backup plan. Same thing with the Decatur bunch. By the way, did they ever catch them?”
Hanson let out a dark chuckle. “Decatur PD found a pile of vests and rifles, hastily wiped down. They were able to pull a few partial prints off of ‘em. My guess is they’ve fled to the proverbial four winds, hoping to lay low for the rest of their lives. We’ll nab ‘em eventually.”
The microwave dinged and he retrieved his hot water, then pulled a tea bag out of his jacket pocket as he re-seated himself.
Savoie smiled. “I never figured you for a tea guy.”
He unwrapped the bag and with a bit of ceremony dunked it into his cup. “Well, I used to be a coffee guy, but my gut doesn’t agree with the acidity.”
“We do have tea here, you know.” She pointed to the storage bins behind him.
“Yeah, but it’s cheap-ass stuff. The brand I like is expensive, but worth it…” Hanson’s eyes widened as he trailed off.
She raised an eyebrow. “Hanson? Do you smell burnt toast?”
“They couldn’t afford it,” he said in a near-whisper.
Savoie was about to tell him to stop being overly dramatic, then she realized he might be on to something and that she didn’t dare distract him. “Keep talking.”
He leaned forward, his forearms on the table. “Okay. Imagine you’re a hard-bitten mercenary. You’ve been in the literal shit, in every nasty conflict anyone cares to name. Somehow, someone finds you and comes to you. They say ‘hey, these aliens are bad news, do you want to kill them?’ Even if you, as the hypothetical mercenary, are down with the cause…”
“From what the intruders were yelling, they were,” said Savoie.
“Yeah but even then, our mystery financier is asking you to infil and exfil out of one of the most heavily guarded pieces of real estate on the planet. Oh, and kill a bunch of special-forces-maybe and aliens-definitely in between. What do you do then?”
She replied with a grim smile. “If I’m that mercenary, then I ask for a metric fuck-ton of money. And there were four of them, they would have all done the same. Hell, they must have been doing collective bargaining.”
Hanson dunked his tea bag as he thought it through. “Okay, so our mystery mastermind has a lot of money, but not billions on hand to hire a literal army of hard cases. Huh. So those other dipshits might indeed have been a distraction.”
“Maybe. They must have also spent quite a bit on the mortar attack. That wasn’t made by some hobbyist in their bedroom, they knew what they were doing. Given that nobody saw them set up the launcher or leave, they were more pro.” Savoie hoped that the FBI’s efforts to track the various mortar components turned up something soon. Thus far, those efforts were bogged down; as it turned out, quite a few companies had ordered the identified components, and tracking the subsequent second-hand purchases was time-consuming.
“And those mortar-making pros would be more expensive.” Hanson sipped a bit of tea. “Did they ever get anything off of the launcher itself?”
“Sadly, no. Turns out the whole damned thing was homemade, constructed out of tubing and other off-the-shelf components. It was also wiped down thoroughly, no prints. Like I said, pros.”
“But limited in resources,” said Hanson. “Which explains one of the things that’s bugged me. Namely, that our OPFOR didn’t use some proper artillery. If they have a couple of moles in the Secret Service, then it should be easy to recruit and pay some military dudes to slip ‘em some gear and alter the logs. They could stow a howitzer inside a semi-tractor-trailer. You could park that thing anywhere up to 25 miles away. Use a single 155mm Excalibur GPS-guided munition, boom. That would have pretty much obliterated the stage and everyone on it. Then you just re-stow the howitzer and toodle off all innocent-like, right when everyone is freaking the hell out.”
“So they couldn’t afford that type of arty strike,” she said. “Or they simply didn’t have the contacts to pull that off. Hmm. I wonder if our moles are getting paid at all?”
Hanson resumed his thousand-yard stare. “The mortar attack must have been planned first. The other two attacks feel much more like rush jobs.”
“Eh? Oh, I get it. Sadaf’s speech was known well in advance. It was going to be one of her first big public appearances since the initial presidential speech. They were broadcasting it online to the world. Having her get turned into chunky red salsa, in real time, would be one helluva statement. So that’s what they focused on.” She drank a bit more coffee, and now it was time for her eyes to widen. “Our mole or moles didn’t arrive at Camp David until after Sadaf’s speech was announced.”
“That…oh, yeah, that makes sense. Originally the mortar attack is the OPFORs’ only focus, but yet somehow they’ve suborned one or two Secret Service agents and they have ‘em in their back pocket. Then one, or better yet both, of the moles gets assigned to the Camp David detail, and they realize that now that they have a golden opportunity to get at the other aliens as well. So they go off and hire four pros for the actual attack inside, plus a bunch of chucklefucks to act as a distraction, because that’s all they can afford since the four pros are asking for some serious money.”
Savoie leaned forward. “When did Chao and Grakosh leave Camp David?”
“It was, ah, three? No, four days after we got everyone settled, both the aliens and the special forces types.”
“Okay, so then the OPFOR gets word, courtesy of our moles, that one of the aliens is now heading to Alabama. But now they’re stretched so thin that they can’t afford anything other than to hire another bunch of dipshits to make a run at them and hope for the best.”
“And then the second bunch lets the FNG drive.”
They both laughed, but that humor settled down as they both thought through the chain of inference.
“It is pretty thin,” said Savoie at last. “There’s a lot of assumptions in there.”
“Yeah. But I do like the idea of our moles getting assigned at the last minute.”
She rubbed her forehead. “We had a bunch of new people come in when they decided to stow the Rithro crew there. Seven, no eight in all.”
“It’s a place to start,” said Hanson. He finished his tea. “C’mon, let’s see if we can get a meeting with the inquiry board.”
__________
A little while later and not very far away, three people sat in a well-lit but otherwise deadly dull room. At least the chairs were somewhat comfortable. Matt and Martinez sat at two chairs against one wall, while across from them McCoy sat sprawled sideways on another with a foul look on her face. She glowered at the far beige-painted wall. “This completely sucks. Why can’t we have our phones? I could at least play some mahjong.”
“This is a secure location, Corporal,” replied Matt. “Ixnay on the onephays.”
Martinez’s leg jittered. “How long are we gonna sit here? They said they’d call us in, like, an hour ago!”
“Dunno, it’s some kind of last-minute interview thing,” replied Matt with Zen-like calm.
The corporal looked over at Matt. “I don’t get you, man.”
Matt grinned. “Nobody gets me. I’m like the wind, baby!”
“That’s not…I mean, I watched you open up a dude like he was a bag of fuckin’ Doritos using nothing but a fuckin’ knife. Now you’re being all Caine from ‘Kung Fu’.”
“It’s good to know that the classics are still appreciated,” said Matt.
Martinez pointed at him. “If you start calling me ‘Grasshopper’ I will shoot you.”
McCoy turned her glare to the ceiling. “Maybe it’s a psychological test. They want to see if we crack under pressure and start yakking secrets.”
“I mean, I’m sure they’re recording us right now,” replied Matt. “But it’s merely as a precaution. I am also five-nines certain that none of us are suspects. We weren’t integrated into the compound’s overall security, and thus it would be unlikely that we could have let our four attackers in.”
“Not to mention, we were the ones to kill ‘em,” added Martinez. “Well, except for the one that Takh took care of.”
“Yep. This is…I won’t call it a formality, but the board just wants to know where you were and what you saw. Walk them through your personal timelines, understand? Tell them only what you know. If you don’t know something, then say so.”
McCoy turned herself around so that she now sprawled the other way. “This whole bullshit just bugs me. Takh and the others are off with a bunch of strangers and I…I mean, we aren't there to help protect them.”
Matt and Martinez shared a meaningful glance. “From what I heard, Takh is quite capable of taking care of himself,” said the latter with a grin. “You told me he pitched that one dude across the room like he was throwing a softball.”
For once, the petite corporal looked a bit flustered. “Yeah, but, I mean, what if some other potential bad guy gets the drop on him with a gun? I don’t like not being there. I just wanna know that he’s okay. I should be there, just to make sure.”
The smaller man snapped his fingers in the face of the taller, who sighed and took out his wallet. With great ceremony, Matt pulled out a five-dollar bill and placed it upon the now-upraised palm of Martinez.
“Told ya,” said Martinez with a grin.
She sat up and glared at them both. “That doesn’t mean anything! Takh is a good guy!”
“Nobody said he wasn’t,” replied Matt as he stowed his wallet. “He is indeed a good guy.”
“Yeah, seriously, we’re glad you two hooked up,” added Martinez. “Takh’s solid. Hell, I’d let him date my sister.”
“I. Am. Not. Hooked Up. With ANYONE.” McCoy now looked furious enough to chew nails.
Martinez stroked his chin. “Kissing might be a problem, though.”
Matt performed a similar chin-stroking action. “Hmm, indeed, Corporal, I do believe it might be a serious issue. One has all of those mandibles to contend with.” He hooked his fingers next to his mouth in an approximation of an udhyr’s face. “Still, I think that, with enough will and effort, one could figure it out. Like the man said, life finds a way.”
“But how much tongue is he packing?” posed Martinez. “You know what the man also says. Big dude, big tongue. Could make things more interesting, all around.”
The woman did not look amused. “Martinez, Toke? You are now both officially gigantic flatulating assholes.”
“C’mon, McCoy!” protested Martinez. “Think of it this way. A few years from now, let’s say we filthy humans are now part of the Coalition and I’m at some meet ‘n greet, and I just so happen to spy me an oh-so-very-fiiine udhyr mamacita from across the room. Now, I wanna do my bit for my species and approach her, and get some good old inter-species cultural interaction going on. But there’s all sorts of questions. How do I compliment her without insulting her culture? How am I supposed to get in good with her? How do the mechanics work? How do the various bits line up? We need details! You’re at the tip of the spear, we all need good intel!”
McCoy slumped back into her seat. “Over seven hundred billion Dimmadollars of defense spending, and yet somehow I wind up stuck in a room with you two fuckos…oh, by the way, Toke,” she added, pointing a finger at Matt, “why the hell can you and Sarge never go back to Okinawa?”
“Nice distraction, McCoy,” said Martinez. “My guess is some sort of wet-work shit.”
Matt just smiled. “Oh for fuck’s sake, I don’t kill everyone I meet. I was a Second LT at the time, managed to somehow leapfrog my way into officer ranks all the way from enlisted. Anyways, the Okinawa affair was merely a case of, well, one particular case of rye whiskey. The good sergeant…was he a sergeant then? Oh yeah, we had done some other stuff I can’t tell you about in someplace I can’t tell you where, and we were celebrating Shaw getting his third stripe. We’d got ahold of the previously-mentioned case of whiskey and then we began toasting to each other’s good health. We did a lot of toasting. Quite a lot of toasting. As you can imagine, the toasting went on and on until we, um, well we did some unwise things. It started out with us sparring-for-fun with each other in public and escalated from there. No locals were harmed, and nothing we did was hella illegal, or I would’ve never made Captain. Buuut the local government would definitely throw a shitfit if me or, God forbid, both of us set foot back on the island.” He chuckled. “Hell, the Okinawan customs people probably still have both of our pictures taped up inside their booths with a big old sign saying ‘DO NOT ADMIT THIS PERSON, YOU FOOL’ written above them.”
“What did you do?” asked Martinez. His eyes were big and soulful, like a kid asking for yet one more story before bedtime.
Matt shrugged. “I mean, I don’t remember much for obvious reasons. I’m almost sure we didn’t piss on any monuments, that would have definitely been cause for a serious demotion. We did do a number on some shrubbery, that I do remember. We decided it needed to be trimmed back, and so we did so. Using our bare hands. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
A fearsome light came into McCoy’s eyes. “Martinez, do you know what this means?”
He looked at her all uncertain. “Um, Toke and Sarge have cast-iron livers?”
“No, you fool. Blackmail material.”
Matt pointed back at her. “Hey, now, I told you that in confidence. Besides, Shaw has a lot more to contend with right now.”
The reminder of the sergeant’s current crippled state brought the elevated atmosphere of the room back down. McCoy nodded as her smile faded. “Right. Hey, did you see the Prez’s speech at the UN?”
“Yep,” said Matt. “From what I’ve read, the political wrangling after it seems pretty tame compared to the usual.”
Martinez snorted. “No shit. Did either of you see the laundry list of shit that we might be able to do? Anti-aging, limb regrowth, cancer treatments which work well and which don’t half-kill the patient…hell, maybe even Alzheimer’s could be in our rear-view mirror. The grand high muckity-mucks are falling all over themselves to get that out into the world, for themselves if nobody else.”
“You’re way too cynical, Martinez,” said Matt.
“Oh fuck off. What if…okay, I know this sounds like a cheesy sci-fi concept, but what if they hoard all of the good shit for themselves and we peons get just the crumbs?”
Matt lapsed back into his meditative demeanor. “In that case, my dear corporal, you or I or McCoy or someone like us will show those hypothetical elites that, while they are indeed long-lived, they are not in fact immortal.”
The trio fell into silence for a few minutes. Then Martinez leaned over towards Matt. “Ah, a little birdie told me you were involved in questioning the prisoners we nabbed at Camp David.”
“I merely facilitated certain conversations,” replied Matt.
Martinez sighed. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“Ask me no questions and I will tell you no lies…Corporal.”
McCoy let out a growl. “Well, I heard these terrorist assholes are saying that the Breakers aren’t real, that it’s all fake videos from the Coalition.”
“Just to play devil’s advocate,” said Matt, “our AI image and video generation is already getting to the point where, soon, we puny humans could manufacture such evidence.”
“What?” Martinez looked as if he was about to launch himself at Matt.
Matt held up a calming hand. “I’m not saying it is fake. The Hubble pics are damned convincing.”
Martinez hiked up one foot to place it on his seat, then rested his chin on his knee. “Fuck. I guess it didn’t convince everyone.” He mused for a few moments. “Wait. What if we made it even more convincing?”
“How?” asked Matt.
“We send some humans up to the Rithro. Two or three at least. The boats can still make it up to the ship, right?”
For once Matt looked uncertain. “I think so? Dunno how many times they can come and go without recharging, we’ll have to ask ‘em.”
“Right, so we set up an even better publicity stunt than the Hubble pics. Choose a few people, from all over the world. We have ‘em travel up to the Rithro, take pics and video up close showing the damage. Even take ‘em inside the ship and get a full tour, maybe…if the crew is okay with that, of course.”
“Huh.” Matt sat back and pondered the idea. “That’s a really good idea, Martinez. I guess you aren’t as dumb as you look.”
The corporal responded with a slight smile at the verbal jab. “We’d need to choose the right people, though.”
“They’d have to be trustworthy…or at least someone that the entire world will consider trustworthy,” said Matt.
“Well known,” added McCoy. She no longer looked vengeful. “With recognizable faces and voices, and then they can go on all the talk shows after and say that, yes indeed, I got a tour of the ship and it is indeed quite banged up.”
Martinez stared at the far wall. “Some kind of celebrity? Heh. You think Tom Cruise would be up for it?”
Matt laughed. “That beautiful maniac? Hell, he’d insist on shooting an entire movie up there, with at least one action scene where he’s hanging off of the outside of the ship.”
They all smiled at the resulting mental image.
“Chao could work,” said McCoy into the silence. “She’s kind of a celebrity now. After all, she was the first human to come into contact with aliens, eh?” She gave Matt a big and very un-subtle wink.
To skirt the rather…unconventional methods used to achieve a positive First Contact, Matt’s role had been very much demoted in the official story. Now every recounting of the tale included a bit of ‘…oh, and there was also another person who stumbled across our brave woman in the midst of her attempts at informational exchange with the aliens…” His exact identity was also not published, under the screen of ‘he wishes to remain anonymous’.
“Oh bite me, McCoy, it’s fun,” replied Matt. He waggled his eyebrows. “Besides, I work better in the shadows!” He threw his forearm across his face like a half-assed Count Dracula trying to hide behind his cape.
Then he dropped his arm. “Yeah, Chao would be good as a current social-media darling. Of course, she might not want that. She strikes me as more of the wallflower type, for the most part.”
“We need more people,” said Martinez, as he stared at the floor. “Chao might be good on her own, but she’s got that motor-mouth talking thing when you get her going. It’s one or the other. Either she’s trying to shrink into a corner and take up as little space as possible, or suddenly you’re getting pulled into another corner for a doctoral dissertation on how minimal-energy transfer-orbits work.”
Matt pondered for a moment. “Wait, when did she do that? I never sat through one of those lectures.”
Martinez looked away and…well, Matt hoped that their supposed overlords were indeed recording this particular moment in time because the hard-bitten Hispanic special-forces corporal actually blushed.
McCoy, of course, realized a golden opportunity for payback and immediately pounced. “Why, Corporal Martinez,” she purred. “Doooo tell us. When did Chao Me Chu, heh, pull you into a corner? Hmmm?”
“She’s…she’s just real nice, that’s all,” replied Martinez. “I asked her a couple of questions, and she answered them. That’s all. We both love classic sci-fi, like Asimov and shit. I guess we bonded over that.”
Matt cleared his throat. “Aaaaand may I remind you two and everyone listening in that we have all been cooped up nuts-to-butts for awhile? Don’t mistake familiarity for romantic bullshit.” He pointed over at Martinez. “But you. If you can follow at least half of what she talks about, then you are absolutely without-a-single-fucking-doubt wasted as a corporal, even if you’re in a low-drag high-speed outfit like this. You hear me?”
“Um, yes sir.” It was the first time in McCoy’s memory that anyone had addressed Matt as befitting his perhaps-former rank.
“Good. You get your ass into college, somehow. You’re a smart guy, you’ll figure all that shit out. And as for Chao? Just give it room to breathe. Let her know you’re interested, but don’t press the matter.”
“Let her know?” For once Martinez looked completely lost. “How do I…” he trailed off. “I mean, I like her…and yeah, I mean I like her in that way, but she’s so damn smart and pretty and I’m just some dipshit meathead.”
“Hey, don’t sell yourself short,” said Matt. “You’re our dipshit meathead.”
McCoy’s vengeful smile faded. “Martinez…no, Luca.”
Martinez looked up in surprise at her use of his first name.
She continued. “Just talk to her. Neither of you have any clue as to what ‘normal’ social interactions look like. In your case, it’s because you’ve been a soldier for all of your adult life. In her case, it’s because she’s, well, because she’s Chao. So just walk up to her and be straightforward. Trust me, it’ll be like a breath of fresh air for her to not have to navigate social cues. Just say something like ‘Hey, I really like you, do you like me and do you want to go get a coffee sometime’? Start with that. Chao’s good people, the worst thing she’ll do is say no. She won’t yell at you or talk shit about you online. Buuuut, some sixth sense is telling me she won’t say no to getting some coffee with ya.”
Matt smiled. “McCoy, I think you might have a calling after you leave the military.”
She snorted. “Oh yeah, I’ll hang up my match-making shingle on the internet and start raking in the big bucks. Martinez is right, though. If we try to do a publicity stunt up at the Rithro, then we’ll need somebody alongside Chao to win the world over. Somebody well-known, but preferably someone not in the traditional Western pop-culture sphere. That’ll make it more palatable…”
Her voice trailed off and she stared into space. The two men now looked at each other in genuine concern until she spoke again a few moments later.
“Guys? I think I just had the best idea ever.”

In my late 30s, I hosted an exchange student, "Elsa". Partly to be sure I didn't want a kid. Here's how it went:
I wanted to do the summer program, but they talked me into 11 months. I lived across the street from the high school, which was convenient. My husband was going to be abroad for work for most of it, and I'm a former teacher and principal. (DINKER- Retired at 38.)
It was exactly as I thought.
My husband was the Good Cop/Disneyland Dad who swooped in from work with dad jokes or to take us fun places or to cook dinner and do his usual chores, but he wasn't around to do much of the parenting, and he often was too lazy to enforce the rules (paying for her latte, when she was supposed to pay for it- the $ guidelines are very strict in the exchange program), not checking if her chores were done, etc.
So, I had to be "the bad cop" who followed through with daily drudgery of parenting- teaching her she has to carry her ID at all times, not bringing it to her at school when she called saying she forgot it again, taking her to doctor appointments, arranging carpooling and outings, learning who her friends were, hosting her birthday party, figuring out she was lying when she said her teacher lost her assignment, communicating with her parents and the exchange liason meetings, following the parenting expectations for the exchange program, help her figure out her US clothing sizes, register her for school, etc.
None of my friends cared to ask about me anymore, only they asked about her and my husband (who was abroad). I put a pink rinse in my hair at the time, and looking back, I think maybe it was to get some attention back on myself. Everyone mentioned my pink hair.
And she hated her mom and worshipped her Disneyland Dad who gave her free reign with his credit card- every 2 weeks she spent $500+ at the mall, with her US friend who had an actual job and had to pay her own stuff. (Also- her dad had cheated on her mom, causing their divorce, and lives with his mistress, but kept a flat so ). I had to cajole her into sending her mom a birthday card. Her poor regard for her mom really bothered me.
Elsa lied all the time, even about trivial things. In her country she has used public transportation solo since age 8, so if her mom tried to give her a consequence for misbehaving, she would get on the train and go to her dad's house.
Elsa's divorced parents didn't communicate with each other, so they believed her lies. We were watching Mrs.Doubtfire, and for the first time she wasn't on her phone- she was actually smiling and enjoying the movie- and I asked her if it was because she tricked her divorced parents like the kids do in the movie, and she just had a guilty smile.
Elsa told me I'm the first person who ever followed through and made sure she did everything she said she would do. She said it was an adjustment for her, but it seemed she kind of liked the structure and consistency I provided.
I took her to Hawaii to vacation with my mom and I, and my husband and I took her on a road trip up the CA coast, and we had a pool she loved, she loved my convertible, and I took her to amusement parks, to Hollywood/LA, sports games, hiking, whale/dolphin Watching (her favorite animal is dolphin), etc. The Exchange Liason said I was the best and shared that the other host families were struggling because their kids didn't like the exchange kids getting all the attention.
Since age 8, she's lived one week with her mom, and the next week with her dad and she hates that custody arrangement. It was clear that her mom did the Parenting and her dad spoiled her and took her on annual lavish vacation. But she hated the dad's mistress, and when Elsa left on exchange, the dad wasted no time getting rid of his flat and moving in with the Mistress. This upset Elsa, but she could never share her feelings with her dad.
She loved our house at the beach, our CA weather (and winter daylight), living in one home instead of switching every week, and my cooking.
Does Elsa want kids?
Elsa had requested a host family without kids. (That's us!) She spends a week at her Grandma's every summer with her cousins, and by the end she hates being around those little kids. But she advised that she does want to have one or two kids. I asked why, and she had a hard time explaining it (she was 17), and it sounded like she wants a Mini Me, a child of her own. When I asked her about taking care of the baby when it's sick and stating up all night, etc. And she just shrugged.
We were duped: We chose Elsa from the application pool, because she said she was Outdoorsy and loves the beach, wanted to go to museums, liked travel, and wanted to improve her English.
Besides swimming in the pool, Elsa is Far From Outdoorsy! She can't ride a bike, she won't step on sand, and she refused to go in any museums (she'd wait outside as we went in) or go hiking. Elsa is ftom a country where they say babies are "born with skis on", and Elsa doesn't ski.
Her mom had been on exchange in the 80s, and has a job with Microsoft where she speaks English all day, and I've video-chatted with the Mom and she speaks nearly perfect English (for example, far better than the Germans when I lived there, although Elsa and parents aren't German). (I have a teaching certification in language acquisition, so I have a better understanding than most people.) Elsa's family never hosted a student in "exchange".Americans were always troubled upon hearing that I didn't have a kid living on exchange with Elsa's family. Elsa's mom loved her exchange and her mom still has her cowboy boots, insists on an American clothes Dryer in her flat, and is in touch with her Texas "Mom and Dad".
We also learned that Elsa's family owns a home in Florida and she Vacatons there every year, which is likely why she didn't have to learn how our stores, sales tax, etc worked, like tge rest of the exchange kids did. (I also worked in law enforcement, so I noticed all the details that weren't adding up, and Elsa was frustrated tgat I caught her in lies all the time.)
Americans all assumed Elsa was American. They didn't hear any accent. We were never given photos of her before we chose her, but she has green eyes like my husband and I (only 2% of Americans have green eyes, lol), and the same hair color as me, so people were in shock when they were told she's not our kid. Elsa and us, we all found it amusing.
How it Ended: The exchange program rule was that the kids had to participate in a sport or activity outside of school, because American high school kids are very busy with jobs/sports and Exchange kids find it hard to make friends. Despite being very outgoing and social, This was true for Elsa.
My friend asked Elsa how her activities were going and I heard Elsa say that she quit them.
(Also, despite all the amazing trips, Elsa was mad that I didn't take her to San Francisco yet, and tgat I didn't let her skip school to go to Disneyland with an exchange student who was finishing her exchange early.)
There were some other things that I knew the other exchange kids were doing (things that the kids signed and pledged to do in the exchange contract), like cook a meal from their country, celebrate a holiday from your country with your host family, etc. And after 6 months and her national holiday passed, Elsa had never done any of it.
Elsa was annoyed at me for catching her in a lie about where she was, and advised that she just wants to be my "roommate". She wants me to cook, clean,provide room and board (her own bedroom with private bath in our million dollar beach house), but not be concerned with where she is or what she does.
I advised that what she is describing is the University international student program- but she would have roommates AND have to pay Tuition, room, board, and cook and clean for herself. Of course, she isn't interested in that.
So, I told Elsa to ask her one friend at school if she could live with them, because I'm going to rent out her room, since she gave me the idea about how much better roommate life is than the exchange.
When the time came to move out, after 6 months, Elsa didn't want to go. This new situation was atypical and she would share a room and a small house with 4 other kids and their parents, and they don't cook, lol.
It was a drama to get her to go.
My opinion: The way Elsa treated her own parents is the main reason that validated my choice to remain childfree by choice.
I don't believe in year-long exchangestudent to the US, for many reasons, unless it is someone from a disadvantaged country who speaks little English- of the 14 students in our group- there was only 1 kid tgat was like that and he really did benefit from the long exchange, and he really did suffer culture shock, and he really was very grateful for all he was provided for a year. Just do the summer one if you want, although some of my teacher friends have terrible stories about those, too.
Elsa's older half-brother (he's my age) was correct. He had found out that Elsa's host family was a military Colonel and a retired School Principal, and he told her that she'd never make it. He was correct!

Howdy, I'd like to preface that these are the house rules for my 5e game I've been running for a year. It's a high powered, magic heavy save the world game where the PCs all have either a high station or a magical destiny. A lot of monsters are altered from official sources to be stronger, but vulnerabilities are more common. Lots of RP, but combat tends towards deadly when it occurs. Feel free to rip and tear for anything OP. I just wanna hear what y'all think.
First up, Elemental casting: This rule is for those who wish to have a specific element in which they specialize. This rule allows a caster to change the damage types of their spells on a long rest.
Looking through the book, there are very few spells that are totally reliant on the type of damage they do (save things like Cone of Cold or Call Lighting but even then we can work something out). This lets people chose to be a pyromancer, a cryomancer, or nearly any type of element they wish.
However, there are a few important things to note. The more powerful Extraplanar damage types, Psychic, Radiant, and Necrotic are their own category and you may not switch an Elemental spell damage for an Extraplanar one, but may change out Extraplanar for elemental. There are also spells with Physical damage types (bludgeoning, piercing, and slashing). You may also change these to another physical damage type, but not for any other type. For instance, Ice Knife (cold-piercing) becomes Thunder Blade (thunder-slashing) or something similar. Force is in its own category due to it being pure magic.
Here's a quick table to glance at to check what you can switch out. Physical damage: Bludgeoning, Piercing, Slashing.
Elemental damage: Cold, Fire, Lightning, Acid, Poison, Thunder.
Extraplanar damage: Radiant, Necrotic, Psychic.
Pure: Force
Next up, Minor Magics: Casting classes automatically get access to 1 of the 3 minor effect cantrips. Prestidigitation, Thaumaturgy, or Druidcraft depending on your class without needing to expend a Cantrip. This goes aongside the Spellcasting feature of your class. It makes little sense that an Archmage capable of destroying a city via Meteor Swarm isn't able to light a candle. This also applies to half and quarter casters.
Exhaustive Casting: If a spellcaster runs out of spell slots, they can reach deep within themselves to use their life force instead of mana and cast a spell regardless. Consequences depend on spell slot level: 1-3: one level of exhaustion 4-8: one level of exhaustion per level above 2 (e.g. 5th level spell is 3 levels of exhaustion) 9: You instantly die and disintigrate

• spell must be prepared
• you must have the spell slots unlocked for that level. No casting Wish unless your at least a level 17 Wizard.

Feats at level 1: Exactly what it says on the tin. So long as you can give a good explanation of how it fits your backstory, you can have it.
Cleaving: It's in the DMG but I forget it sometimes, so it's here. If you deal enough damage to kill an enemy with a melee attack, but there is still damage left over, you can carry that damage over to another creature within your reach if the attack roll would have hit them.
Example: Goblin with 7HP hit for 26 damage, a 2nd Goblin within range takes 19, a 3rd takes 12 and so on until there is either no damage, no enemies, or the attack wouldn’t hit.
Alternative Critical Hit: When you score a natural 20 to hit, roll damage as normal. Afterwards, add additional damage equal to the max the dice rolled. (example, a greatsword critical hit would be 2d6+Str+12)
Action Point System: This is a pretty simple rule. It works to aid in making combat more interesting. This rules that if you do not use your action on your turn or do not get to use your readied action, you get 1 action point which can be used on a future turn. You may only have 1 action point at a time, and it goes away at the end of combat.
When used, it grants an extra action on your turn. This acts much like an action granted by the Haste spell. You can use it for anything a regular action can do except for attacking, in which case you may only make a single attack. This does not allow more that 1 leveled spell per turn or an extra use of Sneak Attack, as these are turn specific. For example, a Barbarian may Reckless Attack but take the Dodge Action, canceling out the Advantage.
This was implemented to make inaction feel like less of a waste of a turn and rewards waiting until the opportune moment or ambushing a target.
Finally, New improvised combat: This rule is literally just here because I thought is was fun. Improvised combat rules in 5e aren't very fun and I thought to spice it up a little with higher damage depending on the type of improvised weapon, at the cost of an ability check to do so. Think of things like Jackie Chan movies where the guy uses a ladder to fight off bandits or in westerns where people are throwing tables, or in You're next where the lady straight up uses a blender on a guy. These things aren't weapons that are made to be wielded, but they are heavy and dangerous if used properly.
Most normal items (cups, a rock, your brothers kinda big Master Chief figure) will still likely do a d4 of damage as they don't carry as much weight or danger necessary for these extra rules. However, something that can do real damage (an anvil, a chain, nunchucks, your brother's Master Chief figure but with a nail through it) may fall under 1 of 2 improvised weapon properties.
Hefty: This is an unbalanced, heavy item that generally weighs more than 30 pounds. It takes an athletics check use and a seperate attack roll to hit with as part of the attack action. If you fail this check, the attack is either wasted or turned back to a d4 as you failed to wield it properly.
Unwieldy: This is a finicky, hard to control item that requires great poise to properly use lest it damage the wielder. It requires a slight of hand check to use and a seperate attack roll to hit as part of the attack action. If you fail this check, the attack is wasted or turned back to a d4 as you failed to wield it properly.
In terms of damage dealt by weapons with such properties, the damage usually starts at 2d4 and goes up by how heavy or dangerous the item is. This isn't based on concrete rulings and separate effects may take place, such as grappling with a chain or blinding someone by throwing a bee hive at their head. this rule is to encourage creative play and make you guys think twice on what might be more fun than swinging your sword.
These rules have been pretty fun thus far and have brought many joy to my table. I'd love to hear your guys' questions, comments, and concerns.

It’s pure insanity himself CHOKING HAZARD!!! Disciple of the old Chaos! Bet none of you saw that coming! What a surprise! Hope you all are having a good time so far! This fanfic is based off the fanfic The isolationists, by Seeyouon_otherside. Constructive criticism is appreciated.
Memory Transcript Subject: Alvaro, Human of the wanderer fleet.
It was great to see Hazard again! Although his speaker had come a bit loose and he was bleeding on me.
“AHAHAH!” Hazard screamed. “Sorry, some of these WONDERFUL cybernetics are still integrating themselves into my body! “
I smiled at that. “You have to tell me about all the new ones you got! I’m sure you made some great improvements.”
He got up and looked at me strangely. Then surprise and anger spread across his face.YOU LIMBS!! YOUR EYES?! WHO DID THIS TO YOU?! I WILL KILL THEM ALL!” Ah yeah kinda forgot about that.
I tried to calm him down. “Don’t worry the people who did this to me are long dead!”
That seemed to calm him down a bit. I realized he got taller! He was now [10 feet] tall! He menacingly laughed again and got up. Then continuing as if nothing had happened. “I have made TONS of improvements, AHAHAHAHAHAHHAH! Come come! Let’s talk in my place, or a part of it that’s more, well clean.” He casually said as he turned on a flamethrower that he did not have installed before and started to burn a random dead Krakotl. He seemingly got lost in the flames light for a bit and his head began to rock back and forth as he hummed to himself. Once the body was nothing but ash he giggled again. “Follow me!”
I turned to give both Leminarc and Anax a thumbs up but they just seemed really uncomfortable. “Ah don’t worry guys he won’t harm you.”
Anax gave me a worried look. “You're sure?”
I smiled gently. “Positive. He’s really gentle with most of his friends.”
Lemon raised an eyebrow. “He thinks of us as his friends?.”
I nodded. “If you travel with me he will consider you a friend yeah.”
With that we continued out of the room and down another hallway passing more bodies, but they noticeably started to clear up the closer we got to what I assumed was his home. There started to be more and more panels taken apart, wires hanging out of the ceiling, walls, and pipes coming out the floor as if he had been modifying the place, which he most likely was. More and more of this became apparent as we got closer. Some sections had been entirely changed to a new look.
“Oh hang on! I forgot!”
Anax’s head whipped around! “Forgot what?”
Hazard then proceeded to shout a series of beeps and whistles with his speaker mouth thing. After that we heard a bunch of beeps come from around the hall. We turned the Corner and were greeted with the sight of ceiling, wall, and floor mounted turrets. All of Arxur design. “When the Feds, ugh Feds funny nickname Hahah, would bring captured Arxur here they also brought all of their weapons and smaller ships and stored them here hehehe.” He began to explain. “This place is even bigger than what the outside tells you and it’s already huge, the largest space station built this side of the known galaxy. It’s quite awesome. They have entire hangars full of fighters, bombers, interceptors, and even four experimental compact light Cruisers that are docked directly into the station. HAHAHAHHA! There pretty neat, they also brought a lot of the Arxur turrets here for study.”
“Wait, wouldn't a station like this have automated security, like turrets and other things?” Asked Lemon.
“HAHAHAHHA! You're smart!” Was Hazards reply. “Yep it does, auto rail guns, cannons, auto turrets, torpedo tubes, all fully automated, but I’ve only been able to get small parts working at a time. It’s taking a while cuz’ this place has better cyber security then any ship I’ve encountered. Also the more digging I did into the files here I actually realized something. This isn’t a medical or research station, it’s a mobile base. For invading other places and territories. HAHAHAHHA! Invasions ahhhhhh, the federation always liked to send their CHILDREN into the slaughter…ugh.”
Hazard then began to say something then randomly chanted something. Stopped moving entirely for a few seconds, then spoke again.
“It wouldn’t surprise me that once the federation dealt with the Axur they would have used stations like this to continue expanding, killing any predator species they came across, until they hit White-outs children’s home system. The second the federation, heheh, threatened them, haha! He would have SLAUGHTERED THE FEDERATION LIKE THE MONSTERS THEY ARE AHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAH THEY NEVER AND WILL NEVER STOOD A CHANCE AGAINST A CHAOS GOD!!! AAAAAHHHHAHAHAHAHHAHAA!
Hazard laughed like a lunatic for about a minute before calming down, Lemon gave me a concerned look, all I could do was manage a shrug. Then Lemon asked. “Who or what is White-out?” I shrugged. “I’d only heard Hazard mention this White-out a few times but only in passing or when killing federation and Dominion members, I believe it’s his religion or something else like that, I’m not totally sure, it could just be Hazard being Hazard. I’m not a hundred percent sure.” We looked back at Hazard. “Ah, White-out, last of his kind. Cheers big man.” He made a ‘cheers’ motion with his hand, then we reached the door to what I could assume was his home. He then spoke, to us I think, again. “Anyhow I’m pretty sure this is the only station like this, which surprises me as this place is extremely effective. It’s almost as if when the federation higher ups realized how effective this place was they stopped making more. It’s extremely odd. HAHAHAH! Ah the federation, stopping things that could stop this war!”
Hazard then opened the door using some kind of keypad. It was…really clean. There were some sort of roomba robots cleaning the walls, ceilings, and floors. The bed was perfectly made. There were photos of a lot of people I did not recognize, mainly human, on the walls. One wall was covered with guns, swords, and other weapons. It was extremely nicely furnished and not something you would expect of a man like Hazard but you always have to be ready for the unexpected with him.
Hazard gestures to some beautifully designed chairs for us to sit in. “You guys find a niiiiiiice seat! I’ll get the drinks and food! What would you like to drink?”
“I’ll have some water please.” Was my response.
Anax and lemon looked at each other then back at Hazard. “I’ll have water too, please.” Anax said.
“…and I’ll have some wine?” Lemon requested.
“Ah sorry I don’t have any wine! I use that stuff and turn it into molotov cocktails but, HAHAHAHA! WATER THE ORIGINAL ESSENCE OF LIFE MUUUAHAHAHAHAHAH! I’ll be right back! With that he turned around and left. Leaving us in the surprisingly nice room.
“Are you sure he's safe?” Asked Anax
I simply smiled at him “Oh I’m positive.”
Hazard soon returned with water for all of us and…meat? “I know what you're thinking. MEAT AHAHHAAH!! Where did you get the meat you are asking?!? Don’t worry! The Feds captured some humans…” his hand tightened around his glass and he stared off into space for a bit then composed himself again. “And took their meat cloning tech but I stole It back, AAAHHHHAHAHAHAHAH! So don’t worry it’s all earth based cattle, pig, sheep, and other farm animals! I’ll tell you more later but Alvaro I just have to hear what you have been doing! How have you been?!”
With that I retold my tale of how I got here, to say that he was expressive would’ve been an understatement. His eye would change to so many colors it was like a rainbow. His armor plates would shift around with his changing mood, rising up with surprise or joy, and forming sharp spikes when angry or frustrated. They would also smooth over whenever he seemingly liked something. “Wow…you have KIDS!!! AHAHHAHA! That’s amazing! I’m so happy for you. You're married too…dude that’s amazing. I’m so glad that you found someone! I can’t wait to meet them AND TEACH THEM THE WAYS OF…uh, oh?” Hazard then looked to his left and spoke in a language that our translators did not understand. He seemed to be fully immersed in a conversation with, whatever or whoever he was talking to even though there was nothing there. After a minute he then stopped and looked back at us. I took this as my cue to continue.
I smiled then asked the question. “How did you end up here?” His smile faded a little.
“Ah, a very good question. When we were captured and I was brought to a re-education camp, they failed to realize how insane I actually was. HAHAHAHAHH! THE BLESSINGS OF CHAOS CONTAINED WITHIN ME ARE A BLESSING OF REALITY AHAHAHHAH! Ah I still hear their screams as I killed them for trying to harm the younger ones there. They had stripped me of my mech suit then so I was just a normal augmented Venlil. I was brought to this station about two earth months ago and had a series of tests on me, OOHHHHH THE THINGS THEY DID AAAHHHHGGG! Anyway thankfully my augments filtered out all of the drugs they tried on me so I was unaffected by them. What they did to the others…it was unforgivable.” Then he got a look of pure focus. It was the most sane I had ever seen him. “What they did to the people here, the children too, they all came from parents that were diagnosed with predator disease, most born on this very station never understanding why they were so abused. I tried so hard to keep them happy. Most ended up being disposed of because the federation was simply done with them. Most saw me as uncle metal, I loved that nickname…”
I reached out to touch him on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. “Buddy we don’t have to talk about this if it’s too painful. We can leave it there” He held up his hand to stop me. Then resumed.
“I…remember it was my third month here and I was holding a Kolshan that had been surgically combined with a Tilfish, she was such young girl, and in agony…I held her as she died in my arms. I can still hear her asking the question, what did I do to deserve this? I didn’t have the heart to tell her, she did nothing wrong to deserve it. Then she died.” His glass shattered in his metal hand as he crushed it. “They took her body away. Then they took her apart to figure out why she died. It…it was too much. I Asked White-out what I was doing here.”
Hazard looked down for a moment, then back at us. “Then the answer came. I was brushing a young defective, he was so nice, Arxurs scales, who was also born on the station. They…they took his arms and replaced them with… very small plastic arms…When I heard this horrible wail. Then in the human language Swedish I heard, “don’t hurt her please”, I looked up and I saw two human beings dragged apart by laughing federation exterminators. I…I don’t know we’re they got the humans from…and…I still don’t know what happened. I saw red and the next thing I knew I was standing there over the exterminators, with…with…his halberd in my hand, the deed bringer.” He then opened and closed his hand as if testing to see if whatever he was talking about was still there. I looked at Lemon and Anax and they looked at me. I just shrugged. This was new even for him.
“Then I realized the smart guy was waiting for the humans to show up knowing how I would react. I took his halberd and slaughtered all in my path. I made my way to my suit.” He gestured to the mech suit he was wearing. “And let loose, I could FEEL all the ANGER, THE HATE, THE AGONY that the federation did to the souls around. I felt those souls all around me, unable to enter the next life without revenge, and so I let them into me, to guide my hand in the slaughter, hundreds of angry, hateful, festering souls entered my body.” He breathed in and continued.
“We held nothing back. Every weapon I had at my disposal was used, every shell, bullet, saw, flamethrower. AHAHAHHAHAHAHHA! I could feel the glee and joy from them at every federation personnel that fell and died. Until they were all dead, I felt the souls leave in peace. Then I was surrounded by bodies, blood, and prisoners, hehehhehe. I helped to free them all. Got them to some FTL worthy ships and said good luck. I stayed here to continue cleaning out the place. Then I made this.”
He got up and moved to the other side of the room, and pulled out an extremely large book. It had a tough cover. Made with paper and all. “Per federation rule, they had to photograph every contamination they disposed of over the years, who were the prisoners here. I cataloged every child they killed and put them in this book” It was a big book. He opened it and we got to see all of them, each photo had a name under it, there were about twenty photos per page. There were hundreds of pages. “They were all so young, some only months old. Some had names. Most had numbers. So I gave them names based on their numbers.”
He traced his hand over the pages. “I couldn’t save them…they all deserved life, a true beginning. All they got was some needles poked into them and limbs moved or added, then they were discarded like trash.”
He closed the book gently and brushed his hand over it. “I remained here, drawing in federation ships using distress singles, hacking into their pathetic security. Turning their weapons against each other, causing their FTL drives to self-destruct, killing as many as I could. It was never enough. Now…almost no ships come, you're the first in over a week.” He stopped and put his hands on his head. “I couldn’t save them…” then to my surprise Lemon got up and hugged him, then I did. Anax looked as though he had been mentally hit by a train.
Hazard held us both back and began to rock back and forth, back and forth.
First/Previous/next.

Fourth and final part at the same time tomorrow.
Series Page - Read 10 weeks ahead on Patreon - Read the story so far on Royal Road
*
Chapter Twelve - The Blacksmith's Boy (Part Three)
Clouds. Black, moving, twisting like rope. His head ached. His blood was hot as flame. Fire flashed in the clouds, and the old stormtower gleamed. The Old Man stared back at him from the gloom, eyes carving at his skin. You could have warned me. He taunted him. Smoke bled around his shoulders, and his skin melted away. Cal tried to look away, but it was too late. The fire was on him, and the sky filled his eyes with black water, smothering his breath.
*
He gasped, pain searing down his spine, and choked on his own breath, spluttering.
‘Get him up.’
‘I’ve got him.’
Lokk’s voice. Cal felt a hand curling underneath one of his arms, lifting his aching jaw off the floorboards. Pain shot down his back again, and he cried out, eyes spinning. Then there was another hand beneath him, and he was lifted groaning away from the floor. They lowered him carefully into a chair, and he fell against it, skin stinging, panting through gritted teeth.
‘What happened to him?’
‘Had a wolf at ‘im, by the looks of it!’
‘Don’t be a fool! No wolves in these woods.’
‘Believe in magic, but not in wolves?’
Cal groaned again.
‘Shut it, all of you!’
Cal blinked again, and the Innkeep’s rosy cheeks coalesced into the air before his eyes, looking down at him worriedly. Lokk was at his shoulder, wide-eyed, his mop of lank hair hanging loosely over his forehead. Someone had put the door to, and it was suddenly very quiet. Cal took a breath.
‘What happened, boy?’ The Innkeep asked him. Beyond his shoul-ders, Cal could see the faces of a half-dozen patrons, blinking back at him with wide eyes. All except Old Godry, who looked mildly irritated. Outside, the storm wailed helplessly against the thatching, and thunder rumbled against the hills, more distant, now. Cal held his breath, craning his ears. But the footsteps were gone. He swallowed.
‘There were…’ He hesitated, glancing towards the door. ‘I… fell.’
‘Down half the Teeth by the looks of it!’ Lokk pointed at his arms. ‘What were you doing out in this?’
Cal blinked, looking down. His arms were crisscrossed with dozens of bloody cuts, and his shirt was hanging off him in strings. He frowned, shrugging, and then winced as fire raced over his skin, and fell back against the chair, gasping.
‘Thought… Thought I had time to get back.’
‘Damned fool.’ Carel told him, appearing beside her father. She had a pail of steaming water under one arm, and a bundle of rags in the oth-er. ‘Got to clean those before they rot.’
‘I’m fi-’
‘That’s enough talking.’ The Innkeep told him. ‘Or I’ll want coin for the cloth.’
Cal thought better of arguing.
‘Saw a fair few mugs go over.’ The Innkeep turned towards the rest of the room, smiling reassuringly. ‘I’ll fetch a new barrel. This one’s on the house.’
A few grumbles of approval from the assembled regulars. They were all watching him. He could feel their eyes on him, prying, poking. Sen-sible boys know better than to go wandering in a storm. They’d always thought the Blacksmith’s stray was cracked. Same as his master. Godry seemed to have let his irritation go at the promise of free ale, but Cal spotted the butcher’s brute of a son, Petr, sneering back at him over the rim of his mug. He lowered his eyes. They thought him mad. Maybe they were right. Behind his eyes, the shadows were still chasing him through endless trees, clawing at his heels. But the door stayed closed, and there was no sound beyond it but the storm. Maybe he was losing his mind.
‘Quite the show, that was.’ Lokk grinned as his father went off to find the barrel. Carel rolled her eyes, pulling up another chair and set-ting about dampening the cloth. ‘Barely seen you in weeks, then you show up all bloody an’ panting like a wolf that’s got in with the chick-ens? You always knew how to make an entrance.’
Cal grunted. He didn’t feel like explaining himself. Wasn’t sure he could, even if he did.
‘Scared off the new folk, too.’ Lokk nodded towards an empty table in the far corner of the room, scattered with discarded mugs.
Cal blinked. ‘What?’
‘Had some of Solen’s new hands in tonight.’ Lokk told him offhand-edly, scratching his chin. ‘Quiet lot. Must have given them quite the fright. Saw themselves out sharpish.’
‘What did… hnngg.’ Cal clamped his teeth together with a groan as Carel pressed one of the rags against his bloody forearm.
‘Stay still.’ She told him, wiping the cloth slowly across his skin. It felt like someone was stripping his flesh with a wood plane. Cal clenched his jaw, forcing himself not to yelp. Lokk lounged idly against the bar beside him, sweeping his loose hair back from his forehead un-tidily.
‘Interrupted Godry, too.’ His friend went on, clearly unperturbed by his suffering. ‘Old goat hates being interrupted.’
Cal grunted again. The little clump of patrons seemed to have lost interest in him, now, turning back to their mugs as the Innkeep moved deftly through the tables, a little cask under his arm. Petr and his father were sitting glowering at no one in particular. Forley and his young wife Priss looked taken aback, and not the least bit shaken, by the un-expected turn of events the evening had taken, but the dour-faced min-ers beside them (whose names Cal did not know) seemed to have paid Cal’s entrance no heed at all. Old Godry was sitting patiently, firelight knotting over his scarred cheeks, waiting for his cue. Soon their mugs were full again, and the foolishness of the Blacksmith’s stray was quite forgotten. The Innkeep set the empty cask down somewhere behind the bar, and went off to find another barrel. Cal gritted his teeth as Carel went on with her work, eyes watering, and watched the villagers blur indifferently by the fire.
‘You weren’t finished, Godry.’ Albin, the butcher began, taking a long swig from his mug. ‘’bout to tell us how the wizard farted out his storm to save the savages.’
Cal saw Forley roll his eyes. ‘You know damned well where we were! Tell us about Arolf!’
Albin scowled, opening his mouth to retort, but Godry regained his composure in time to step in.
‘Aerolf, Forley.’ He corrected patiently.
‘Aerolf, then.’ The young shepherd agreed, rolling his eyes. ‘What happened next?’
‘Well, like I was saying, old King Talor’s already met his end, but them Northmen weren’t done yet. That beast Aerolf most of all.’ Godry began, lowering his voice and eyeing his audience conspiratorially. ‘He had a score to settle, see. This weren’t the kind of man to let a woman run from him, you understand.’
‘Serves him right.’ Albin grumbled. ‘Couldn’t keep her in his bed, even with a sword on her.’
The two miners snorted in agreement, and Petr just kept scowling. Cal flinched as Carel drew her rag over a particularly deep cut. He caught her eye reproachfully, and she smiled slyly.
‘Oops.’
She was very close, he realised, and he could feel the heat of her against his cut-thread skin. Another night, he might even have enjoyed it.
‘So there they was, dead King and all. Could of had the throne for hisself, right then.’ The old miner continued gravely. ‘But he was more animal than man. Mad as a beast, they say, big as a bear, covered head to toe in blood, cut up like an old buck. And this beast had a taste for blood.’
The little circle of villagers leaned a little closer in their seats, eye-ing Godry eagerly. Cal realised he was listening along with them.
‘So off he goes, bloody magic blade in hand.’ Godry held out his hand like a blade, scowling at them over the fire. ‘He finds that place where old King Talor locked up his pretty young daughter. And what’d’you think he does when he finds it?’
‘Kills her.’ Forley whispered.
‘That’s right, boy.’ Godry nodded, dropping his arm. ‘Heard it said he clawed the tower door open with his bare hands. Dragged her out in-to that garden, butchered her right there in the grass, threw her off that big rock of theirs like an old ham. This weren’t a man you run from. If he couldn’t have her, no one could.’
‘How’d they kill him, then?’ Albin asked, frowning.
‘Well, see now. Northmen ain’t the only one with monsters.’ Godry said craftily, raising one patchwork brow. ‘Dekar’s a sharp one. He’d realised what was afoot, by now. Rallied the King’s Men, drove the scum back out of the King’s hall. Weren’t a man amongst them left standing, save the ones in the garden. But for Aerolf and them, he saved his best killer.’
‘The Bloodless.’ Forley murmured.
‘The Bloodless.’ Godry agreed. ‘Biggest woman you’ve ever seen. Big as a wagon, skin like blue snow. They say there’s nought but ice in them veins, and if you cut her, she don’t bleed.’
‘And I’ve got rocks for balls.’ Albin snorted.
‘Might as well, for all the good they do you.’ Godry snapped back at him. ‘But the Bloodless finds the traitor. Right there in that garden, all covered in the Princess’s blood. Cuts Aerolf down, throws him from the walls after her, him and his magic sword. Almost killed that Stonesplitter dog, too, whilst she were at it. Weren’t no easy thing though; gets her head cut open like a peach for its trouble. Should’ve died, right there. Would’ve, if not for those… other types Dekar had took up with.’
‘‘Least the traitor was dead.’
‘Aye, that he was. That Heartspire’s taller than a mountain. Say there weren’t nothing left of him but mulch, once he got to the bottom. Him and the princess both.’
‘Makers have mercy.’ Forley murmured, making the sign of the Nine over his breast. Even Albin took another mouthful of ale.
‘Weren’t no mercy. A beast don’t deserve none.’ Godry said sober-ly, following Forley and drawing a circle over his chest. ‘If he couldn’t ‘ave her, no one could.’
Cal barely heard them. He felt drained, as though the cuts had bled the weight from his bones. He floated just above his chair in a haze, and the roomed blurred and swayed as if through shallow water. Carel went about her work quietly, carefully, and the pain of it washed over him in raw waves, until the pail of water at her feet was stained an ugly pink.
‘Dekar had a plan though!’ Forley whispered excitedly, his rever-ence forgotten. ‘Tell ‘em, Godry!’
‘That he did, Forley.’ Godry smiled, his scarred face contorting gro-tesquely. ‘See, that Dekar’s sharp as a carving knife. Took up Taylor’s magic sword, led the King’s Men himself. But that weren’t all. Had some of his men kept back, from down West. Big men. Hard men. Came on the Northmen camp in the dead of night. Surrounded ‘em.’
‘Weren’t just any men, I hears it.’ Albin grumbled.
‘Here we go!’ Forley snorted.
‘Said it yourself, Godry. Dekar took up with them religious types.’ Albin shot back, frowning indignantly. ‘Everyone knows it.’
‘Religious? Masks don’t keep the Makers.’ Forley spat. ‘Ain’t noth-ing but bandits dressed up like monks.’
Cal blinked.
‘Brothers ain’t got no Gods save the Darkness.’ Priss murmured qui-etly. ‘You say Nine, I say eight.’
‘All the same.’ Albin was saying, folding his arms over his mug. ‘Brothers are useful, and good old Dekar didn’t sniff at them like you do.’
‘That’s enough, Alb.’ Godry interrupted. ‘He’s still our King, even all the way out here.’
Cal opened his mouth, straightening in his seat, but Carel pushed him back down again tutting.
‘Sit still.’
‘But-’
‘Hardly our King anymore, anyways.’ Albin spat. ‘Not like it used to be. Valia’s for the lowlanders.’
‘You sounds like a Northman.’ Forley scowled.
‘Or one of the Elahi.’ Priss added. Albin bristled, and Godry jumped in just in time.
‘Doesn’t matter. All Dekar’s hard men never got to the Northmen camp.’ The grizzled old smelter went on. ‘Seems old Isandur weren’t done yet.
Cal gritted his teeth. His head ached, and his mouth tasted like smoke.
Albin spat at his feet, sneering. ‘Isandur my arse.’
‘Let him be, Alb.’ Forley told him.
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as the butcher and his son fixed Forley with their most angry of looks. Then Godry cleared his throat noisily, and Petr shoved himself to his feet and stalked off to-wards the bar, snatching up their empty mugs as he went.
‘But Isandur is a crafty one, and no mistake. Showed up just in time, as always. What he wanted from it, no man can say. Them Chosen are scheming sorts, what ones is left. Us mortals couldn’t guess what they’s thinkin’.’ He paused, nodding knowingly. ‘Storm-tamers, they call ‘em. He spoke the words, and the sky opened. Biggest storm you’ve ever seen. Caught Dekar’s men as they came. Scattered ‘em like wheat in a gale.’
Petr aimed a crooked smile at Carel as he passed, and she lowered her eyes. Cal barely noticed. He no longer heard Godry. The room around him seemed very far away. Was he awake? Or was he dream-ing?
‘Northerners took the chance. Fled faster than the wind what chased them. Them that were still on the rock, them what murdered and killed our King?’ Godry went on, shaking his head sadly. ‘Them he called the wind itself for, and carried them away before Dekar could get at them. Aerolf’s brother, among them. King of the North, he goes by now. Couple of other Northmen, too. Stonesplitter cut almost in half by the Bloodless’ blade.’
Albin spat on the floor, and the miners scowled. No right-minded Valian liked this part, magic or not. Cal ground his teeth.
‘That Chosen bastard let the King get his throat slit, then shows up to save his killers.’ Albin cursed.
‘Makers know why. Not been seen since.’ Godry agreed. ‘Back they went, anyway, back to the rest of the savages as they fled like dogs. Storm was so heavy, river banks burst behind them, flooded half the valley.’
Cal’s heart was pounding in his ears, and his skull was ringing. Out-side, the wind whined over the thatching, howling at the broken clouds.
‘Don’t matter how many men Dekar had. Or how many Brothers. Ain’t no one swimming in mail.’
Cal forced his eyes shut. Black Ones. A storm. Falling.
‘Cal?’
He opened his eyes, blinking into the firelight, and found Carel look-ing down at him worriedly.
‘Does it hurt?’ She was asking softly.
‘What… no, I’m fine.’ He told her, blinking again. ‘I need to…’
‘Stay here.’ She told him, lifting up the bloody pail. ‘I need more cloth.’
She turned on her heel and disappeared. Cal’s head spun.
‘… already scared off the new folk with all these tall stories.’ Albin was saying. ‘Storm’s just a storm. Forge boy knows.’
Cal blinked, lurching unsteadily to his feet. Asking questions, the Innkeep had said. His vision blurred unsteadily, and the room stared back at him, wobbling like a top.
‘Cal, you need to sit down.’ Lokk told him, putting a hand on his shoulder.
Cal blinked. His eyes stopped spinning, and the ache in his head had vanished. The wind had moved on overhead, and the air was thick with smoke and heat. The little group of patrons were eyeing him curiously. All save the butcher.
‘Listen to him boy, before you hurt yourself.’ Albin sneered back at him.
‘Come on, Cal. Ignore him.’ Lokk murmured in his ear.
Cal swallowed, meeting the swarthy butcher’s eye for a moment. Then he let himself be steered backward, slumping into his seat like an empty sack.
‘Must have lost more blood than I thought.’ Lokk told him, pulling up a chair beside him and tutting. ‘Want to pick a fight with Albin as well as that storm?’
‘What?’ Cal mumbled, blinking. The butcher had gone back to his drink, and the other villagers had gone with him, grumbling amongst themselves about the practicalities of storm-tamers and treacherous, magical old men. He took a breath. ‘I wasn’t. I-’
‘Sure looked like you were. You know Alb. Just his way. Didn’t mean anything by it.’
‘Lokk, when did the new folk leave?’
‘What? Oh… I told you. Right after you turned up. Spooked ‘em good, you did, all bloody like a fresh ham…’
‘Where did they go?’
‘How should I know? Had my hands full peeling you off the floor. Why d’you care, anyway?’
‘Lokk, I need to…’
‘Oh, no you don’t! You aren’t going anywhere. Need to rest.’ His friend told him, pinning him to his chair by his shoulders. ‘Look like you fell down half the Teeth face first.’
‘I…’ Cal began, lowering his voice. His head was clearing, and the room was no longer spinning like a leaf. Beside the fire, the other pa-trons were still bickering emptily. The storm had passed, and the ache of it was clearing from his battered skull. ‘I didn’t just fall. Something was chasing me.’
‘What are you talking about? You crack your head, too?’
‘Lokk, listen. There were…’
‘Let go!’
They both looked up at the sudden commotion from beside the bar. Carel had just made it out from behind it with a fresh pail of steaming water before Petr had cornered her, bulky shoulders blocking the way forward like a stubborn bullock. He had one meaty hand curled around Carel’s wrist, and she had her eyes fixed on the floor. Cal was on his feet before Lokk could say anything.
‘Let go of her.’
The big youth let go of Carel’s wrist, and the pail fell abruptly back to her side, spilling steaming water across the floor. She looked at it distantly, frowning.
‘Or what, you little shit?’ The butcher’s son grumbled throatily, turning slowly around to facing Cal, glaring down at him with rheumy-eyes. His words had the imprecise edge of drink to them, and his breath smelled of sour ale. ‘Gonna throw yourself down a fucking hill at me?’
‘Just leave her be, Petr.’ Lokk added from Cal’s shoulder.
‘Mind your own business.’ The big youth snorted, still glaring at Cal darkly. ‘Sit down before you hurt yourself, stray.’
He began to turn back to Carel. Lokk put a hand on Cal’s shoulder, and Cal ignored him.
‘Leave her be.’ He said again.
‘Or what?’ Petr snarled back, lurching around again, wiping spittle from the corner of his mouth. ‘Going to bleed on me?’
‘It’s fine, Cal. No harm done.’ Carel said quietly from beside the bar, eyes still on the ground. ‘Sit down, let me finish with your cuts.’
‘You heard her. Be a good little foundling and sit down like she says.’
Cal swallowed. Petr was nearly a head taller than he was, and his arms were thick, corded with miner’s work. But there would be no avoiding it now, and he didn’t have the patience to let it be, that night. The big youth was drunk, and spoiling for a fight. Cal glanced back over his shoulder, but the other patrons were bickering loudly beside the fire, oblivious, or indifferent, or both. The Innkeep was still in the back somewhere, tapping a new barrel. Strike first. Strike hard. Cal shifted his feet slightly, readying himself. His head had cleared, and his pain was far away. The moment of calm was on him. A blink in time. The room faded away, vibrating with stillness. There was only his breath. In, and out. He waited.
‘Nothing to say? Suppose a dead whore can’t teach her cunt son any manners.’
Cal moved quickly, uncoiling like a bowstring. He burst forward off his hind leg, bunching his fist towards Petr’s slab of a jaw. The butch-er’s son had no chance to react. How could he? Cal moved with the ease of a seasoned brawler, hard limbs whipping like clubs. Lokk’s arm slipped from his shoulder. He was already halfway across the distance between them before Petr could even blink.
His boot splashed, skidded, slid. The water. Cal blinked, lost bal-ance, and slid wildly into Petr’s chest. His head thudded into the other boy, and he staggered back, confused, dazed. Petr blinked down at him, cogs turning slowly in his ale-slowed mind. Then a broad grin spread across the big youth’s jaw.
‘Should’ve listened, stray.’

Fourth and final part at the same time tomorrow.
Previous Chapter - Read 10 weeks ahead on Patreon - Read the story so far on Royal Road
*
Chapter Twelve - The Blacksmith's Boy (Part Three)
​
Clouds. Black, moving, twisting like rope. His head ached. His blood was hot as flame. Fire flashed in the clouds, and the old stormtower gleamed. The Old Man stared back at him from the gloom, eyes carving at his skin. You could have warned me. He taunted him. Smoke bled around his shoulders, and his skin melted away. Cal tried to look away, but it was too late. The fire was on him, and the sky filled his eyes with black water, smothering his breath.
*
He gasped, pain searing down his spine, and choked on his own breath, spluttering.
‘Get him up.’
‘I’ve got him.’
Lokk’s voice. Cal felt a hand curling underneath one of his arms, lifting his aching jaw off the floorboards. Pain shot down his back again, and he cried out, eyes spinning. Then there was another hand beneath him, and he was lifted groaning away from the floor. They lowered him carefully into a chair, and he fell against it, skin stinging, panting through gritted teeth.
‘What happened to him?’
‘Had a wolf at ‘im, by the looks of it!’
‘Don’t be a fool! No wolves in these woods.’
‘Believe in magic, but not in wolves?’
Cal groaned again.
‘Shut it, all of you!’
Cal blinked again, and the Innkeep’s rosy cheeks coalesced into the air before his eyes, looking down at him worriedly. Lokk was at his shoulder, wide-eyed, his mop of lank hair hanging loosely over his forehead. Someone had put the door to, and it was suddenly very quiet. Cal took a breath.
‘What happened, boy?’ The Innkeep asked him. Beyond his shoulders, Cal could see the faces of a half-dozen patrons, blinking back at him with wide eyes. All except Old Godry, who looked mildly irritated. Outside, the storm wailed helplessly against the thatching, and thunder rumbled against the hills, more distant, now. Cal held his breath, craning his ears. But the footsteps were gone. He swallowed.
‘There were…’ He hesitated, glancing towards the door. ‘I… fell.’
‘Down half the Teeth by the looks of it!’ Lokk pointed at his arms. ‘What were you doing out in this?’
Cal blinked, looking down. His arms were crisscrossed with dozens of bloody cuts, and his shirt was hanging off him in strings. He frowned, shrugging, and then winced as fire raced over his skin, and fell back against the chair, gasping.
‘Thought… Thought I had time to get back.’
‘Damned fool.’ Carel told him, appearing beside her father. She had a pail of steaming water under one arm, and a bundle of rags in the other. ‘Got to clean those before they rot.’
‘I’m fi-’
‘That’s enough talking.’ The Innkeep told him. ‘Or I’ll want coin for the cloth.’
Cal thought better of arguing.
‘Saw a fair few mugs go over.’ The Innkeep turned towards the rest of the room, smiling reassuringly. ‘I’ll fetch a new barrel. This one’s on the house.’
A few grumbles of approval from the assembled regulars. They were all watching him. He could feel their eyes on him, prying, poking. Sensible boys know better than to go wandering in a storm. They’d always thought the Blacksmith’s stray was cracked. Same as his master. Godry seemed to have let his irritation go at the promise of free ale, but Cal spotted the butcher’s brute of a son, Petr, sneering back at him over the rim of his mug. He lowered his eyes. They thought him mad. Maybe they were right. Behind his eyes, the shadows were still chasing him through endless trees, clawing at his heels. But the door stayed closed, and there was no sound beyond it but the storm. Maybe he was losing his mind.
‘Quite the show, that was.’ Lokk grinned as his father went off to find the barrel. Carel rolled her eyes, pulling up another chair and setting about dampening the cloth. ‘Barely seen you in weeks, then you show up all bloody an’ panting like a wolf that’s got in with the chickens? You always knew how to make an entrance.’
Cal grunted. He didn’t feel like explaining himself. Wasn’t sure he could, even if he did.
‘Scared off the new folk, too.’ Lokk nodded towards an empty table in the far corner of the room, scattered with discarded mugs.
Cal blinked. ‘What?’
‘Had some of Solen’s new hands in tonight.’ Lokk told him offhandedly, scratching his chin. ‘Quiet lot. Must have given them quite the fright. Saw themselves out sharpish.’
‘What did… hnngg.’ Cal clamped his teeth together with a groan as Carel pressed one of the rags against his bloody forearm.
‘Stay still.’ She told him, wiping the cloth slowly across his skin. It felt like someone was stripping his flesh with a wood plane. Cal clenched his jaw, forcing himself not to yelp. Lokk lounged idly against the bar beside him, sweeping his loose hair back from his forehead untidily.
‘Interrupted Godry, too.’ His friend went on, clearly unperturbed by his suffering. ‘Old goat hates being interrupted.’
Cal grunted again. The little clump of patrons seemed to have lost interest in him, now, turning back to their mugs as the Innkeep moved deftly through the tables, a little cask under his arm. Petr and his father were sitting glowering at no one in particular. Forley and his young wife Priss looked taken aback, and not the least bit shaken, by the unexpected turn of events the evening had taken, but the dour-faced miners beside them (whose names Cal did not know) seemed to have paid Cal’s entrance no heed at all. Old Godry was sitting patiently, firelight knotting over his scarred cheeks, waiting for his cue. Soon their mugs were full again, and the foolishness of the Blacksmith’s stray was quite forgotten. The Innkeep set the empty cask down somewhere behind the bar, and went off to find another barrel. Cal gritted his teeth as Carel went on with her work, eyes watering, and watched the villagers blur indifferently by the fire.
‘You weren’t finished, Godry.’ Albin, the butcher began, taking a long swig from his mug. ‘’bout to tell us how the wizard farted out his storm to save the savages.’
Cal saw Forley roll his eyes. ‘You know damned well where we were! Tell us about Arolf!’
Albin scowled, opening his mouth to retort, but Godry regained his composure in time to step in.
‘Aerolf, Forley.’ He corrected patiently.
‘Aerolf, then.’ The young shepherd agreed, rolling his eyes. ‘What happened next?’
‘Well, like I was saying, old King Talor’s already met his end, but them Northmen weren’t done yet. That beast Aerolf most of all.’ Godry began, lowering his voice and eyeing his audience conspiratorially. ‘He had a score to settle, see. This weren’t the kind of man to let a woman run from him, you understand.’
‘Serves him right.’ Albin grumbled. ‘Couldn’t keep her in his bed, even with a sword on her.’
The two miners snorted in agreement, and Petr just kept scowling. Cal flinched as Carel drew her rag over a particularly deep cut. He caught her eye reproachfully, and she smiled slyly.
‘Oops.’
She was very close, he realised, and he could feel the heat of her against his cut-thread skin. Another night, he might even have enjoyed it.
‘So there they was, dead King and all. Could of had the throne for hisself, right then.’ The old miner continued gravely. ‘But he was more animal than man. Mad as a beast, they say, big as a bear, covered head to toe in blood, cut up like an old buck. And this beast had a taste for blood.’
The little circle of villagers leaned a little closer in their seats, eyeing Godry eagerly. Cal realised he was listening along with them.
‘So off he goes, bloody magic blade in hand.’ Godry held out his hand like a blade, scowling at them over the fire. ‘He finds that place where old King Talor locked up his pretty young daughter. And what’d’you think he does when he finds it?’
‘Kills her.’ Forley whispered.
‘That’s right, boy.’ Godry nodded, dropping his arm. ‘Heard it said he clawed the tower door open with his bare hands. Dragged her out into that garden, butchered her right there in the grass, threw her off that big rock of theirs like an old ham. This weren’t a man you run from. If he couldn’t have her, no one could.’
‘How’d they kill him, then?’ Albin asked, frowning.
‘Well, see now. Northmen ain’t the only one with monsters.’ Godry said craftily, raising one patchwork brow. ‘Dekar’s a sharp one. He’d realised what was afoot, by now. Rallied the King’s Men, drove the scum back out of the King’s hall. Weren’t a man amongst them left standing, save the ones in the garden. But for Aerolf and them, he saved his best killer.’
‘The Bloodless.’ Forley murmured.
‘The Bloodless.’ Godry agreed. ‘Biggest woman you’ve ever seen. Big as a wagon, skin like blue snow. They say there’s nought but ice in them veins, and if you cut her, she don’t bleed.’
‘And I’ve got rocks for balls.’ Albin snorted.
‘Might as well, for all the good they do you.’ Godry snapped back at him. ‘But the Bloodless finds the traitor. Right there in that garden, all covered in the Princess’s blood. Cuts Aerolf down, throws him from the walls after her, him and his magic sword. Almost killed that Stonesplitter dog, too, whilst she were at it. Weren’t no easy thing though; gets her head cut open like a peach for its trouble. Should’ve died, right there. Would’ve, if not for those… other types Dekar had took up with.’
‘‘Least the traitor was dead.’
‘Aye, that he was. That Heartspire’s taller than a mountain. Say there weren’t nothing left of him but mulch, once he got to the bottom. Him and the princess both.’
‘Makers have mercy.’ Forley murmured, making the sign of the Nine over his breast. Even Albin took another mouthful of ale.
‘Weren’t no mercy. A beast don’t deserve none.’ Godry said soberly, following Forley and drawing a circle over his chest. ‘If he couldn’t ‘ave her, no one could.’
Cal barely heard them. He felt drained, as though the cuts had bled the weight from his bones. He floated just above his chair in a haze, and the roomed blurred and swayed as if through shallow water. Carel went about her work quietly, carefully, and the pain of it washed over him in raw waves, until the pail of water at her feet was stained an ugly pink.
‘Dekar had a plan though!’ Forley whispered excitedly, his reverence forgotten. ‘Tell ‘em, Godry!’
‘That he did, Forley.’ Godry smiled, his scarred face contorting grotesquely. ‘See, that Dekar’s sharp as a carving knife. Took up Taylor’s magic sword, led the King’s Men himself. But that weren’t all. Had some of his men kept back, from down West. Big men. Hard men. Came on the Northmen camp in the dead of night. Surrounded ‘em.’
‘Weren’t just any men, I hears it.’ Albin grumbled.
‘Here we go!’ Forley snorted.
‘Said it yourself, Godry. Dekar took up with them religious types.’ Albin shot back, frowning indignantly. ‘Everyone knows it.’
‘Religious? Masks don’t keep the Makers.’ Forley spat. ‘Ain’t nothing but bandits dressed up like monks.’
Cal blinked.
*‘*Brothers ain’t got no Gods save the Darkness.’ Priss murmured quietly. ‘You say Nine, I say eight.’
‘All the same.’ Albin was saying, folding his arms over his mug. ‘Brothers are useful, and good old Dekar didn’t sniff at them like you do.’
‘That’s enough, Alb.’ Godry interrupted. ‘He’s still our King, even all the way out here.’
Cal opened his mouth, straightening in his seat, but Carel pushed him back down again tutting.
‘Sit still.’
‘But-’
‘Hardly our King anymore, anyways.’ Albin spat. ‘Not like it used to be. Valia’s for the lowlanders.’
‘You sounds like a Northman.’ Forley scowled.
‘Or one of the Elahi.’ Priss added. Albin bristled, and Godry jumped in just in time.
‘Doesn’t matter. All Dekar’s hard men never got to the Northmen camp.’ The grizzled old smelter went on. ‘Seems old Isandur weren’t done yet.
Cal gritted his teeth. His head ached, and his mouth tasted like smoke.
Albin spat at his feet, sneering. ‘Isandur my arse.’
‘Let him be, Alb.’ Forley told him.
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as the butcher and his son fixed Forley with their most angry of looks. Then Godry cleared his throat noisily, and Petr shoved himself to his feet and stalked off towards the bar, snatching up their empty mugs as he went.
‘But Isandur is a crafty one, and no mistake. Showed up just in time, as always. What he wanted from it, no man can say. Them Chosen are scheming sorts, what ones is left. Us mortals couldn’t guess what they’s thinkin’.’ He paused, nodding knowingly. ‘Storm-tamers, they call ‘em. He spoke the words, and the sky opened. Biggest storm you’ve ever seen. Caught Dekar’s men as they came. Scattered ‘em like wheat in a gale.’
Petr aimed a crooked smile at Carel as he passed, and she lowered her eyes. Cal barely noticed. He no longer heard Godry. The room around him seemed very far away. Was he awake? Or was he dreaming?
‘Northerners took the chance. Fled faster than the wind what chased them. Them that were still on the rock, them what murdered and killed our King?’ Godry went on, shaking his head sadly. ‘Them he called the wind itself for, and carried them away before Dekar could get at them. Aerolf’s brother, among them. King of the North, he goes by now. Couple of other Northmen, too. Stonesplitter cut almost in half by the Bloodless’ blade.’
Albin spat on the floor, and the miners scowled. No right-minded Valian liked this part, magic or not. Cal ground his teeth.
‘That Chosen bastard let the King get his throat slit, then shows up to save his killers.’ Albin cursed.
‘Makers know why. Not been seen since.’ Godry agreed. ‘Back they went, anyway, back to the rest of the savages as they fled like dogs. Storm was so heavy, river banks burst behind them, flooded half the valley.’
Cal’s heart was pounding in his ears, and his skull was ringing. Outside, the wind whined over the thatching, howling at the broken clouds.
‘Don’t matter how many men Dekar had. Or how many Brothers. Ain’t no one swimming in mail.’
Cal forced his eyes shut. Black Ones. A storm. Falling.
‘Cal?’
He opened his eyes, blinking into the firelight, and found Carel looking down at him worriedly.
‘Does it hurt?’ She was asking softly.
‘What… no, I’m fine.’ He told her, blinking again. ‘I need to…’
‘Stay here.’ She told him, lifting up the bloody pail. ‘I need more cloth.’
She turned on her heel and disappeared. Cal’s head spun.
‘… already scared off the new folk with all these tall stories.’ Albin was saying. ‘Storm’s just a storm. Forge boy knows.’
Cal blinked, lurching unsteadily to his feet. Asking questions, the Innkeep had said. His vision blurred unsteadily, and the room stared back at him, wobbling like a top.
‘Cal, you need to sit down.’ Lokk told him, putting a hand on his shoulder.
Cal blinked. His eyes stopped spinning, and the ache in his head had vanished. The wind had moved on overhead, and the air was thick with smoke and heat. The little group of patrons were eyeing him curiously. All save the butcher.
‘Listen to him boy, before you hurt yourself.’ Albin sneered back at him.
‘Come on, Cal. Ignore him.’ Lokk murmured in his ear.
Cal swallowed, meeting the swarthy butcher’s eye for a moment. Then he let himself be steered backward, slumping into his seat like an empty sack.
‘Must have lost more blood than I thought.’ Lokk told him, pulling up a chair beside him and tutting. ‘Want to pick a fight with Albin as well as that storm?’
‘What?’ Cal mumbled, blinking. The butcher had gone back to his drink, and the other villagers had gone with him, grumbling amongst themselves about the practicalities of storm-tamers and treacherous, magical old men. He took a breath. ‘I wasn’t. I-’
‘Sure looked like you were. You know Alb. Just his way. Didn’t mean anything by it.’
‘Lokk, when did the new folk leave?’
‘What? Oh… I told you. Right after you turned up. Spooked ‘em good, you did, all bloody like a fresh ham…’
‘Where did they go?’
‘How should I know? Had my hands full peeling you off the floor. Why d’you care, anyway?’
‘Lokk, I need to…’
‘Oh, no you don’t! You aren’t going anywhere. Need to rest.’ His friend told him, pinning him to his chair by his shoulders. ‘Look like you fell down half the Teeth face first.’
‘I…’ Cal began, lowering his voice. His head was clearing, and the room was no longer spinning like a leaf. Beside the fire, the other patrons were still bickering emptily. The storm had passed, and the ache of it was clearing from his battered skull. ‘I didn’t just fall. Something was chasing me.’
‘What are you talking about? You crack your head, too?’
‘Lokk, listen. There were…’
‘Let go!’
They both looked up at the sudden commotion from beside the bar. Carel had just made it out from behind it with a fresh pail of steaming water before Petr had cornered her, bulky shoulders blocking the way forward like a stubborn bullock. He had one meaty hand curled around Carel’s wrist, and she had her eyes fixed on the floor. Cal was on his feet before Lokk could say anything.
‘Let go of her.’
The big youth let go of Carel’s wrist, and the pail fell abruptly back to her side, spilling steaming water across the floor. She looked at it distantly, frowning.
‘Or what, you little shit?’ The butcher’s son grumbled throatily, turning slowly around to facing Cal, glaring down at him with rheumy-eyes. His words had the imprecise edge of drink to them, and his breath smelled of sour ale. ‘Gonna throw yourself down a fucking hill at me?’
‘Just leave her be, Petr.’ Lokk added from Cal’s shoulder.
‘Mind your own business.’ The big youth snorted, still glaring at Cal darkly. ‘Sit down before you hurt yourself, stray.’
He began to turn back to Carel. Lokk put a hand on Cal’s shoulder, and Cal ignored him.
‘Leave her be.’ He said again.
‘Or what?’ Petr snarled back, lurching around again, wiping spittle from the corner of his mouth. ‘Going to bleed on me?’
‘It’s fine, Cal. No harm done.’ Carel said quietly from beside the bar, eyes still on the ground. ‘Sit down, let me finish with your cuts.’
‘You heard her. Be a good little foundling and sit down like she says.’
Cal swallowed. Petr was nearly a head taller than he was, and his arms were thick, corded with miner’s work. But there would be no avoiding it now, and he didn’t have the patience to let it be, that night. The big youth was drunk, and spoiling for a fight. Cal glanced back over his shoulder, but the other patrons were bickering loudly beside the fire, oblivious, or indifferent, or both. The Innkeep was still in the back somewhere, tapping a new barrel. Strike first. Strike hard. Cal shifted his feet slightly, readying himself. His head had cleared, and his pain was far away. The moment of calm was on him. A blink in time. The room faded away, vibrating with stillness. There was only his breath. In, and out. He waited.
‘Nothing to say? Suppose a dead whore can’t teach her cunt son any manners.’
Cal moved quickly, uncoiling like a bowstring. He burst forward off his hind leg, bunching his fist towards Petr’s slab of a jaw. The butcher’s son had no chance to react. How could he? Cal moved with the ease of a seasoned brawler, hard limbs whipping like clubs. Lokk’s arm slipped from his shoulder. He was already halfway across the distance between them before Petr could even blink.
His boot splashed, skidded, slid. The water. Cal blinked, lost balance, and slid wildly into Petr’s chest. His head thudded into the other boy, and he staggered back, confused, dazed. Petr blinked down at him, cogs turning slowly in his ale-slowed mind. Then a broad grin spread across the big youth’s jaw.
‘Should’ve listened, stray.’

"Think of this as a chance at revenge," Sweeney said.
​
Revenge.
​
What a moronically quaint idea.
​
This jumped up little shit had come into my home, interrupted my retirement and here he was talking to me about revenge, as if he knew the first thing about what I’d seen, what I’d been through, why I’d quit.
​
Looking into his eyes, I knew he didn’t understand. I knew he couldn’t.
​
I've been hunting vampires for most of my life. I've killed more of them than I can count. But Clementine Di Cesare was no ordinary vampire. Hell, none of the Di Cesares were ordinary vampires, but even among them Clementine was… unique. She was the one all the others quietly feared. The one who was even spoken of with reverence by the Di Cesares masters, those twin Immortals who could not be killed by any weapon of this world. Seeking revenge against her was like seeking revenge against death itself.
​
“Revenge?” I repeated, with a dismissive scoff.
“You’re really going to tell me that after what she put you through, you don’t want revenge?” Sweeney asked.
“If you knew what she did to me, you’d know why I don’t want revenge,” I replied.
“Really? Sorry Franklin, but I don’t buy that. Look, I get it if you’re reluctant to jump back into the fight. I do. You of all people know just how dangerous the Di Cesare’s are. Especially ‘La Morte’.”
​
I looked over at him as he said that name. It rolled off his tongue so irreverently. To him, it was just a name. An alias assigned to some vampire he’s only heard of stories. He didn’t utter it with the respect it deserved, and I almost couldn’t be bothered to correct him. Any words spent on this small minded glory hound were probably wasted.
​
“Yes, I do know.”
“Which is why I need you,” Sweeney said. He almost sounded as if he were pleading with me. “Think of this as an opportunity to set things right… to put that vampire bitch in the ground where she belongs, and save God only knows how many lives in the process!”
I sighed.
He just didn’t get it.
​
“Mark my words, Mr. Sweeney, if you chase after Clementine Di Cesare, you’ll end far more lives than you save. She didn’t get a name like ‘La Morte’ for nothing. She earned it. Purchased it with the blood of the tens of thousands she’s sent screaming into the maw of Hell. She is not something you chase, Sweeney.”
“She’s a vampire,” Sweeney said dismissively. “She’s another enemy to destroy.”
“That’s what George Bundy said,” I replied. “Then not too long after, he died.”
“I’m not George Bundy,” Sweeney said.
“No. You sure as hell ain’t,” I agreed, before looking the kid in the eye.
​
He thought he was an up and comer, climbing the ranks of the Brethren. He probably thought of himself as some sort of badass vampire hunter too, when in reality he could never have so much as dreamed of holding a candle to the likes of Bundy… or hell, any of the men who’d died in Brazil.
“You should watch your tone with me,” Sweeney warned.
“Or you’ll do what?” I asked, “You ain’t going to frighten me with vague threats, boy. I’ve walked through Hell, trying to kill the Devil. What have you done?”
​
Sweeney bit his lip but didn’t respond.
“There’s nothing you can say or do that will intimidate me,” I said, before lighting myself a cigarette. I stared at the road outside of my porch, old memories flooding back to me before looking over at Sweeney again. He sat in his chair beside me like a sulky child. This was the man who wanted to destroy the Di Cesare family? Pathetic.
​
“Exactly how much do you know about the Brazil Job?” I asked.
“I know it was a failure. Clementine Di Cesare killed most of the men the Brethren sent out… all except for you. You were the only one good enough to beat her.”
“Good enough…” I repeated with a huff, “Hardly… whatever picture you’ve got in your head of some glorified battle, throw it away. Trust me, the Brazil Job was anything but glorious. It was a two hour long trek through Hell. And I didn’t beat Di Cesare at the end of it. I survived her. They’re two different things entirely.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” Sweeney said.
“You wouldn’t, would you?” I sighed and took another drag on my cigarette.
​
This kid wasn’t going to leave until I made him understand… so I told him my story. I told him everything even though I knew he’d learn nothing from it.
​
***
​
I’d joined up with the Brethren Knights of St. Fontaine back in the 1980s to hunt monsters. Back then, it seemed like the best use of my skills. I’d done my tours with the army, but even after I got out, I was still looking for an enemy to fight. So naturally, once I found out that vampires were real, I set my sights on them. It seemed like the most sensible thing to do at the time.
​
The Brethren Knights fancied themselves the descendants of the Knights Templar, and they insisted that their God given mission was to protect mankind from the things that lurked in the shadows. I didn’t really have much love for God at the time, but if the Bretheren were the ones fighting the monsters, then I was happy to tolerate the Jesus freaks in their ranks.
​
It was 1988 when we first heard whispers of the Imperium. A supposed cabal of vampires, trying to get them organized. At the time, it’d seemed too crazy to be true. Vampires generally went their own way, in my experience. At most, they might have a partner but other than they they didn’t really socialize with their own kind. But supposedly someone out there had the big fucking balls to keep them in line, and whoever they were, they scared the shit out of the Brethren.
​
They’d started targeting high profile vampires, trying to find someone who was involved in this ‘Imperium’, hoping that maybe they might get someone to talk. And it wasn’t long until they found someone who did.
​
From my understanding, the vampire they captured didn’t seem to know much about who was actually running the show. But they knew who their second in command was… and that was when I first head about the Di Cesare family.
​
The name was familiar to some of the higher ups in the Brethren, and I’d heard some stories. Not sure which were true, but the long and short of it was that the Di Cesare’s and the Brethren shared a bloody history, and didn’t particularly like each other too much.
​
George Bundy explained it to me like this at one point: ‘The Di Cesare’s are an old family. Most of them used to be witches, up until their Matriarch turned them into vampires. Now they’re a whole new kind of nasty. Far as I know, the only time anyone’s actually managed to kill one was about 200 years ago. Anyone who’s tried since has ended up dead, so most folks don’t even bother anymore.’
​
I guess it shouldn’t have been surprising they’d be involved in the Imperium, but the mere mention of their name ruffled some feathers higher up on the chain of command, and eventually they put out a kill order on them. Most of the Di Cesare’s were generally pretty hard to track down, but the top brass had a pretty good line on their matriarch, Bianca Di Cesare. Supposedly, she’d been spotted near the family’s private estate in Brazil and rumor had it that most of her daughters were there too.
​
Normally, the brass wouldn’t have sanctioned any kind of attack on them. The Di Cesare’s were already considered off limits, and attacking them at their private estate was considered damn near impossible. The estate was located in a small mining town outside of Manaus called Refugio de Julia, or just Julia for short. The town was fairly remote, being only accessible from a few backroads and most folks tended to avoid it, claiming they’d had various strange encounters in the area. Their accounts described unsettling pale figures with dark hair and large green eyes working in the mines, although some of the more disturbing stories we heard involved sightings of other creatures in the jungle surrounding the town. Massive spiders with humanoid faces, tending rotting corpses filled with stinging bees, giant howling beasts who tore through the forest, hunting prey, and beautiful women who would appear in the nearby towns, betwitching men into coming away with them only to reveal themselves as monsters who fed on the blood of their victims. Some had even claimed the Di Cesares themselves were such beasts… although those claims weren’t taken quite as seriously.
​
A skeptic might say the stories that surrounded Julia seemed like little more than just local superstition… but the Brethren had been dealing with the supernatural for long enough to recognize when something was probably real, and when it was probably fake and they knew damn well that most of the stories about Julia were probably true. None of them had ever dared set foot in Julia to find out for sure, since doing so would probably be suicide, but the theory was that the Di Cesares had created Julia as something of a refuge for other creatures. Other vampires, werewolves, arachne, karah and all sorts of other hellspawn. They offered them a home and safety in exchange for their labor in the mines. Hell, the name of the town more or less spelled it out.
​
Refugio de Julia
​
Julia’s Haven.
​
Julia had been the name of the only member of the Di Cesare family that the Brethren had ever killed, so I guess it was only fitting they named the town after her.
​
I honestly think using other creatures like them as a workforce was a bit inspired… since it made Julia damn near impenetrable. Reaching their estate at the far side of the town would have been impossible without being noticed by every creature of hell living in that town, and odds are they’d tear anyone apart long before they even reached the gates of the Di Cesare estate. And if one had the bright idea to approach the estate from another angle, they’d be trudging through miles and miles of rainforest to do so, only end up face to face with a massive stone wall that kept the rainforest out.
​
In effect - the Di Cesare estate was a fortress. Getting in would be no easy feat, to say nothing of confronting the vampires within. But with the fear of the Imperium gnawing at the back of their minds, the Brethren had finally set their minds to trying.
​
George Bundy had been the one in charge of planning the operation out.
​
I’d known Bundy before I’d joined up with the Brethren. Hell, Bundy was the whole reason I’d joined the Brethren. He’d been my CO a number of years back, and he’d earned his reputation as a hardass just about ten or twenty times over. Bundy was a gruff looking man with a bushy moustache and intense eyes. During the years I knew him, I don’t believe I ever once saw him so much as crack a smile. He only ever seemed to speak when he felt there was something he needed to say. Otherwise, he was usually dead silent.
​
He was somewhere in his late fifties back in 88. By all rights, he ought to have retired years ago. But he refused.
“I’m a soldier,” He said, when I asked him about it once. “That’s all I am. I don’t know what else to be.”
​
Bundy’s initial plan had been to hit the Di Cesare estate from the air. Come in fast and loud with a couple of helicopters and see how those vampires stood up to some good old American flak. The idea got shot down pretty quickly, so to speak. Apperantly, most if not all of the Di Cesares had cursed their own bodies, causing whatever wound one inflicted on them to appear on whoever it was who had wounded them. Going in guns blazing would have ended in a bloodbath… and not for them. There were also some concerns about drawing attention from Julia. With no conclusive data on just what they had living in that town, there was no guarantee we’d be safe in the air. A few eyewitnesses had described seeing giant nests in some of the trees in the jungle, supposedly consistent with the nests made by harpies.
​
Flying in guns blazing was out. So Bundy went back to the drawing board and what he came back with… well, it was ballsy, but it almost seemed like it just might work. During his reconnisance of the Di Cesare’s estate, he’d noticed a large but shallow tributary flowing into the amazon river that led right through the Di Cesare’s estate. Along the tributary was an abandoned water mill, that connected to the Di Cesare estate.
​
He’d suggested using the water mill to gain entry to the grounds, and from there, move on the Di Cesare’s. That plan had been approved, and Bundy had been allowed to handpick his team for the operation. He’d chosen fifteen men, all of them ex military, most of them having served under him before.
​
He’d told us we would be dividing into three teams of five men each. We would leave Manaus by boat, and land at three different areas near the tributary before making our way to the mill on foot, where we would regroup, before moving on the Di Cesares. The reason for the division was to ensure that if any of our teams ran into trouble upon making ground, the entire operation wouldn’t be compromised.
​
Team 1, led by Bundy himself would depart first and land to the west of the tributary. Team 2, led by a man named Ferdinand Hernandez would make land about fifteen minutes later near the mouth of the tributary and Team 3, to be led by me would land fifteen minutes later to the east.
​
On the day of the operation, I sat in my boat, watching as the other two left. It was twilight when we set out, and I remember that as my team and I carried out our final checks on our equipment, the only thing I felt was a familiar anticipation.
​
I’d hesitate to call it fear. Fear is what came later. Anticipation is the better word. I knew we could be walking into a tough situation… but I trusted Bundy. I trusted he’d run a smooth op. God knew, he’d done it a thousand times before.
​
The team assigned to me wasn’t anything particularly special. They were competent enough, but none of them would’ve been my first choices. Jack McMullen, for instance, who was about the same age as I was at the time. We’d both served under Bundy before, although while I respected Bundy, Jack was wholly devoted to him. I swear, if the man had told him to stuff a live grenade up his ass, Jack would’ve done it without a moments hesitation. I dunno if Jack simply saw him as the father he’d never had or what, but he damn near worshipped Bundy.
​
I can’t quite say the same for the other guys we had with us, though. One of them, some greenhorn by the name of Pearce Wilson struck me as an airheaded pretty boy who’d never actually had his boots on the ground before, while the other one, Scott Barber had left a bad taste in my mouth last time we’d worked together. Barber was capable… but he was violent. This was a kid with a hell of a chip on his shoulder, and it looked a hell of a lot like that Confederate flag patch he wore on his jacket. He wanted an excuse to shoot something, and I don’t think he cared what. Under most circumstances I’m not sure I would’ve fully trusted him with a gun.
​
The last one though, Joseph Feng… him I trusted. Feng was the one I knew the least about, and he didn’t seem much for conversation. But he handled himself competently enough and seemed to know when to sit down and shut up.
​
When Team 2’s boat was far enough away, we got the radio signal to follow. Barber was the one steering the boat, so I gave him the order to cast off and we ventured out into the twilight, unaware of just what was waiting for us out there.
​
***
​
We landed in our designated area fifteen minutes after Team 2 confirmed they’d touched down at theirs. Our landing was fairly uneventful. Feng, Barber, and I secured the boat before we radio’d Bundy to let him know we were in position. After that, it was just a matter of making it to the tributary.
​
As we ventured into the jungle, the world around us was quiet. There was wind, the whisper of the river behind us, and the sounds of animals. But little else. The river fell away behind us as we moved in single file toward the tributary, maintaining radio silence as we did.
​
It was about a half hour before we heard the gunshot.
​
Just one, echoing through the twilight. But it was enough to give us pause.
​
“The fuck was that?” I heard Barber ask. Immediately, the kid was on high alert, with his gun raised as if he were expecting every monster in Julia to come charging at us from all angles.
I just listened, waiting to hear if there was anything else. I half expected my radio to come to life, but it didn’t.
“Team 1, status?” I asked.
The radio crackled with static, but there was no response.
​
I tried it again, but still with no success. The radio was working, that much I was sure of. Something had to be blocking the signal.
“What’s going on?” Feng asked.
“Dunno,” I replied. “Comms are down.”
“Down?” Wilson asked, “So we’re flying blind out here, then?”
“More or less,” I replied.
“What do we do? Do we go back… if the comms are down…”
“Just because something’s jamming our signal doesn’t mean we’re made,” I said. “Relax. We keep moving for now. You keep your eyes wide open, and your head on a swivel. We’ll make it to the tributary and see if we can’t meet up with the other teams.”
I could tell Wilson wasn’t a fan of my answer, but I didn’t much care. We had a job to do, and I aimed to do it.
​
I pressed on without a further word and the others followed. Up ahead, I could hear the sound of running water and picked up the pace. I figured the tributary had to be close… and I was right.
​
I emerged from the brush into the stream, only to pause when I saw what was waiting for us in the water.
​
In the dying sunlight, it was impossible to mistake the bodies sprawled out on the rocks as anything else… and all I needed to do was look at their uniforms to know they were our people.
“Jesus…” I heard Wilson say under his breath. He froze up, lingering by the bank as I cautiously approached one of the bodies.
​
It belonged to a somewhat heavyset man with a thin mustache who I recognized as Hernandez. His eyes were still open, although lifeless and staring in different directions, and there was a clean hole in his forehead where a bullet had ended his life. The gunshot we’d heard earlier had likely been the sound of his death.
​
Looking at the bodies around him, I knew they had to be the rest of Team 2… although it was a little harder pinning down their cause of death. Some sort of bladed weapon, perhaps, judging by the state of them. I realized the odds were that they walked into some sort of ambush.
“What about Bundy and Team 1?” Jack asked, “Any sign of them?”
“No,” I said. “These bodies are all from Team 2… Bundy could still be ahead of us.”
“Then we need to keep going!”
​
Jack turned, heading up the stream and Barber was right behind him. Feng paused for a moment, thinking this over before following. Only Wilson remained.
“How do we know we’re not walking into a trap?” He asked.
“We’ll deal with that when we get to it,” I said before moving to follow the others.
“With all due respect, Sarge… that doesn’t sound like the best course of action!” Wilson argued, finally following me. “It sounds just like a good way to get killed!”
“Yeah?” I asked, “I’m gonna tell you an ugly truth, kid. That’s the job. Make your peace with it, and it’ll go a lot easier.”
​
Wilson didn’t like that answer either and trailed off behind me, watching as I continued upstream. For a moment, I half expected him to go back to the boat… but no. I dunno if he found his balls or just didn’t want to get left behind, but he started to follow us again.
​
I kept trying to raise Team 1 on the radio while we walked, although I still had no luck. The light above us slowly faded into darkness as we trudged through the water in silence, guns sitting comfortably in our hands and mosquitos biting at our necks.
​
It wasn’t until we lost Feng that I heard anybody so much as make a sound, and when we lost Feng… it happened almost instantaneously. One minute, he was at the head of the group, walking just ahead of Jack and I. The next, he was gone, only barely having the time to let out a scream as he fell into the river ahead of us.
​
The rest of us paused. Jack seemed to freeze and I pushed past him, calling out for Feng as I did. As punishment for my compassion, I almost went down after him. I only barely stopped myself from stepping on the slippery rocks that had helped send him to his demise.
​
I could see Feng’s body in the water, and I could see the blood pouring out of him. He twitched a few times, but I knew he was dead. The sharpened wooden spikes jutting out of him confirmed as much.
“What the hell…” Jack said under his breath, staring at Feng’s corpse in disbelief. “That’s a fucking spike trap!”
​
Yeah.
​
It was indeed a fucking spike trap.
​
I could see other spikes jutting out of the water ahead of us, just past a small dam of rocks that were just slippery enough to make it difficult to stop yourself from falling. Some of those spikes had other bodies on them… likely members of Team 1. I only counted two, although that still didn’t exactly bode well.
​
“They put a fucking spike trap in the goddamn stream…” Jack said, “Who the hell does that?”
“Somebody who’s expecting us to use the stream,” I replied.
“So they know we’re coming?” Barber asked.
“Clearly…” I replied. “And they’ve got a good idea on what our route is too.”
​
“Yeah, no shit!” Barber snapped. “Christ… let’s get the fuck out of here. There’s probably more fucking traps upstream!”
“Bundy’s orders were clear!” Jack argued.
“Bundy’s probably dead by now!” Barber replied, before looking at me. “Sarge, come on. You have to know this is suicide!”
“Suicide was part of the job description, was it not?” I asked.
“The job is to kill those fucking vampires, not to die in the goddamn process! We need to get out of the stream and into the woods!”
​
“Judging by the fate Team 2 met, I’m not sure the forest is someplace we want to be right now,” I replied.
“Excuse me?” Barber asked, “What the hell are you talking about, Sarge?”
“Five men dead, but only one gunshot. How did the rest die?”
​
Barber didn’t seem to be able to answer that.
“By now… yes. It’s clear we’ve walked into a trap. And yes, I understand that it makes sense to try and leave that trap… but I don’t know if we’ll be safer in the jungle. Something jumped Team 2. Cut them apart, and then shot Hernandez as a warning. They didn’t have to shoot him. They did it so we’d hear.”
“Your point being?” Barber asked.
“I don’t think this is just a trap, Barber. It’s a game. Stop playing, and you might just end up like our friends downstream.”
“A game?” Wilson asked, “Sarge, you can’t be serious!”
​
“From where I’m standing, we have a better chance of surviving in the stream,” I said. “Look, we’re at least halfway to the rendezvous point, and there have to be at least two members of Team 1 left. The safest thing to do right now is to follow them.”
“You’re off your fucking rocker, Sarge,” Barber spat, locking his eyes with mine. For a moment, I thought the boy was going to try and fight me. But no. He was wise enough to stand down.
“If you wanna get yourself killed, go right the fuck ahead. Just leave me out of it! Wilson, come on,” Barber said before trudging over to the edge of the stream. Wilson didn’t even hesitate, just looking back at Jack and I quietly before he disappeared into the forest with Barber.
​
“You’re not gonna stop them?” Jack asked.
“No,” I replied. “God willing, there’s a chance that pigheaded asshole is right… dunno how much of a chance, but a chance.”
“Then how come we’re not following him?” Jack asked.
“There’s also a chance he’s wrong.”
I turned, before making my way around the spike trap.
“Keep a slower pace,” I said. “Watch for traps.”
​
Jack hesitated for a moment, but he followed me without any further questions and we walked in silence for a little longer.
​
We heard nothing from the trees. Nothing that told us about the fate of Barber and Wilson. I wasn’t sure if that was good news or not.
​
In fact, I don’t think we heard a thing until about a half hour later, when we heard the explosion.
​
It came out of almost nowhere, but ahead of us I could see a flash of light and hear the screams of men. On instinct, I found myself picking up the pace and could hear Jack behind me. In the low light, I saw a shape float past me in the stream. It took me a moment to realize that it was a severed human arm.
​
In the water ahead of us, I could see a figure clinging to one of the rocks and trying to pick himself up. I recognized him as George Bundy.
​
Jack was at his side almost immediately, trying to help the old man to his feet.
“Sir! Are you alright?”
Bundy just wheezed, before his legs gave out from under him. I helped Jack drag him to the shore so he could sit and rest for a moment.
“What the hell was that?” I asked, looking back at the stream.
“Grenade trap… I think…” Bundy panted, “Fucking tripwire… Popkov tripped it, I think…”
​
Popkov… odds are he was one of the two mangled corpses lying in the river a few feet away from us. It seemed they’d taken the brunt of the explosion, although Bundy still had some shrapnel in his arm that Jack was tending to.
“Christ… whole fucking ops gone to shit…” Bundy spat. “Team 2 got taken out just about as soon as they landed. Someone killed them and dumped them in the goddamn river. Lost half my boys to the fucking spike trap and half to this…”
​
He looked up at us, before spitting onto the ground.
“Guess you two haven’t done much better.”
“Hard to say,” I replied. “Two of ours took off into the woods, trying to avoid the traps.”
“Then they’re dead,” Bundy replied. “I’ve seen her watching us… always just up ahead, always from a distance… she’s seeing how far we’ll go. How much we’ll take…”
“She?” I asked.
“La Morte. Should’ve figured she’d be the one to greet us.”
“La Morte?” I asked.
​
“It’s Italian. Supposedly, she earned that name around the time the Di Cesares fled Venice. It’s funny, the Brethren like to act like the Di Cesares leaving Venice was some big victory of theirs, since before they did, they finally killed one of them… hard to call it a victory though, considering how many corpses they made before they fled. And most of them came from La Morte…”
Bundy winced in pain as Jack bandaged his arm before he continued talking.
​
“See… when the Di Cesare’s left Venice, one of them stayed behind. Clementine, the Scorpio sister. Guess she was unwilling to leave the fight unfinished… and according to the stories, the death toll she personally amassed in the years after the Di Cesare’s left Venice make the bodies they claimed during the Venetian Massacre a hundred and fifty years prior look like a pittance. The Brethren still occupying the city started to call her La Morte. Death. Cuz wherever she went, death followed in her wake… and it seems we’ve walked right into her open arms, haven’t we, boys?”
​
“You’re sure it’s her?” I asked.
“She’s a Di Cesare… and the shit we’ve seen out here… I don’t see any other Di Cesare setting those traps. It’s her. I’m sure of it. She’s watching us. Seeing how far we’ll go. Seeing if we’ll turn tail…”
“Should we?” Jack asked, and Bundy finally seemed to acknowledge him.
“Excuse me?” He asked.
“Should we? Look, sir… I’d follow you into the mouth of Hell, but right now, we’re down from fifteen men to three. Can’t say I’m optimistic about our chances right now. If this woman is half as bad as you’re saying she is, maybe it’s time we took a step back!”
​
Jack looked at me, hoping I might back him up, but I remained silent.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Bundy asked.
“What I’m hearing here, is that as of right now, the vampire out there could kill us at any time. She hasn’t. Far as I’m concerned, that’s mercy. Maybe we should be taking it while it’s offered.”
Bundy stared at him, before chuckling. I think it was the first time I’d ever seen him laugh.
​
“Just walk away, then?” He asked.
“Walk away, and come back better prepared!” Jack corrected.
“Walk away,” Bundy said again. “We walk away now, and there won’t be a chance to come back better prepared. We get one shot at this. One. Failure is not an option. We go in there and we kill them or we die. End of discussion.”
“And how exactly are we even supposed to kill them?” Jack asked, “That curse they have… bullets aren’t gonna do shit, sir!”
“Yours won’t, mine will…”
Bundy pulled his pistol from his holster. I noticed some sort of pattern crudely engraved on it.
​
“I’ve been doing some research… studied the curse they put on themselves… and I think I’ve found a way to break it. Not sure if it’ll work yet… but we get one chance to test it.”
Jack stared at the gun, then back at Bundy.
“Sir… do you hear yourself?” He asked quietly, “You can’t be serious… right now, even with that gun we don’t stand a chance in he-”
​
The gunshot echoed through the forest and made me jump. Jack’s voice died in his throat as he hit the ground.
​
Bundy stared at him for a moment, before huffing and holstering his pistol again. He draped his coat over his shoulders, before looking over at me.
“No room for failure, Frank,” He said calmly.
I didn’t know what to say to that. I stared down at Jack’s body, my mouth hanging open slightly. When I looked back at Bundy, he was already back in the stream.
​
There was a tense silence between Bundy and I as I followed him along the final stretch of the tributary. He trudged on ahead, covered in sweat and straining with every step, but I could sense the quiet determination he had to see this through. Looking at him, you could’ve told me that George Bundy could wipe out the Di Cesare’s all by himself and I would have believed it in a second.
​
The night around us was full of sound, and each one drew my attention. I watched the forest, expecting to see some sign of La Morte watching us. But I saw nothing, except for what she wanted me to see.
“Mill’s just up ahead,” I heard Bundy say as we pressed on, although I noticed his steps faltering as he seemed to notice something in the trees above us. I stopped behind him, looking up before seeing what he saw, and when I saw it I felt my stomach turn.
​
I’d seen death before.
But what Di Cesare had left out for us… that was something else.
Pearce Wilson and Scott Barber weren’t dead.
But if they could have spoke, I’ve got no doubt they would have begged us to kill them. Wilsons pretty face was covered in blood and his pouty lips were parted as more trickled out of him. His curly blond hair was matted and I could see crimson there. Tree branches portruded from his ribs, while the loops of his entrails dangled out of his opened stomach. And Barber was in just about the same state, only he seemed to at least have the ability to turn his head to look at us.
​
I think he might have tried to speak, but the only sound he seemed to be able to make was a pained whimper.
“Jesus Christ…” I said softly.
“He had nothing to do with this,” Bundy replied. He took one last look at the two dying men hanging from the trees, before moving on.
“We should put them out of their misery, sir,” I said.
​
Bundy paused, before looking back at me.
“Don’t waste the ammo, Frank,” He replied. “They’re already dead.”
“Not yet they’re not!”
“Give them time. They chose to go into the woods. They can live with the consequences… for however long that lasts.”
​
With that, he left them. If I were a more compassionate man, I would have put them out of their misery. But no. Bundy moved on and so did I.
​
He approached the water mill, before examining it. It was an old building, made of stone that had long since been overgrown by moss, and sat right on the wall that separated the Di Cesares estate from the amazon. It hardly looked secure, even if the only entrance hadn’t just been an old wooden door secured with a padlock, finding a way in wouldn’t have been difficult. And it didn’t take much for Bundy to break through that door. All he needed was a couple of well placed kicks and it swung right open.
​
Drawing his gun, Bundy strode inside and I followed him.
“The Di Cesare’s will be in the main house,” He said. “We should find a way in through the back, try and catch them off guard. Main target should be the matriarch, Bianca. Her we should prioritize keeping alive… the rest are expendable.”
​
“Much as you are, I’m sure.” A voice called from deeper in the mill, and both Bundy and I froze.
I noticed movement on the floor above us, and through the shadows, I saw a tall woman watching us. She was dressed all in black, with blond hair tied back in a ponytail and the intense eyes of a soldier.
​
This had to be Clementine Di Cesare.
​
Bundy aimed his pistol at her, although she only barely seemed to notice.
“Only two of you left… I’m not sure the odds are in your favor,” The woman said. Her voice was low, calm and quiet.
“Only one way to find out,” Bundy growled.
“And only one way to walk out of this place alive,” Di Cesare countered. “You can put the gun down, turn and walk away. I won’t stop you. There’s no shame in living.”
​
“All the bodies you’ve left in your wake… that’s rich,” Bundy said.
“I don’t relish what I’ve done. I simply don’t know how to do anything else,” She replied. “Think about this, Bundy. Over my lifetime, there have been countless thousands who have come to kill me. All of them are dead, but I am not. Even if you could kill me… you could not kill my sisters. Not all of them. Not before they came for you.”
“Just you, would be enough…” Bundy said, before pulling the trigger.
​
I knew he’d hit her. I knew the bullet pierced her shoulder. But that woman… she didn’t even flinch. She simply dove out of the way before he could shoot again, taking cover and avoiding his next shot.
“Frank, upstairs!” Bundy snapped, “Flush her out!”
I went, trudging up the old wooden steps with my rifle drawn. Only to see Di Cesare vaulting over the railing and back down to the ground floor as soon as I made it up there.
​
Bundy shot at her again, only to miss for a second time. I saw Di Cesare’s arm move, and heard him cry out in pain. In the low light, I could see a dagger protruding from his shoulder. He stumbled back a step, leaving himself open for only a split second.
​
That second was all it took for Di Cesare to raise her own gun and fire just one shot.
​
George Bundy hit the ground without so much as a final scream. There was just a simple hole in his skull where she had shot him.
​
I felt my heart start to race faster. My eyes settled on Bundy’s gun, and I ran for the railing, vaulting it and dropping to the ground below with a thud. Di Cesare shot at me, and I felt the bullet tear through my leg. I reached out for the fallen gun and grabbed it before turning it on Di Cesare, only to find myself staring down the barrel of her own pistol. My finger rested on the trigger, but I didn’t have the guts to pull it.
​
"Kill me, and you will not see the sun tomorrow." She said, her voice still cold and calm.
“Killing you is part of the job…” I replied, but my finger still couldn’t squeeze the trigger.
“And is it worth your life?” Di Cesare asked. “You fail your mission either way.”
“And die with some goddamn honor…”
“There’s no such thing as honor. There is alive and there is dead. Choose.”
​
I knew what I was supposed to choose.
​
But my hands were shaking, as I stared into the face of death. My finger couldn’t squeeze the trigger.
​
The gun collapsed to the floor and Di Cesare kicked it away from me, before huffing and lowering her gun.
“Do not return,” She said softly. “Or next time, I will unleash a hell upon you that will make you beg for simple traps.”
​
She picked Bundy’s gun up off the ground, and then she was gone. After I finally picked myself up off the ground, I was gone too.
​
As I walked back along the stream… I passed the corpses of the men we’d left behind. Barber and Wilson, Jack, Feng, Hernandez, and his team. The flies were already feasting on them. Animals had already torn at them. And as I looked down at their cold corpses, I knew I had made the right choice.
​
I filed my report with the Brethren. Told them that Di Cesare had wiped us out, and a few months later I quietly retired. I never looked back.
​
***
​
“You walked away from her?” Sweeney asked in disbelief, “You had her dead to rights and you walked away from her?”
“I chose to live,” I replied. “Can’t say I regret the decision either. Because of the choice I made, I met my wife and had my kids. I’ve lived the life I had because I chose not to throw it away on some vampire.”
​
Sweeney just shook his head.
“You could have gotten the first confirmed kill on a Di Cesare in two centuries, and you threw it away you fucking coward! I could execute you for that!” I noticed his hand hovering over the gun on his hip.
“You could.” I replied, before quietly unholstering the pistol I kept at my side. I aimed it at Sweeney’s head.
​
He stared at me like a slack jawed idiot.
“Would you like to give it a try?”
“W-what…?”
“Would you like to give it a try, Mr. Sweeney? Or would you like to see the sun tomorrow?”
He stared down the barrel of my gun, and I already knew what his choice would be.
​
Sweeney took a step back. I saw his hand move away from his holster, and I lowered the gun with a huff.
“Thought so,” I said.
Mr. Sweeney left me without another word.
I knew he would not return.

Context: The one-armed knight known as Sir Calabas approached your werewolf pack years ago with news that one among you held the power of a hero that once defeated the world-ending dragon, Asmond. He gave your father, the Alpha werewolf, the rusted hilt of a bladeless sword, calling it the Blade of Ember, and tasked him with finding the hero. Your older brother was selected and you've helped him train for the big confrontation as best you could. It seems the day has come. Asmond has awoken and the hero must confront him. You know your brother will win... right?
Setting: The werewolf village/ Mt. Ironside
Tags:[MMM4A][Kind Knight Speaker][Mean Older Bro Werewolf Speaker][Dragon Speaker][Kind Werewolf Listener][Prophecy][Slay the Dragon][Lore Drops][Enthusiastic][Underdog Listener][Fantasy][Magic][CW: Themes of Abuse/Neglect]
Usage: You may tweak or record this script. Gender flipping is OK! Please credit me if you use this script in any of your projects. If you would like to use this script for a paywalled recording, please note:
Monetization: All forms of monetization are OK with me! Youtube, Patreon, etc. I would appreciate being able to listen to the recording, if possible. Let me know if you have any questions. Thank you!
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[K] = Sir Calabas, the kindly one-armed knight
[B] = Remrik, your older brother
[A] = Asmond, the world-ending dragon
[Scene opens within your village]
[SFX: Old-timey village ambiance/ the occasional howl followed by a horse trotting along and armored feet hitting the ground]
[You sit underneath the hut you call home when you see a familiar man wandering into your village]
[Pause!]
[You wave at him and he approaches with a smile]
“Runt! Good to see you again, little one. What are you doing underneath your hut?”
[Pause]
[His smile wanes slightly]
[K] “Ah. Your father is nursing a hangover and wanted you out of the house to sleep it off. Well, I suppose it’s good your Aunt is so good at covering the duties of an Alpha werewolf, hm?”
[Pause <3]
[K] “Hmhm… I know you don’t mind. Your enthusiasm is always a welcome sight amongst the other werewolves here if I might say. Getting your pack’s assistance in dealing with Asmond was already quite the trial, but you’ve always been a treat to speak with. Ah… With that said, is your brother about?”
[Pause!]
[K] “Ah, he’s polishing the sword’s hilt. Good. Have you seen the blade itself form yet?”
[...]
[The Knight raises an eyebrow]
[K] “He says he’s made the Blade of Ember manifest but doesn’t want to show it off until after Asmond is defeated? Mm… Has your father seen your brother manifest the blade?”
[Pause!]
[The Knight sighs in relief]
[K] “Good… It’d be incredibly unfortunate if the witch’s prophecy were wrong in the wake of a, well, world-ending dragon slumbering in the mountain. Especially when the mountain has begun to shake…”
[Pause?]
[K] “...Why does Asmond want to end the world?... Hm. You know, I never thought to ask him while he was ripping my arm off.”
[...]
[The Knight’s bitterness eases as he sees you shrink back from him a bit]
[K] “...Apologies, Runt. Part of being a hero is confronting people who cannot be reasoned with. Some people simply wish harm, and Asmond is one of them.”
[...Pause]
[He laughs a little]
[K] “You don’t understand but you’re still happy to see me?”
[The Knight smiles and ruffles your head gently]
[K] “Hm. Well, at least you’re happy to see me. I know werewolves and humans don’t typically get along but you’d think I’d have won your old man over with the whiskey by now, hm?”
[Pause]
[His smile fades slightly]
[K] “...Runt, you look like you got into a tussle with a wild boar. What happened?”
[Pause!]
[He listens, unreadable]
[K] “You’ve been helping your big brother train to slay the dragon? How so?”
[Pause]
[K] “...Sparring. And, ah, how have you found it?”
[Pause]
[He smiles at your enthusiasm. It’s a touch sad]
[K] “Yes, I imagine it is quite painful… but to see someone so young that loves their family so warms my old heart. You are earnest, Runt, even in the face of extreme cruelty.”
[Pause?]
[K] “Why do I say cruelty? Ah… I don’t mean to offend. I suppose it is just the difference in how humans and werewolves raise their children. My big brother and I would scrap all the time when we were young, but… he always knew when enough was enough. When to pull his punches… It seems like your brother is not acting in-”.
[SFX: A door swinging open]
[The door to your hut swings open and your brother hurries out, almost knocking you over]
[B] “Move, Runt! Sir Calabas, I’m ready to confront the dragon!”
[Pause!]
[Your brother rolls his eyes]
[B] “Runt, I told you, I don’t have time to show you the blade waking up! You’ll just have to wait until I slay the dragon, just like the prophecy said!”
[Pause <3]
[Man, your brother is so cool. But also ow that was totally a rock your knee landed on]
[K, stern] “You’d be wise to treat your sibling better, Remrik.”
[B] “Aw, Runt’s used to it. They know it’s all in good fun, right? Besides, the mountain is shaking… That means Asmond has woken up, right?”
[K, sighing] “Yes. You have the Blade of Ember, then?”
[SFX: Your brother patting the sword’s sheathe]
[B] “Raring to go, got it sheathed right at my hip!”
[Pause!!]
[B] “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be careful, Runt. I’m the hero, remember?”
[Pause!!!]
[The Knight smiles again as you cheer him on]
[K] “Hmhm… Come, Remrik. We must meet Asmond on his ground and strike him down. If we don’t…”
[B] “No way! We’ve got this, Tin Can! Runt, make sure to tell Da to put the feast on for when we get back! I’m gonna be swarmed in pretty she-wolves and hungry as Hell.”
[Pause!]
[You know that probably means you’re sleeping under the hut again but you’re too happy for him to care]
[K] “Take care, Runt. Come, Remrik, we must away!”
[SFX: The two of them hurrying off together]
[Pause]
[You go back into the house to try and find your Da. Like usual, he’s slumped in bed, snoring away. You go to shake him awake when your foot hits something metal]
[SFX: A door opening and footsteps on creaking wooden boards]
[Pause]
[SFX: Big ol’ werewolf snoring]
[Pause]
[SFX: Something metal skidding on a wooden floor]
[You look down at what you kicked and horror flies down your throat. The Blade of Ember sits discarded on the ground. As always, it looks the part of a simple, rusted sword handle, but you know its power]
[...]
[SFX: Runt grabbing the sword’s hilt and running like a mad person]
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Scene fades back into the insides of the mountain]
[SFX: The mountain shaking/rocks falling as Calabas and Remrik race through to the dragon’s den]
[K] “Brace yourself, Remrik! The den of Asmond lies just ahead!”
[B] “I’m ready, Sir!”
[SFX: Them running and then skidding to a stop]
[The small tunnel opens into an endless abyss of a cavern. A dragon the size of a small city is already lumbering to his feet, rumbling with displeasure]
[A] “Finally… I wake once more.”
[SFX: The mountain shaking from his voice]
[B] “BLEEDING GODS HE’S BIG!”
[K, sharply] “Do not give in to fear! Draw the blade and prepare to fight!”
[Remrik grabs at the sheathe a few times before he goes white as a ghost]
[B] “...oh fuck.”
[K, in disbelief] “You left the sword?!”
[B] “I might have left the sword…”
[The dragon lets out an almost polite chuckle, amused]
[Note: Recommend shifting vocals so that they sound farther away to shift to Runt’s perspective]
[A] “...Ten long years and you’ve grown no less bumbling, hm, Calabas? That kind of thinking is exactly why I got to enjoy gobbling up your arm.”
[K] “...Run, Remrik. Run back to your village and find the blade!”
[B, panicked] “B-But-!”
[K] “GO, GODAMN YOU!”
[SFX: The mountain rumbling harder]
[A] “No, no, I don’t think so. Prophetic heroes do tend to be so simultaneously annoying and underwhelming. What have you brought me, Calabas? A whimpering pup with his tail tucked between his legs, wondering why the smell of piss is so strong? Hmhm… Well, that’s fine. You’ll only have to endure the smell of burnt fur for a moment!”
[Pause!]
[SFX: The dragon sucking in a breath and blasting them with fire]
[B] “M-Mother!”
[K] “GET BEHIND ME, BOY!”
[You rush in with the sword hilt, swinging it wildly, not knowing what else to do. You’re not going to let this mean man hurt your brother or your friend, no matter what happens!]
[B] “R-Runt?!”
[K] “RUNT, NO!”
[SFX: The cry of a phoenix followed by an eruption of magic]
[The hilt begins to vibrate in your hand as you swing it again. Fire surges toward you. Your body is crushed by fear but the smallest ember in you pushes forward. You have to protect them]
[Pause!!!]
[A, horrified] “N-No.”
[B] “What?!”
[K] “...Runt…”
[SFX: An explosion of magical fire]
[You hold the blade before you, nearly blinded by the heat coming off of it. Runes flash, hissing in tongues you don’t know. Yet, you hold it as best you can, staring up at a creature a thousand times your size]
[A] “...the hero lives…”
[B] “What?!? B-But, I was-!”
[K] “The hero lives, indeed…”
[He turns to the dragon, staring him down]
[K] “...Flee while you can, Asmond. Know that for whatever deeds you commit, you shall face us in the end.”
[The dragon growls, staring you down. You look up at him, more baffled than anything, but growl like a proper wolf and step forward]
[SFX: The dragon growling/pause-beat/Runt growling, if desired]
[Pause]
[SFX: The dragon stepping back uncertainly]
[A] “...I should strike you all down… Here in this very moment!”
[K, coldly] “You can try.”
[That seems to shake the dragon. He lets out a huff of fear and takes flight, racing for the skyline]
[SFX: The huff noted above and big ol’ dragon wings flapping away]
[B] “...I don’t understand… Why didn’t the sword respond to me? The witch said I was the hero!”
[K] “The witch said that the hero’s spirit lived among your pack. I left it with your Alpha, your father, to determine who that was. Apparently, it was not you.”
[B] “But I’m the best warrior in our clan, I don’t-?!”
[Their arguing fades into the background as you decide now is a really good time for a nap]
[SFX: Distortion to show the Listener is passing out / a thud as they hit the ground]
[To be continued]
Note: This story hit me hard and I don’t know why, I’m just really proud of it <3
Second note: This script was written while I was listening to ‘Into Free - Dangan’ from Dragon’s Dogma.
Third note: Runt is eighteen, for those curious. Remrik is about twenty-two. Calabas is in his mid-thirties. That is why they are little bro-ing Runt so hard XD

"Think of this as a chance at revenge," Sweeney said.
​
Revenge.
​
What a moronically quaint idea.
​
This jumped up little shit had come into my home, interrupted my retirement and here he was talking to me about revenge, as if he knew the first thing about what I’d seen, what I’d been through, why I’d quit.
​
Looking into his eyes, I knew he didn’t understand. I knew he couldn’t.
​
I've been hunting vampires for most of my life. I've killed more of them than I can count. But Clementine Di Cesare was no ordinary vampire. Hell, none of the Di Cesares were ordinary vampires, but even among them Clementine was… unique. She was the one all the others quietly feared. The one who was even spoken of with reverence by the Di Cesares masters, those twin Immortals who could not be killed by any weapon of this world. Seeking revenge against her was like seeking revenge against death itself.
​
“Revenge?” I repeated, with a dismissive scoff.
“You’re really going to tell me that after what she put you through, you don’t want revenge?” Sweeney asked.
“If you knew what she did to me, you’d know why I don’t want revenge,” I replied.
“Really? Sorry Franklin, but I don’t buy that. Look, I get it if you’re reluctant to jump back into the fight. I do. You of all people know just how dangerous the Di Cesare’s are. Especially ‘La Morte’.”
​
I looked over at him as he said that name. It rolled off his tongue so irreverently. To him, it was just a name. An alias assigned to some vampire he’s only heard of stories. He didn’t utter it with the respect it deserved, and I almost couldn’t be bothered to correct him. Any words spent on this small minded glory hound were probably wasted.
​
“Yes, I do know.”
“Which is why I need you,” Sweeney said. He almost sounded as if he were pleading with me. “Think of this as an opportunity to set things right… to put that vampire bitch in the ground where she belongs, and save God only knows how many lives in the process!”
I sighed.
He just didn’t get it.
​
“Mark my words, Mr. Sweeney, if you chase after Clementine Di Cesare, you’ll end far more lives than you save. She didn’t get a name like ‘La Morte’ for nothing. She earned it. Purchased it with the blood of the tens of thousands she’s sent screaming into the maw of Hell. She is not something you chase, Sweeney.”
“She’s a vampire,” Sweeney said dismissively. “She’s another enemy to destroy.”
“That’s what George Bundy said,” I replied. “Then not too long after, he died.”
“I’m not George Bundy,” Sweeney said.
“No. You sure as hell ain’t,” I agreed, before looking the kid in the eye.
​
He thought he was an up and comer, climbing the ranks of the Brethren. He probably thought of himself as some sort of badass vampire hunter too, when in reality he could never have so much as dreamed of holding a candle to the likes of Bundy… or hell, any of the men who’d died in Brazil.
“You should watch your tone with me,” Sweeney warned.
“Or you’ll do what?” I asked, “You ain’t going to frighten me with vague threats, boy. I’ve walked through Hell, trying to kill the Devil. What have you done?”
​
Sweeney bit his lip but didn’t respond.
“There’s nothing you can say or do that will intimidate me,” I said, before lighting myself a cigarette. I stared at the road outside of my porch, old memories flooding back to me before looking over at Sweeney again. He sat in his chair beside me like a sulky child. This was the man who wanted to destroy the Di Cesare family? Pathetic.
​
“Exactly how much do you know about the Brazil Job?” I asked.
“I know it was a failure. Clementine Di Cesare killed most of the men the Brethren sent out… all except for you. You were the only one good enough to beat her.”
“Good enough…” I repeated with a huff, “Hardly… whatever picture you’ve got in your head of some glorified battle, throw it away. Trust me, the Brazil Job was anything but glorious. It was a two hour long trek through Hell. And I didn’t beat Di Cesare at the end of it. I survived her. They’re two different things entirely.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” Sweeney said.
“You wouldn’t, would you?” I sighed and took another drag on my cigarette.
​
This kid wasn’t going to leave until I made him understand… so I told him my story. I told him everything even though I knew he’d learn nothing from it.
​
***
​
I’d joined up with the Brethren Knights of St. Fontaine back in the 1980s to hunt monsters. Back then, it seemed like the best use of my skills. I’d done my tours with the army, but even after I got out, I was still looking for an enemy to fight. So naturally, once I found out that vampires were real, I set my sights on them. It seemed like the most sensible thing to do at the time.
​
The Brethren Knights fancied themselves the descendants of the Knights Templar, and they insisted that their God given mission was to protect mankind from the things that lurked in the shadows. I didn’t really have much love for God at the time, but if the Bretheren were the ones fighting the monsters, then I was happy to tolerate the Jesus freaks in their ranks.
​
It was 1988 when we first heard whispers of the Imperium. A supposed cabal of vampires, trying to get them organized. At the time, it’d seemed too crazy to be true. Vampires generally went their own way, in my experience. At most, they might have a partner but other than they they didn’t really socialize with their own kind. But supposedly someone out there had the big fucking balls to keep them in line, and whoever they were, they scared the shit out of the Brethren.
​
They’d started targeting high profile vampires, trying to find someone who was involved in this ‘Imperium’, hoping that maybe they might get someone to talk. And it wasn’t long until they found someone who did.
​
From my understanding, the vampire they captured didn’t seem to know much about who was actually running the show. But they knew who their second in command was… and that was when I first head about the Di Cesare family.
​
The name was familiar to some of the higher ups in the Brethren, and I’d heard some stories. Not sure which were true, but the long and short of it was that the Di Cesare’s and the Brethren shared a bloody history, and didn’t particularly like each other too much.
​
George Bundy explained it to me like this at one point: ‘The Di Cesare’s are an old family. Most of them used to be witches, up until their Matriarch turned them into vampires. Now they’re a whole new kind of nasty. Far as I know, the only time anyone’s actually managed to kill one was about 200 years ago. Anyone who’s tried since has ended up dead, so most folks don’t even bother anymore.’
​
I guess it shouldn’t have been surprising they’d be involved in the Imperium, but the mere mention of their name ruffled some feathers higher up on the chain of command, and eventually they put out a kill order on them. Most of the Di Cesare’s were generally pretty hard to track down, but the top brass had a pretty good line on their matriarch, Bianca Di Cesare. Supposedly, she’d been spotted near the family’s private estate in Brazil and rumor had it that most of her daughters were there too.
​
Normally, the brass wouldn’t have sanctioned any kind of attack on them. The Di Cesare’s were already considered off limits, and attacking them at their private estate was considered damn near impossible. The estate was located in a small mining town outside of Manaus called Refugio de Julia, or just Julia for short. The town was fairly remote, being only accessible from a few backroads and most folks tended to avoid it, claiming they’d had various strange encounters in the area. Their accounts described unsettling pale figures with dark hair and large green eyes working in the mines, although some of the more disturbing stories we heard involved sightings of other creatures in the jungle surrounding the town. Massive spiders with humanoid faces, tending rotting corpses filled with stinging bees, giant howling beasts who tore through the forest, hunting prey, and beautiful women who would appear in the nearby towns, betwitching men into coming away with them only to reveal themselves as monsters who fed on the blood of their victims. Some had even claimed the Di Cesares themselves were such beasts… although those claims weren’t taken quite as seriously.
​
A skeptic might say the stories that surrounded Julia seemed like little more than just local superstition… but the Brethren had been dealing with the supernatural for long enough to recognize when something was probably real, and when it was probably fake and they knew damn well that most of the stories about Julia were probably true. None of them had ever dared set foot in Julia to find out for sure, since doing so would probably be suicide, but the theory was that the Di Cesares had created Julia as something of a refuge for other creatures. Other vampires, werewolves, arachne, karah and all sorts of other hellspawn. They offered them a home and safety in exchange for their labor in the mines. Hell, the name of the town more or less spelled it out.
​
Refugio de Julia
​
Julia’s Haven.
​
Julia had been the name of the only member of the Di Cesare family that the Brethren had ever killed, so I guess it was only fitting they named the town after her.
​
I honestly think using other creatures like them as a workforce was a bit inspired… since it made Julia damn near impenetrable. Reaching their estate at the far side of the town would have been impossible without being noticed by every creature of hell living in that town, and odds are they’d tear anyone apart long before they even reached the gates of the Di Cesare estate. And if one had the bright idea to approach the estate from another angle, they’d be trudging through miles and miles of rainforest to do so, only end up face to face with a massive stone wall that kept the rainforest out.
​
In effect - the Di Cesare estate was a fortress. Getting in would be no easy feat, to say nothing of confronting the vampires within. But with the fear of the Imperium gnawing at the back of their minds, the Brethren had finally set their minds to trying.
​
George Bundy had been the one in charge of planning the operation out.
​
I’d known Bundy before I’d joined up with the Brethren. Hell, Bundy was the whole reason I’d joined the Brethren. He’d been my CO a number of years back, and he’d earned his reputation as a hardass just about ten or twenty times over. Bundy was a gruff looking man with a bushy moustache and intense eyes. During the years I knew him, I don’t believe I ever once saw him so much as crack a smile. He only ever seemed to speak when he felt there was something he needed to say. Otherwise, he was usually dead silent.
​
He was somewhere in his late fifties back in 88. By all rights, he ought to have retired years ago. But he refused.
“I’m a soldier,” He said, when I asked him about it once. “That’s all I am. I don’t know what else to be.”
​
Bundy’s initial plan had been to hit the Di Cesare estate from the air. Come in fast and loud with a couple of helicopters and see how those vampires stood up to some good old American flak. The idea got shot down pretty quickly, so to speak. Apperantly, most if not all of the Di Cesares had cursed their own bodies, causing whatever wound one inflicted on them to appear on whoever it was who had wounded them. Going in guns blazing would have ended in a bloodbath… and not for them. There were also some concerns about drawing attention from Julia. With no conclusive data on just what they had living in that town, there was no guarantee we’d be safe in the air. A few eyewitnesses had described seeing giant nests in some of the trees in the jungle, supposedly consistent with the nests made by harpies.
​
Flying in guns blazing was out. So Bundy went back to the drawing board and what he came back with… well, it was ballsy, but it almost seemed like it just might work. During his reconnisance of the Di Cesare’s estate, he’d noticed a large but shallow tributary flowing into the amazon river that led right through the Di Cesare’s estate. Along the tributary was an abandoned water mill, that connected to the Di Cesare estate.
​
He’d suggested using the water mill to gain entry to the grounds, and from there, move on the Di Cesare’s. That plan had been approved, and Bundy had been allowed to handpick his team for the operation. He’d chosen fifteen men, all of them ex military, most of them having served under him before.
​
He’d told us we would be dividing into three teams of five men each. We would leave Manaus by boat, and land at three different areas near the tributary before making our way to the mill on foot, where we would regroup, before moving on the Di Cesares. The reason for the division was to ensure that if any of our teams ran into trouble upon making ground, the entire operation wouldn’t be compromised.
​
Team 1, led by Bundy himself would depart first and land to the west of the tributary. Team 2, led by a man named Ferdinand Hernandez would make land about fifteen minutes later near the mouth of the tributary and Team 3, to be led by me would land fifteen minutes later to the east.
​
On the day of the operation, I sat in my boat, watching as the other two left. It was twilight when we set out, and I remember that as my team and I carried out our final checks on our equipment, the only thing I felt was a familiar anticipation.
​
I’d hesitate to call it fear. Fear is what came later. Anticipation is the better word. I knew we could be walking into a tough situation… but I trusted Bundy. I trusted he’d run a smooth op. God knew, he’d done it a thousand times before.
​
The team assigned to me wasn’t anything particularly special. They were competent enough, but none of them would’ve been my first choices. Jack McMullen, for instance, who was about the same age as I was at the time. We’d both served under Bundy before, although while I respected Bundy, Jack was wholly devoted to him. I swear, if the man had told him to stuff a live grenade up his ass, Jack would’ve done it without a moments hesitation. I dunno if Jack simply saw him as the father he’d never had or what, but he damn near worshipped Bundy.
​
I can’t quite say the same for the other guys we had with us, though. One of them, some greenhorn by the name of Pearce Wilson struck me as an airheaded pretty boy who’d never actually had his boots on the ground before, while the other one, Scott Barber had left a bad taste in my mouth last time we’d worked together. Barber was capable… but he was violent. This was a kid with a hell of a chip on his shoulder, and it looked a hell of a lot like that Confederate flag patch he wore on his jacket. He wanted an excuse to shoot something, and I don’t think he cared what. Under most circumstances I’m not sure I would’ve fully trusted him with a gun.
​
The last one though, Joseph Feng… him I trusted. Feng was the one I knew the least about, and he didn’t seem much for conversation. But he handled himself competently enough and seemed to know when to sit down and shut up.
​
When Team 2’s boat was far enough away, we got the radio signal to follow. Barber was the one steering the boat, so I gave him the order to cast off and we ventured out into the twilight, unaware of just what was waiting for us out there.
​
***
​
We landed in our designated area fifteen minutes after Team 2 confirmed they’d touched down at theirs. Our landing was fairly uneventful. Feng, Barber, and I secured the boat before we radio’d Bundy to let him know we were in position. After that, it was just a matter of making it to the tributary.
​
As we ventured into the jungle, the world around us was quiet. There was wind, the whisper of the river behind us, and the sounds of animals. But little else. The river fell away behind us as we moved in single file toward the tributary, maintaining radio silence as we did.
​
It was about a half hour before we heard the gunshot.
​
Just one, echoing through the twilight. But it was enough to give us pause.
​
“The fuck was that?” I heard Barber ask. Immediately, the kid was on high alert, with his gun raised as if he were expecting every monster in Julia to come charging at us from all angles.
I just listened, waiting to hear if there was anything else. I half expected my radio to come to life, but it didn’t.
“Team 1, status?” I asked.
The radio crackled with static, but there was no response.
​
I tried it again, but still with no success. The radio was working, that much I was sure of. Something had to be blocking the signal.
“What’s going on?” Feng asked.
“Dunno,” I replied. “Comms are down.”
“Down?” Wilson asked, “So we’re flying blind out here, then?”
“More or less,” I replied.
“What do we do? Do we go back… if the comms are down…”
“Just because something’s jamming our signal doesn’t mean we’re made,” I said. “Relax. We keep moving for now. You keep your eyes wide open, and your head on a swivel. We’ll make it to the tributary and see if we can’t meet up with the other teams.”
I could tell Wilson wasn’t a fan of my answer, but I didn’t much care. We had a job to do, and I aimed to do it.
​
I pressed on without a further word and the others followed. Up ahead, I could hear the sound of running water and picked up the pace. I figured the tributary had to be close… and I was right.
​
I emerged from the brush into the stream, only to pause when I saw what was waiting for us in the water.
​
In the dying sunlight, it was impossible to mistake the bodies sprawled out on the rocks as anything else… and all I needed to do was look at their uniforms to know they were our people.
“Jesus…” I heard Wilson say under his breath. He froze up, lingering by the bank as I cautiously approached one of the bodies.
​
It belonged to a somewhat heavyset man with a thin mustache who I recognized as Hernandez. His eyes were still open, although lifeless and staring in different directions, and there was a clean hole in his forehead where a bullet had ended his life. The gunshot we’d heard earlier had likely been the sound of his death.
​
Looking at the bodies around him, I knew they had to be the rest of Team 2… although it was a little harder pinning down their cause of death. Some sort of bladed weapon, perhaps, judging by the state of them. I realized the odds were that they walked into some sort of ambush.
“What about Bundy and Team 1?” Jack asked, “Any sign of them?”
“No,” I said. “These bodies are all from Team 2… Bundy could still be ahead of us.”
“Then we need to keep going!”
​
Jack turned, heading up the stream and Barber was right behind him. Feng paused for a moment, thinking this over before following. Only Wilson remained.
“How do we know we’re not walking into a trap?” He asked.
“We’ll deal with that when we get to it,” I said before moving to follow the others.
“With all due respect, Sarge… that doesn’t sound like the best course of action!” Wilson argued, finally following me. “It sounds just like a good way to get killed!”
“Yeah?” I asked, “I’m gonna tell you an ugly truth, kid. That’s the job. Make your peace with it, and it’ll go a lot easier.”
​
Wilson didn’t like that answer either and trailed off behind me, watching as I continued upstream. For a moment, I half expected him to go back to the boat… but no. I dunno if he found his balls or just didn’t want to get left behind, but he started to follow us again.
​
I kept trying to raise Team 1 on the radio while we walked, although I still had no luck. The light above us slowly faded into darkness as we trudged through the water in silence, guns sitting comfortably in our hands and mosquitos biting at our necks.
​
It wasn’t until we lost Feng that I heard anybody so much as make a sound, and when we lost Feng… it happened almost instantaneously. One minute, he was at the head of the group, walking just ahead of Jack and I. The next, he was gone, only barely having the time to let out a scream as he fell into the river ahead of us.
​
The rest of us paused. Jack seemed to freeze and I pushed past him, calling out for Feng as I did. As punishment for my compassion, I almost went down after him. I only barely stopped myself from stepping on the slippery rocks that had helped send him to his demise.
​
I could see Feng’s body in the water, and I could see the blood pouring out of him. He twitched a few times, but I knew he was dead. The sharpened wooden spikes jutting out of him confirmed as much.
“What the hell…” Jack said under his breath, staring at Feng’s corpse in disbelief. “That’s a fucking spike trap!”
​
Yeah.
​
It was indeed a fucking spike trap.
​
I could see other spikes jutting out of the water ahead of us, just past a small dam of rocks that were just slippery enough to make it difficult to stop yourself from falling. Some of those spikes had other bodies on them… likely members of Team 1. I only counted two, although that still didn’t exactly bode well.
​
“They put a fucking spike trap in the goddamn stream…” Jack said, “Who the hell does that?”
“Somebody who’s expecting us to use the stream,” I replied.
“So they know we’re coming?” Barber asked.
“Clearly…” I replied. “And they’ve got a good idea on what our route is too.”
​
“Yeah, no shit!” Barber snapped. “Christ… let’s get the fuck out of here. There’s probably more fucking traps upstream!”
“Bundy’s orders were clear!” Jack argued.
“Bundy’s probably dead by now!” Barber replied, before looking at me. “Sarge, come on. You have to know this is suicide!”
“Suicide was part of the job description, was it not?” I asked.
“The job is to kill those fucking vampires, not to die in the goddamn process! We need to get out of the stream and into the woods!”
​
“Judging by the fate Team 2 met, I’m not sure the forest is someplace we want to be right now,” I replied.
“Excuse me?” Barber asked, “What the hell are you talking about, Sarge?”
“Five men dead, but only one gunshot. How did the rest die?”
​
Barber didn’t seem to be able to answer that.
“By now… yes. It’s clear we’ve walked into a trap. And yes, I understand that it makes sense to try and leave that trap… but I don’t know if we’ll be safer in the jungle. Something jumped Team 2. Cut them apart, and then shot Hernandez as a warning. They didn’t have to shoot him. They did it so we’d hear.”
“Your point being?” Barber asked.
“I don’t think this is just a trap, Barber. It’s a game. Stop playing, and you might just end up like our friends downstream.”
“A game?” Wilson asked, “Sarge, you can’t be serious!”
​
“From where I’m standing, we have a better chance of surviving in the stream,” I said. “Look, we’re at least halfway to the rendezvous point, and there have to be at least two members of Team 1 left. The safest thing to do right now is to follow them.”
“You’re off your fucking rocker, Sarge,” Barber spat, locking his eyes with mine. For a moment, I thought the boy was going to try and fight me. But no. He was wise enough to stand down.
“If you wanna get yourself killed, go right the fuck ahead. Just leave me out of it! Wilson, come on,” Barber said before trudging over to the edge of the stream. Wilson didn’t even hesitate, just looking back at Jack and I quietly before he disappeared into the forest with Barber.
​
“You’re not gonna stop them?” Jack asked.
“No,” I replied. “God willing, there’s a chance that pigheaded asshole is right… dunno how much of a chance, but a chance.”
“Then how come we’re not following him?” Jack asked.
“There’s also a chance he’s wrong.”
I turned, before making my way around the spike trap.
“Keep a slower pace,” I said. “Watch for traps.”
​
Jack hesitated for a moment, but he followed me without any further questions and we walked in silence for a little longer.
​
We heard nothing from the trees. Nothing that told us about the fate of Barber and Wilson. I wasn’t sure if that was good news or not.
​
In fact, I don’t think we heard a thing until about a half hour later, when we heard the explosion.
​
It came out of almost nowhere, but ahead of us I could see a flash of light and hear the screams of men. On instinct, I found myself picking up the pace and could hear Jack behind me. In the low light, I saw a shape float past me in the stream. It took me a moment to realize that it was a severed human arm.
​
In the water ahead of us, I could see a figure clinging to one of the rocks and trying to pick himself up. I recognized him as George Bundy.
​
Jack was at his side almost immediately, trying to help the old man to his feet.
“Sir! Are you alright?”
Bundy just wheezed, before his legs gave out from under him. I helped Jack drag him to the shore so he could sit and rest for a moment.
“What the hell was that?” I asked, looking back at the stream.
“Grenade trap… I think…” Bundy panted, “Fucking tripwire… Popkov tripped it, I think…”
​
Popkov… odds are he was one of the two mangled corpses lying in the river a few feet away from us. It seemed they’d taken the brunt of the explosion, although Bundy still had some shrapnel in his arm that Jack was tending to.
“Christ… whole fucking ops gone to shit…” Bundy spat. “Team 2 got taken out just about as soon as they landed. Someone killed them and dumped them in the goddamn river. Lost half my boys to the fucking spike trap and half to this…”
​
He looked up at us, before spitting onto the ground.
“Guess you two haven’t done much better.”
“Hard to say,” I replied. “Two of ours took off into the woods, trying to avoid the traps.”
“Then they’re dead,” Bundy replied. “I’ve seen her watching us… always just up ahead, always from a distance… she’s seeing how far we’ll go. How much we’ll take…”
“She?” I asked.
“La Morte. Should’ve figured she’d be the one to greet us.”
“La Morte?” I asked.
​
“It’s Italian. Supposedly, she earned that name around the time the Di Cesares fled Venice. It’s funny, the Brethren like to act like the Di Cesares leaving Venice was some big victory of theirs, since before they did, they finally killed one of them… hard to call it a victory though, considering how many corpses they made before they fled. And most of them came from La Morte…”
Bundy winced in pain as Jack bandaged his arm before he continued talking.
​
“See… when the Di Cesare’s left Venice, one of them stayed behind. Clementine, the Scorpio sister. Guess she was unwilling to leave the fight unfinished… and according to the stories, the death toll she personally amassed in the years after the Di Cesare’s left Venice make the bodies they claimed during the Venetian Massacre a hundred and fifty years prior look like a pittance. The Brethren still occupying the city started to call her La Morte. Death. Cuz wherever she went, death followed in her wake… and it seems we’ve walked right into her open arms, haven’t we, boys?”
​
“You’re sure it’s her?” I asked.
“She’s a Di Cesare… and the shit we’ve seen out here… I don’t see any other Di Cesare setting those traps. It’s her. I’m sure of it. She’s watching us. Seeing how far we’ll go. Seeing if we’ll turn tail…”
“Should we?” Jack asked, and Bundy finally seemed to acknowledge him.
“Excuse me?” He asked.
“Should we? Look, sir… I’d follow you into the mouth of Hell, but right now, we’re down from fifteen men to three. Can’t say I’m optimistic about our chances right now. If this woman is half as bad as you’re saying she is, maybe it’s time we took a step back!”
​
Jack looked at me, hoping I might back him up, but I remained silent.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Bundy asked.
“What I’m hearing here, is that as of right now, the vampire out there could kill us at any time. She hasn’t. Far as I’m concerned, that’s mercy. Maybe we should be taking it while it’s offered.”
Bundy stared at him, before chuckling. I think it was the first time I’d ever seen him laugh.
​
“Just walk away, then?” He asked.
“Walk away, and come back better prepared!” Jack corrected.
“Walk away,” Bundy said again. “We walk away now, and there won’t be a chance to come back better prepared. We get one shot at this. One. Failure is not an option. We go in there and we kill them or we die. End of discussion.”
“And how exactly are we even supposed to kill them?” Jack asked, “That curse they have… bullets aren’t gonna do shit, sir!”
“Yours won’t, mine will…”
Bundy pulled his pistol from his holster. I noticed some sort of pattern crudely engraved on it.
​
“I’ve been doing some research… studied the curse they put on themselves… and I think I’ve found a way to break it. Not sure if it’ll work yet… but we get one chance to test it.”
Jack stared at the gun, then back at Bundy.
“Sir… do you hear yourself?” He asked quietly, “You can’t be serious… right now, even with that gun we don’t stand a chance in he-”
​
The gunshot echoed through the forest and made me jump. Jack’s voice died in his throat as he hit the ground.
​
Bundy stared at him for a moment, before huffing and holstering his pistol again. He draped his coat over his shoulders, before looking over at me.
“No room for failure, Frank,” He said calmly.
I didn’t know what to say to that. I stared down at Jack’s body, my mouth hanging open slightly. When I looked back at Bundy, he was already back in the stream.
​
There was a tense silence between Bundy and I as I followed him along the final stretch of the tributary. He trudged on ahead, covered in sweat and straining with every step, but I could sense the quiet determination he had to see this through. Looking at him, you could’ve told me that George Bundy could wipe out the Di Cesare’s all by himself and I would have believed it in a second.
​
The night around us was full of sound, and each one drew my attention. I watched the forest, expecting to see some sign of La Morte watching us. But I saw nothing, except for what she wanted me to see.
“Mill’s just up ahead,” I heard Bundy say as we pressed on, although I noticed his steps faltering as he seemed to notice something in the trees above us. I stopped behind him, looking up before seeing what he saw, and when I saw it I felt my stomach turn.
​
I’d seen death before.
But what Di Cesare had left out for us… that was something else.
Pearce Wilson and Scott Barber weren’t dead.
But if they could have spoke, I’ve got no doubt they would have begged us to kill them. Wilsons pretty face was covered in blood and his pouty lips were parted as more trickled out of him. His curly blond hair was matted and I could see crimson there. Tree branches portruded from his ribs, while the loops of his entrails dangled out of his opened stomach. And Barber was in just about the same state, only he seemed to at least have the ability to turn his head to look at us.
​
I think he might have tried to speak, but the only sound he seemed to be able to make was a pained whimper.
“Jesus Christ…” I said softly.
“He had nothing to do with this,” Bundy replied. He took one last look at the two dying men hanging from the trees, before moving on.
“We should put them out of their misery, sir,” I said.
​
Bundy paused, before looking back at me.
“Don’t waste the ammo, Frank,” He replied. “They’re already dead.”
“Not yet they’re not!”
“Give them time. They chose to go into the woods. They can live with the consequences… for however long that lasts.”
​
With that, he left them. If I were a more compassionate man, I would have put them out of their misery. But no. Bundy moved on and so did I.
​
He approached the water mill, before examining it. It was an old building, made of stone that had long since been overgrown by moss, and sat right on the wall that separated the Di Cesares estate from the amazon. It hardly looked secure, even if the only entrance hadn’t just been an old wooden door secured with a padlock, finding a way in wouldn’t have been difficult. And it didn’t take much for Bundy to break through that door. All he needed was a couple of well placed kicks and it swung right open.
​
Drawing his gun, Bundy strode inside and I followed him.
“The Di Cesare’s will be in the main house,” He said. “We should find a way in through the back, try and catch them off guard. Main target should be the matriarch, Bianca. Her we should prioritize keeping alive… the rest are expendable.”
​
“Much as you are, I’m sure.” A voice called from deeper in the mill, and both Bundy and I froze.
I noticed movement on the floor above us, and through the shadows, I saw a tall woman watching us. She was dressed all in black, with blond hair tied back in a ponytail and the intense eyes of a soldier.
​
This had to be Clementine Di Cesare.
​
Bundy aimed his pistol at her, although she only barely seemed to notice.
“Only two of you left… I’m not sure the odds are in your favor,” The woman said. Her voice was low, calm and quiet.
“Only one way to find out,” Bundy growled.
“And only one way to walk out of this place alive,” Di Cesare countered. “You can put the gun down, turn and walk away. I won’t stop you. There’s no shame in living.”
​
“All the bodies you’ve left in your wake… that’s rich,” Bundy said.
“I don’t relish what I’ve done. I simply don’t know how to do anything else,” She replied. “Think about this, Bundy. Over my lifetime, there have been countless thousands who have come to kill me. All of them are dead, but I am not. Even if you could kill me… you could not kill my sisters. Not all of them. Not before they came for you.”
“Just you, would be enough…” Bundy said, before pulling the trigger.
​
I knew he’d hit her. I knew the bullet pierced her shoulder. But that woman… she didn’t even flinch. She simply dove out of the way before he could shoot again, taking cover and avoiding his next shot.
“Frank, upstairs!” Bundy snapped, “Flush her out!”
I went, trudging up the old wooden steps with my rifle drawn. Only to see Di Cesare vaulting over the railing and back down to the ground floor as soon as I made it up there.
​
Bundy shot at her again, only to miss for a second time. I saw Di Cesare’s arm move, and heard him cry out in pain. In the low light, I could see a dagger protruding from his shoulder. He stumbled back a step, leaving himself open for only a split second.
​
That second was all it took for Di Cesare to raise her own gun and fire just one shot.
​
George Bundy hit the ground without so much as a final scream. There was just a simple hole in his skull where she had shot him.
​
I felt my heart start to race faster. My eyes settled on Bundy’s gun, and I ran for the railing, vaulting it and dropping to the ground below with a thud. Di Cesare shot at me, and I felt the bullet tear through my leg. I reached out for the fallen gun and grabbed it before turning it on Di Cesare, only to find myself staring down the barrel of her own pistol. My finger rested on the trigger, but I didn’t have the guts to pull it.
​
"Kill me, and you will not see the sun tomorrow." She said, her voice still cold and calm.
“Killing you is part of the job…” I replied, but my finger still couldn’t squeeze the trigger.
“And is it worth your life?” Di Cesare asked. “You fail your mission either way.”
“And die with some goddamn honor…”
“There’s no such thing as honor. There is alive and there is dead. Choose.”
​
I knew what I was supposed to choose.
​
But my hands were shaking, as I stared into the face of death. My finger couldn’t squeeze the trigger.
​
The gun collapsed to the floor and Di Cesare kicked it away from me, before huffing and lowering her gun.
“Do not return,” She said softly. “Or next time, I will unleash a hell upon you that will make you beg for simple traps.”
​
She picked Bundy’s gun up off the ground, and then she was gone. After I finally picked myself up off the ground, I was gone too.
​
As I walked back along the stream… I passed the corpses of the men we’d left behind. Barber and Wilson, Jack, Feng, Hernandez, and his team. The flies were already feasting on them. Animals had already torn at them. And as I looked down at their cold corpses, I knew I had made the right choice.
​
I filed my report with the Brethren. Told them that Di Cesare had wiped us out, and a few months later I quietly retired. I never looked back.
​
***
​
“You walked away from her?” Sweeney asked in disbelief, “You had her dead to rights and you walked away from her?”
“I chose to live,” I replied. “Can’t say I regret the decision either. Because of the choice I made, I met my wife and had my kids. I’ve lived the life I had because I chose not to throw it away on some vampire.”
​
Sweeney just shook his head.
“You could have gotten the first confirmed kill on a Di Cesare in two centuries, and you threw it away you fucking coward! I could execute you for that!” I noticed his hand hovering over the gun on his hip.
“You could.” I replied, before quietly unholstering the pistol I kept at my side. I aimed it at Sweeney’s head.
​
He stared at me like a slack jawed idiot.
“Would you like to give it a try?”
“W-what…?”
“Would you like to give it a try, Mr. Sweeney? Or would you like to see the sun tomorrow?”
He stared down the barrel of my gun, and I already knew what his choice would be.
​
Sweeney took a step back. I saw his hand move away from his holster, and I lowered the gun with a huff.
“Thought so,” I said.
Mr. Sweeney left me without another word.
I knew he would not return.

"Whoa!"
As Doctor Neo Cortex was building an army of mutants to conquer the world with, he needed a general. One particular experiment caught his eye, a bandicoot that he would give the name Crashworth Cortex the First. But when it came time to brainwash the marsupial into being a leader, the machine malfunctioned, the bandicoot rejected. Escaping from his creator's clutches, Crash woke up on a beach on a nearby island, immediately setting off to rescue the similarly mutated Tawna. While he would lose contact with Tawna and instead spend his time with his sister Coco, Crash would constantly find himself butting heads with Cortex and his schemes. While he may not be the smartest, his determined athleticism ensured he would find all the crystals, gems, or any other object needed to stop any schemes of world domination.

Legend

Strength

Striking - Spinning / Sliding

• Smashes crates and sends enemies flying through the level¹
  • These enemies can include giant alligators³ and lions^N3
  • Hits enemies into a large metal fan to break it^N2
• In a Die-O-Rama, breaks a tree and causes it to fall on him^TTR
• Breaks a stone pillar^T
• Breaks laser generators⁴
• Knocks back scientists with a metal shield^N2
• Sends smaller foes flying^Sky-A
• Sends a robot flying back to damage machines and speakers⁴
• Hits away stone crates^CB
• Spins around large devices with a platform on one side and a net of crates on the other by spinning said net^T
• Skims rocks on water by spinning them^T
• Sends a boulder over a stream of lava to smash against an enemy¹
  • N-Sane Trilogy version^N1

Striking - Other

• Sends smaller foes flying with punches and kicks^Sky-A
• While brawling with Cortex, breaks through a wooden barrier^T
• Smashes Cortex through reinforced crates^T
• Beats up and breaks metal crates^CotT
• Forces open a trap door with a body slam²
• Breaks reinforced crates with a body slam²
• With an ability, creates a shockwave with his body slams that can destroy reinforced crates³
• Hits with a hammer hard enough to make a small shockwave^CB

Lifting / Throwing

• Lifts an dumbbell with ice weights^RR
• Lifts a dumbbell with stone weights^RR
• Lifts a dumbbell with larger stone weights^RR
• Spins while holding onto Cortex and a power crystal^T
• Holds Crunch over his head while slamming him to the ground^MOM
• Throws Cortex over a gap^T
• Throws Cortex into the mouth of a stone statue^T
• Lifts and throws stone crates^CB
• Throws a device an incredible distance to knock a cage off of a blimp^CotT
• Tears up a tree he's chained to^M2

Other

• Throws wumpa fruit at N. Gin's mech to damage and break different parts^N2
• Leaps around a room^Sky-A

Durability

Blunt Force

• Has an extended brawl with Neo Cortex^T
• Smashes through a wooden barrier while riding a mine cart^W
• Sent flying across a street and into a store window^A
• Struck by a ten ton and hundred ton weight^M2
• Hit and run over by a train^BB

Falling

• Drops a large distance¹
• Jumps off of a waterfall^CotT-DS
• Drops into a cave^T
• Belly flops onto stone⁴
• Falls a large distance onto metal^T
• Falls off a cliff into shallow mud⁴
• Thrown a huge distance through the air^T
• Is in a snowball as it drops off a cliff to smash Dingodile's house^T
• Drops out of Neo Cortex's tower and wakes up the following morning, washed up on the beach of another island¹

Explosive

• Can have their kart blown into the air^CTR
• Launched through the air by three crates blowing up beneath him^M
• Blown through the air by a mass of TNT crates^T
• Is in Cortex's lair as it blows up and emerges seemingly unharmed from rubble^M

Other

• Can be crushed flat in a kart^NK
• Electrocuted so his skeleton can be seen for a duration¹
• Electrocuted into ashes before reforming in the same cutscene^MOM
• Is in a space station as it falls to Earth, crashing into a cliff before landing, with Crash appearing unharmed from the experience. While falling he was holding Aku-Aku in front of him, but it's unlikely this provided him any particular protection^MOM

Speed

• Avoids Papu Papu's swings¹
• Evades blasts in a car while Cortex is chasing them in his own^TTR
• Dodges a freeze ray after it was fired when Crunch couldn't react^CotT
• Keeps ahead of giant chasing animals, such as a triceratops³ and a dragon^W
• Rapidly punches a giant robot^Sky-A

Skill

• Can wall jump^CotT
• Wall runs⁴
• Grinds on rails⁴
• Using flames and removing his trousers, distracts Papu Papu to get behind him for an attack¹

Jacking

In Crash of the Titans and Mind over Mutant, Crash can take over foes, mostly large creatures mutated by a substance called mojo called titans, by stunning them and placing Aku-Aku on their face.
Full Titan RT
General

• After stunning a titan, Crash can put Aku-Aku on their face and control them^CotC
• Titans collapse after being unmasked^CotC
• Jacking works on non-titans, with older mutated creatures like Dingodile and regular people like Neo Cortex being jacked^CotT-GBA

Notable Titan Feats

• All titans can break apart masses of stone^CotT and huge stone walls^MOM
• Scorporilla creates a fissure in the ground with its tail
• Spike can send a boulder flying into a huge tree, felling it^MOM-DS
• Ratcicle instantly freezes and shatters a massive amount of ice^MOM
• Grimly can seemingly slow time around it while moving normally^MOM

Other Abilities

Unlocked

• Double jumps³
• Rocket Jump propels him high into the air^NT
• Can spin for longer durations with the Death Tornado ability, using this to glide through the air³
• Can throw around TNT crates and pull in enemies with his spins^Sky
• Slides large distances with the Super Slide^NT
• With one ability can sneak across lines of stable nitro crates without blowing them up^W
• After getting Speed Shoes, can dash through levels³
• A bazooka that shoots wumpa fruit to defeat enemies and break crates³

Other

• Spins so fast he flies through the air¹
• Glides over gaps with a different kind of spin^CotT
• Burrows into the ground while still being able to stick his legs up and spin them^N2

Masks

Aku-Aku
The spirit of an ancient witch doctor, Aku-Aku has been protecting Crash since his first adventure. Since then, he's also played the role of being the fount of knowledge, knowing whenever evil is occurring and how to stop it.
Full RT

• On breaking an Aku Aku crate, the mask follows Crash to protect him from an attack¹
  • Opening another Aku Aku crate strengthens him, allowing him to protect Crash from two attacks²
  • Opening a third causes Crash to wear the mask temporarily, rendering him invincible for the period¹ while smashing through crates, even reinforced ones³
• Crash skates down areas on Aku-Aku^CotT
  • Can create fire around him while being used like this^CotT-DS

Lani-Loli
The quantum mask of space, Lani-Loli is the first to be found in Crash 4 and takes the role of guide and exposition dealer for the adventure.

• Causes certain items to phase in and out of reality for Crash to be able to affect⁴
• When used by a machine, causes rows of tiles to phase out of reality⁴
• Can sense rifts in space and open them when not being rampantly created by N. Tropy's device, with this likely being applicable to the other quantum masks⁴

Akano
The quantum mask of matter.

• Strengthens spins to break reinforced crates⁴
  • Hits back a large mutated N. Brio⁴
  • These spins deflect green magic⁴
• Causes spins to last longer, providing a gliding effect over gaps⁴
• Is forced to empower a machine, causing it to spin while creating extra energy beams⁴
• Launched out of a machine by an explosion before falling to the ground and entering a dimensional rift⁴
• Is notably heavy⁴
  • Traps Cortex beneath himself⁴

Kupuna-Wa
The quantum mask of time.

• Notably slows down time while allowing Crash to move normally⁴
  • Allows Crash to use ice falling down waterfalls as platforms⁴
  • Like this Crash can touch nitro crates and have time to exit the blast radius before they blow up⁴
• When used by a machine, changes the speed of platforms disappearing and reappearing⁴
• Knows of all time, telling that there's a significant event happening in Crash and Coco's near futures⁴

Ika-Ika
The quantum mask of gravity.

• Flips gravity for Crash⁴
• On waking up, flips gravity for several people in front of him⁴
• When forced by a machine, causes the screen to flip upside down⁴

Karts

General

• Jumps up a ledge^CTR
• Drops down a large distance^CTR
  • Does so again^NK
• All karts can take hits that blow them into the air^CTR and crust them flat^NK
• Capable of giving themselves boosts by drifting^CTR
• Karts go faster when wumpa fruits are collected, and when ten are collected the items used are changed to be stronger^CTR
• In Nitro Kart, the karts were modified to be able to drive along walls and ceilings in certain areas^NK
• After driving alongside a teammate for a while, a Team Up meter fills and allows both racers to use unlimited items for a period on activation^NK

Items - Offensive
These are capable of forcing open a door in the original game and remake.^CTR-N

• Bombs which roll along the road in a straight line, exploding on contact^CTR
  • Fully powered bombs have a larger blast radius^CTR
  • These can be blown up early on command^CTR
• Homing missiles^CTR
  • When powered up they are faster with better tracking^CTR
• Creates an electric shockwave around them^NK3
• Releases a warp orb from Crash 3 that chases after the racer in first place, shocking everyone in their path^CTR
  • When powered up it tracks each racer in front of the user in sequence^CTR
• Releases a tornado which targets first place, throwing any racer it meets up into the air^NK

Items - Traps

• Drops an oil slick^NK2
• Beakers which cause anyone running into them to spin out^CTR-N
  • Turn from green to red at full power, adding an extra effect such as slowing down the kart that drives into them for a while^CTR-N
• Crates of TNT which anyone running into needs to hop rapidly to remove before it explodes^CTR-N
  • These change into nitro crates that explode instantly when powered up^CTR
• Ice mines trap foes in a block of ice^NK
  • When fully powered they give the kart ice physics for the duration^NK
• Static orbs short out circuits on karts, slowing foes down while changing their weapon^NK
  • At full power, they draw racers in and reverse their steering for a time^NK

Items - Other

• Shields which protect against any one hit^NK
  • Can be launched like a bomb, with the fully powered shield protecting indefinitely until hit or thrown^CTR
• Speed boosts^CTR
  • Last longer when powered up^CTR
  • Can be used to evade a missile^NK
• N. Tropy's Clocks spin out and slow down all opposing racers for a period^NK
• Call upon Aku-Aku to speed up the kart and render them invulnerable for a bit^CTR

Tag Team Racing Cars

• In Crash Tag Team Racing, all racer's vehicles can merge with each other and break apart again at will^TTR
• Can drive through tree-shaped targets^TTR
• Have a variety of weapons with each car combination being able to swap between two, which can include wumpa fruit launchers and magnetic blasts
  • Missiles
  • A machine gun
  • Electric shotgun blasts^TTR
• Can be rocket propelled^TTR
• Can launch items as large as pianos^TTR

Other Vehicles

Ground

• The atlasphere is a large orb which Crash rolls around in^W
  • Used to seemingly imbue rolling rocks with power for Aku Aku to use^W
  • Can jump in a cage shaped like an atlasphere⁴
• Mine carts^W
• A pogo stick^CB
• Crash's Jeep keeps ahead of a rhino stampede^W
• Motorbikes³
  • Smash through large wooden barriers^N3
• A hovercraft^CB
• Drives a tiny tank which can drop mines^CB
• A tank which shoots ammo which destroys other tanks with one shot and rebounds off of walls^RR
• A mech which has a fruit bazooka on the arm^W
  • Breaks reinforced crates by jumping on them^W
  • Runs away from an explosion^W
  • A variant of it has a water cannon which, when empowered by Aku-Aku, hurts Crunch imbued with the fire Elemental^W
• A boxing mech^BB
• At one point pilots Mecha-Bandicoot, a Neo Cortex creation that can shoot missiles and energy blasts^T
  • Has a chainsaw arm that finishes off another mech^T
  • Flies^T
• A device which can attract and repel balls to hit enemies with while moving side to side^RR
• Any given animal he jumps on the back of, from boars¹ to Neo Cortex^T

Flying

• A hang glider^CotT-GBA
• Biplanes which shoot bullets that destroy the engines of much larger planes³
• Crash's Glider can shoot down tornado generators^W
• The Firefly locks on and shoots missiles which sink ships on repeat hits^W
• The Copter-Pak^W
• Jetpacks²
  • Can come with an energy blaster that can take down a blimp with blasts^XS
• Uses a flying carpet which allows him to shoot magic blasts from his head^NT
• A spaceship which shoots energy beams to rapidly crumple and destroy parts of Cortex and Ripto's machine^RR
• A motorbike which flies through space^XS
  • Appears to quickly circle the Earth^XS
• Rides a bat^RR

Water

• A wakeboard^NT
• Surfboards with engines that allow him to boost through water²
• A turbo boosted inflatable ring^RR
• A hovercraft with a weapon^CB
  • Can drop mines^CB
• An underwater propulsion device which can shoot missiles and dash forwards³
• A submarine which shoots missiles^W
  • Can drop explosives^W

Other Equipment

• Can carry a variety of items to increase health, damage, and turn Crash invincible for a short period^CotT-DS
• Capable of throwing out TNT crates^Sky
  • These crates can contain a jetpack and rocket for Crash to fire at the ground with for a time^Sky
• Uses scuba gear³
• Wields a rocket launcher which instantly turns sheep to ashes^RR
  • Can be charged to launch two rockets at once, and can release bombs^RR
• Throws Molotov cocktails that can destroy large amounts of stone in two attacks, and quickly builds a platform after the platform that was previously there were destroyed by Spyro's Molotov cocktails^RR

Other

• His mutation enhanced his senses and stamina^Sky-A
• Can pick up a 'freejack' which allows Crash to stun any enemy with a kick^CotT
  • Knocks back large foes with this attack^CotT
• Was hit briefly by the ray that turns animals into titans, though the process didn't complete due to a dead battery. Like this Crash had enhanced strength, breaking free of metal restraints and knocking back a titan, as well as the ability to jack them without Aku-Aku, but the mutation visibly appears to be gone by the end of the short^A
• Remotely controls a helicopter to shoot down parachuting devices intent on harming him^RR
• In a Die-O-Rama, creates a fire which quickly thaws out a frozen yeti^TTR
• Walks and jumps on clouds¹
• Only likes wumpa fruit⁴
• Comes with his own theme music^Sky-A

"As for me, heh, let's just say I'm doing just fine."

Hold your horns, here comes Spyro!

Spyro the Dragon is, as the name suggests, a young dragon. Over the course of the series, he goes on many adventures. That's basically everything.
This RT only covers the classic timeline, and not The Legend of Spyro or Skylanders.

Dragon Breath

General Strength

• Breaks a sign
  
• Breaks urns
  
• Breaks chests
  
• Breaks barrels
  
• Breaks small windmills
  
• Breaks dune buggies
  
• Breaks flying beds
  
• Breaks boats
  
• Breaks planes
  
• Breaks a crystaline enemy
  
• Breaks a cage
  
• Blasts a metal container until it explodes
  
• Blasts a hedgehog into a stone statue hard enough to destroy it
  
• Blasts enemies into the air
  
• Blasts a sheep high into the air
  
• Blasts Ripto high into the air, SINGING his CAPE
  
• Knocks out some large sea serpents
  
• Knocks out an elephant
  
• Knocks bombs into the air
  

Fire Breath
One of Spyro's most notable abilities is breathing fire. Metal enemies are resistant to fire, but can be defeated by charging, while enemies that are too big to be charged can be knocked down with a fire attack (as seen here)

• Sparx states that Spyro's fire is at least 7800 degrees Fahrenheit
  
• Ashes Toasty's costume, scorching the grass underneath
  
• Ashes a haystack
  
• Ashes a large pencil
  
• Ashes some tents
  
• Ashes a painting
  
• Ashes a cuckoo clock
  
• Ashes a large mushroom
  
• Ashes thick thorns
  
• Ashes a gear
  
• Ashes Rhynocs, killing them
  
• Burns a tree black
  
• Burns a cactus black, which then explodes
  
• Burns a large, magic plant, causing it to revert into a seed
  
• Melts candle wax instantly
  
• Melts a block of ice a fairy is trapped in without hurting the fairy
  
• Melts a large block of ice
  
• Vaporizes a snowman
  
• Destroys two sausages and fries a dragon's facial hair
  
• Scorches Dr. Shemp's rear, sending him fleeing in pain
  
• Scorches Bianca
  
• [Burns N. Tropy, N. Brio, and N. Gin]()
  
• Fires a cannon
  
• Fires a rocket
  
• Lights a large candle
  
• Lights lighthouses
  
• Keeps "sun seeds" lit, from which a new sun can be grown
  
• Regrows a tree, somehow
  

Ice Breath
Originally, Spyro could only breathe frost with a superfreeze powerup, or altering the magic that lets him breathe fire, but in later games he gained the ability to breathe it naturally.

• His ice breath freezes monsters that are only weak to sub-zero temperatures
  
• Can freeze enemies in blocks of ice
  
• Freezes cats in large blocks of ice (along with a hockey player) while playing cat hockey
  
• Freezes a monster and his metal periscope solid, then shatters it
  
• Freezes Hunter solid
  
• Freezes a firefly that was too hot for Bianca to touch
  
• Freezes a water fountain into an ice sculpture
  
• Shapes a puddle of water into a platform
  
• Freezes a jet of water into a pole to swing on
  
• Chills a giant glass of lemonade
  
• Uses a powerup to boost the power of his freeze breath to freeze large amounts of shallow water
  
  • In later games can do this with his regular freeze breath

Electric Breath
Originally, Spyro could only use electric breath (also known as "lightning breath") with a powerup, but later gained the ability to breathe it naturally. It's effective on metal enemies and objects

• Shocks and overloads a robotic enemy
  
• Breaks the lock on a gate
  
• Starts up a navigational system
  
• Powers an energy cannon
  

Wind Breath
Spyro has the ability to breathe out powerful gusts of wind.

• Propels himself on a large frozen block of ice
  
• Can create miniature tornadoes
  
• Can charge up lightning-powered tornadoes
  

Water Breath
Spyro has the ability to breath out a spray of water. Unlike his other breath attacks, he cannot injure enemies with this, only push them back

• Pushes a water wheel
  
  • Spins a much larger wheel with a short blast

Other

• Spyro can use bubble breath to catch dragonflies and send them home
  
• Spyro can shoot bombs based on his breath types
  

Magic and Equipment

Superflame
With a fairy's kiss, or another special powerup, Spyro temporarily gains the Superflame ability. This allows him to breathe fire which is more powerful than his regular flame breath. It can either be breathed like normal, or be shot like a projectile, depending on the game.

• Capable of destroying metal spiders that Spyro could not defeat before
  
• Capable of destroying ghostly metal knights and large metal doors, as well as destroying chests which normally require alternative methods to open
  
• Capable of destroying chests which Spyro cannot break open normally
  
• Capable of destroying UFOs
  
• Capable of destroying large planters
  
• Capable of blasting large animals high into the air
  
• Capable of shooting fire underwater, strong enough to destroy metal sharks
  

Supercharge
Spyro can supercharge on special supercharge ramps (or with the help of special gates), allowing for a much faster and more powerful charge. Spyro runs so fast in this form he burns with red, then purple fire, and can smash a type of chest which he is incapable of charging through normally

• Spyro is invincible during supercharge
  
• Spyro can cross great distances by supercharging
  
• Charges through metal spiders which he could not before
  
• Charges through large metal doors
  
• Charges through cars
  
• Charges through several stone podiums
  
• Charges through a small windmill
  
• Charges through a large metal pumpkin
  
• Charges through a thick, cracked wall of ice
  
• Can charge through reinforced steel doors which can only otherwise be broken by a cannon shell
  
  • Demonstrated here

Wing Shield
Spyro has the power to shield himself with his wings and reflect attacks. It can reflect blunt objects but not piercing attacks

• Deflects a boomerang

Shadow Amulet
The Shadow Amulet is a powerful artifact which can refine and focus Spyro's magic

• Allows him to travel between the "real" world and the shadow world by standing on specific portals
  
  • He can use this to pass through barriers- but not if they are made of iron
• Can move objects with telekinesis
  
  • Opens a gate
  • Moves a stone block
  • Moves a platform
  • Moves a large platform
• Can cast a shock spell to shoot electricity
  
  • Demonstrated here
  • Knocks out the powerful dragon Red in one hit
• Can cast a cyclone spell to attack multiple enemies
  
  • Demonstrated here
• Can banish shadow creatures
  
  • Demonstrated here
• Can turn into an egg
  
• Can concentrate to divine the location of people in trouble
  
• Can teleport between teleport pads
  

Weapons

• Throws Molotov cocktails at Crash Bandcicoot to damage the wall he is on and can repair parts of his own wall
  
• Uses a bouncy ball to take out some enemies
  
• Picks up bullets from Bentley and shoots them out by spitting them, in normal and acidic explosive varieties
  

Vehicles

• Operates a weaponized vehicle
  
• Pilots a UFO
  
  • Another UFO
• Rides a magnetic contraption
  
• Rides a trolley around a dangerous track with no trouble
  
• Rides a roller coaster with a cannon attached
  
• Performs sick skateboard tricks
  
• Rides a rocket skateboard that gains fuel the more tricks he performs
  
• Rides a demolition hovercraft
  
• Rides a speedboat with a missile launcher
  
• Rides a weaponized manta ray underwater
  
• Rides a missile-launching submarine that can move through acid
  
• Rides a turret on tank treads courtesy of Agent 9, as well as a hovercraft with energy blasters
  
• Borrows Moneybags' shark-proof submarine
  
• Takes a ride on Hunter's remote-controlled plane with machine guns
  
• Rides a tank
  
• Rides a honey tank
  
• Flies a military plane
  
• Rolls around in a giant ball
  

Other

• Can spit fireballs
  
• Chases an evil spirit out of a statue by torching it
  
  • Defeats other spirits by blasting them with fire
• Can use chi attacks by flapping his wings, which can break magical shields
  
  • Demonstrated here
• Can free dragons that have been encased in crystal by Gnasty Gnorc
  
• Can temporarily fly freely with a flight powerup
  
• Can jump high into the air with a spring powerup
  
• Has a powerup which temporarily makes him invulnerable
  
  • Can walk across lava unharmed with an invulnerability powerup, as well as walk on acid
• Can spit plasma balls with a plasma ball powerup
  
• Drops a cage on Nina Cortex
  
• Can see hidden teleporters with special glasses
  

Sparx

Sparx is the dragonfly that follows Spyro, helping and protecting him, usually by collecting gems for him. His color changes depending on his health. He can also point in the direction of nearby gems.
Shooting

• Defeats some crawdads
  
• Blasts some starfish
  
• Shoots an electric eel
  
• Blows up a giant crawdad with sustained fire
  
• Defeats a large spider with sustained fire, then a giant spider
  
• Destroys a large insect with sustained fire
  
• Destroys a large bee with sustained fire
  
• Destroys a large, regenerating centipede with sustained fire
  
• Defeats a large manta ray with sustained fire
  
• Destroys a large, metal-covered beetle with sustained fire
  
• Destroys metal robots
  
• Destroys some kind of light fixture
  
• Destroys an anthill
  
• Breaks a flowerpot
  
• Blows up a box
  
• Pushes a propeller with his shots
  

Butterflies

• Eating butterflies can restore Sparx's health, but eating certain butterflies will give him special powerups
  
  • Rapid-fire powerup
  • Spread fire powerup
  • Homing firework powerup
  • Splitting powerup
  • Shield powerup

Abilities

• Can attack by charging, doing essentially anything he can do with a shot
  
• Can attack with bombs
  
• Can attack with missiles
  
• Sparx will flash to let Spyro know that he is near a portal
  
• Capable of speech
  
• Keeps up with Spyro
  

Strength

Charging

• Charges poles to knock gems off the top
  
• Charges coconut trees to shake coconuts out of them
  
• Charges a monster into a gong, knocking it out
  
• Charges a sheep into the air
  
• Charges enemies into the air
  
• Charges through heavily armored enemies, breaking their armor
  
• Charges through snowmobiles
  
• Charges through a robot
  
• Charges large, armored enemies backwards on slippery ice
  
• Charges large, stone Earthshapers backwards a fair distance
  
• Charges the large monster Buzz back repeatedly
  
• Charges the large Ineptune backwards, pushing her through water and shattering the structure she hits
  
• Charges into charging bulls, sticking their horns into the ground
  
• Charges into a birdcage, breaking it apart
  
• Charges rolling metal barrels, knocking them backwards
  
  • Charges a metal barrel across an arena
• Charges bombs across an arena
  
• Charges a giant bomb into the water
  
• Charges through large wooden crates
  
• Charges through metal chests that cannot be broken with fire
  
• Charges through Metalhead's power poles
  
• Charges through a stump
  
• Charges through a large shell
  
• Charges through a pile of rocks
  
• Charges through a large door
  
• Charges through a wall of wood planks underwater
  
• Charges through a brick wall
  
• Charges through a stone wall
  
• Charges through a large, cracked crystal
  
• Charges through a cracked stone wall underwater
  
  • Another one
• Charges through thick, cracked stone
  
  • Another one
• Charges through thick rock
  
• Charges through a large rock
  
• After having a spell cast on him to make him stronger, Spyro can charge through rocks that he could not break before
  

Headbashing

• Headbashes the ground, breaking a large rock and a metal vase without even touching them
  
• Headbashes a metal covering
  
• Headbashes rock shells that some hippos were trapped in
  
• Headbashes a boulder to pieces
  
• Headbashes an Earthshaper to pieces after Hunter stuns it with a magic arrow
  
• Headbashes a stuck elevator to get it moving again
  
• Headbashes a thick layer of ice
  
• Headbashes a thick layer of stone
  

Spitting

• Eats and spits out a projectile hard enough to defeat an enemy
  
• Spits out a baseball hard enough to activate a dunk tank
  
• Spits a rock at a target hard enough to make it explode into pieces
  

Other

• Butt-stomps a TV to crush it
  
• Body-slams a large stone "R" statue
  
• Turns a cannon
  
• Wins a tug of war against an enemy
  
• Balances three stone slabs on his head
  

Agility

Mobility

• Can double jump
  
• Can charge for an extra burst of speed
  
• Can glide and hover, as well as fly freely in certain areas.
  
• Can swim and charge underwater indefinitely
  
• Can swing from horizontal poles
  
• Can kick off walls to wall jump
  
• Can climb and jump up ladders
  
  • Dodges falling lava rocks while climbing up ladders

Movement

• Keeps up with Sparx
  
• Outruns collapsing floor
  
• Catches up to and flames Bianca
  
• Jumps out of the way of Ineptune's breath attack
  
• Jumps out of the way of Nina Cortex's charge
  
• Can jump over blasts from paintball guns
  
  • Of note, in the original game, these are real guns that fire bullets
• Can jump over gatling gun fire from enemy dinosaurs
  
• Can jump over energy shockwaves from Crush's jumps
  
• Can jump over the shockwaves of force from Gulp's jumps
  
• Can jump over gusts of wind blown by Rhynocs
  
• Dodges a surprise energy bolt
  

Other

• Quickly turns a crank to shred up a block of solid ice
  
• Quickly cranks a device to put out a fire
  

Durability

Blunt Force

• Is barely phased by charging into an unyielding object, or even supercharging into walls
  
  • Is unphased by headbashing through large rocks
• Unhurt by being shaken and thrown by a large snowman
  
• Gets stomped on by a woolly mammoth and is fine later
  
• Falls an unclear distance
  

Explosive

• Withstands an explosion that destroys a gate
  
• Unhurt by firing himself out of a cannon
  

Temperature

• Can swim in water covered by thick ice
  
• Unhurt by running through a burning campfire
  

Swallowing and Spitting

• Can swallow and spit out burning lava rocks without injury
  
• Can swallow and spit out acidic, smoking rocks without injury
  
• Can swallow and spit rockets out of his mouth
  

Other

• Resists a magic-draining magic that even the Dragon Elders were powerless against

Skill

Hockey Skill

• Perfects a two-on-two hockey game by eating and spitting out the puck
  
• Beat a Rhynoc in cat hockey so badly that he retired from hockey permanently
  

Combat Skill

• Learns dragon-kata from a martial arts expert and is described as having a natural talent.
  
  • He learned it quickly enough to impress his teacher
• Can target weak points on an opponent's body for increased damage
  
• Defeats ninja Rhynocs
  

Misc Skill

• Carries a live duckling in his mouth without injuring it
  
• Shreds electric guitar
  

"I thought that dragons had all been dead for a thousand years, or something."
"Well, the rumors about our extinction were slightly exaggerated."