I saw her standing there. Everybody did. Nobody knew why she was there, but she just was. Every day, I would wake up, and she would be there. She would always be at the exact same spot, no matter the weather. As I walked to my car, she would always smile at me. As long as I live, I would never forget those blue eyes. They had a way of piercing into the soul. Who knew that such an innocent little girl with curly blonde hair would have such a way of getting to everyone? Some were scared by her, others tried to help her. And yet, there were always the bullies. They always came over to her, and tried to get some sort of reaction out of her. Needless to say, they never did. Eventually, they just walked away. One day, I decided to try talking to her. It was all I could think of at work. This little girl that nobody knew was in the forefront of my thoughts all day. I had planned out several different conversation topics for us. But, nothing could prepare me for what actually happened. Pulling into my driveway, I sat in the driver's seat for a few minutes, taking a few deep breaths, attempting to soothe my erratic nerves. Why was this little girl evoking such apprehension in me? How was she making my palms sweat, and my legs tremble? Shaking these feelings away for the moment, I got out of the car, and headed towards her. Every step seemed to take an eternity, as her blue eyes trained themselves upon me, and her unmoving smile pierced the murky complexities of my soul. Ever so slowly, I got down onto her level, and willed my mouth to open, and for my vocal cords to make words. "Hello, little girl. What's your name?" Those words were so unfathomably difficult for me to utter. In the months that would follow, I would forever contemplate what made this situation so surreal to me, and why it was so hard for me to just simply *speak.* But, what made the situation even creepier for me was the fact that she had yet to say a word to me. For a good deal of minutes, we just sat there, staring at each other. Slightly trembling, I forced my hand to slowly reach out towards her. "You know, it's dangerous to be standing out in the middle of the street like this. Why don't you come inside with me, and I'll call your parents, okay?" Suddenly, she moved. With an alarming speed, she reached out and grabbed my hand. Her touch was so cold, it felt as though she had the potential to give frostbite in that single moment. Looking back on it, I would swear up and down that my heart had stopped during that one moment. That one moment when she opened her lips, and finally began to speak. "You are sad. Every day, you pretend that you like your life. It's a really convincing lie that you're telling yourself. But, you're missing something. Your soul knows it. You miss your wife. You force yourself to believe that you've stopped being as sad as you were when the doctors told you. But you aren't. You miss her more and more every day. I can help you stop being sad." As soon as she spoke those words, the most curious sensation began to pass through my body. I can only describe it as pure, true love. The love I had always felt when my Nadya was by my side. The sadness I had felt every day since she left was obliterated in the face of the overwhelming love I felt for her. After a few minutes, I was at peace. For the first time, I could truly say that I wasn't about to cry, that I wasn't sad. I could no longer remember the pain, only the good times. This seemed to be picked up on by the little girl, because her smile grew bigger, and she said, "See? Doesn't that feel so much better?" I nodded, at a loss for words. As I turned around and walked back to my house, my mind struggled to comprehend what just happened. How could this little girl exercise such power over my mind and emotions? How did she know about my Nadya? Why would she go to such lengths to help a virtual stranger? But, her help would stick with me. As the years passed, that little girl would always be in my thoughts.


It was late and rainy. Verna was hardly keeping her eyes open while swallowing the last sip of the cold disgusting coffee. She knew she should have left the café a long time ago, but she couldn't find the will to do so. She was sitting in the same position Forrest Hayes left her: hands on the wooden table, holding the nicked navy-blue mug, seemingly starring at something only she could see. She wasn't here anymore, she didn't realize how the titter got extinguished little by little or when the laughter turned into silence. She was all by herself in another place, another galaxy or universe most certainly. The dialogue she had a few hours before didn't have any influence on her at all, it wasn't the reason for her roving mind. Just as a hypnotist snaps his fingers and awakens his patient, Verna was taken back by the tapster's shout: "last order!". Those words resonated in her mind for some good 20 seconds until she was completely back into her body. She got up, grabbed her shabby jacket and bumbag from the stool, threw a wrinkled $5 bill on the bar and let the slamming door tell the good-byes for her. Darkness and the remote noise of a car swiftly passing by somewhere around The Mockingbird. That was all Verna could distinguish, but it wasn't getting through her at all. Nothing was. She wasn't scared by the feeling of this continuous depravation of herself. She was falling back into the state she found herself earlier inside the café. She was only the master of her body, but her mind belonged to somebody else, much like a TV set transmitting what someone programmed it to. She wasn't trying to fight it, she didn't feel the need to do so. She was just following her route without giving it a second thought. The Flint Boulevard was as plain and dull as it has always been. Being placed at the periphery of the city, the scenery felt all like a factory exuding a cold sensation, just like all the pipes and scaffoldings were generating the low temperature and somewhat odd feeling of the area. Verna was walking slowly, looking ahead, nothing perturbing her. She was all alone on the poorly illuminated streets. By looking at her from the outside she seemed lured by a siren's song, only she wasn't on the verge of shipwrecking, or at least not that literally. After taking what has to be 50 more steps, Verna suddenly stops in the middle of a crossroad waiting for something. A vernil car with tinted windows recklessly passing, hits her. The impact was real, producing an extremely loud sound. Wilfred Hodges, a 40-some years old bonny man gets off the car to check the body, which once again could no longer be found, not in this universe, at least. SOURCE: my own work, from a few years back, when I was really struggling with mental illness (depression and such), one of the alternative endings of the story being the main character realising all of it was happening after she killed herself, which was making her experience continuous death and alternative lives. It's pretty stupid and I can surely see its flaws now, but writing has been good medicine back then.


The immediate desperate, panicked breathing told me that this wasn't going to be one of the usual mundane calls that occupied 98% of my time as an emergency responder. It threw me off slightly creating a longer than usual pause before I went into my well worn script. I quickly got a hold of myself and ignored the ragged nature of the breathing long enough to begin “911 what's your emerge...”  “I'm not safe!” whispered the person harshly down the other end of the phone. The hairs on the back of my neck grew long and sharp suddenly. The voice was so strained and stretched that it was almost the dying whimper of a wounded animal. Before I could pull myself back to my script again the voice continued, “I don't know who else to call, please listen to me!”. I bought of rusty coughing and spluttering added breaks in the persons speech, adding to the suspense that was clutching the handset to my ear so hard it was turning white. “It's too late for me” a brief pause as if they took time to accept this fact after stating it “but can you pass on a message to Dan Sharper, I believe he's high up in the police force. If you don't know him ensure the message is passed on, it's of the highest importance”.  I managed to mutter a brief and uneven 'hmmhmm' in response. “Tell him this and exactly this 'They're here and I fear we are too late my old friend. I see them everywhere and I feel they have caught me looking. You know what must be done'. Did you get that?”. I managed another affirmative while my mind raced through the cryptic message trying to understand. Before I could draw any conclusion my mysterious caller added “You must make haste; and watch the shadows! Count them! They're coming...if they aren't there alrea...” the line went dead. I put the handset back on the receiver but I could still here the constant beep of the line ringing around in my head.  My mind was swimming but as I kicked back in my chair and took a breath the rational part of my brain began to tick away. It wasn't uncommon to receive a call from a mentally ill person or a prank call from people who think it's funny to waste our time. My heart rate slowed and I began to calm down. “Tough call, aye?” asked my colleague (Ben) in the neighbouring booth. I turned my chair towards him to laugh it off and tell him about the creepy warning I'd received but something in the back of my mind told me to keep quiet about that call. Maybe it was because I'd let the prankster get to me and I was a little embarrassed. Maybe it was the fact that the only source of light was from the window behind Ben and yet cast in front of me were two elongated shadows. One looking considerably darker and, if I wasn't mistake, seemed to move of it's own accord.


The snow crunched under the man’s feet, briskly passing by the Spruce trees. Wails and howls are heard from the distance, bellowing throughout the darkened forest. The wolves of Nyerdermor have found him. “Where’s a bow and arrow when you need one!” the man jumps over a fallen log, quickly regaining balance, the wolves’ cries nearing his position. His thick fur coat was the only thing that kept his skin from certain death, but damn was it heavy! Pristine blue eyes shine under the radiant moonlight as he takes off his woolen hood. A cave slowly comes into his vision, it was his only respite for now, those damned canines were only getting faster. The mysterious man rushes into the mouth of the cave, narrowly avoiding sharp stalactites forming at it’s entrance. The cave itself was deep and dark, water droplets created from the humidity inside. He thought that it was safe, until small scuffles echo from the back of the crevice. “What was that!” a silver knife is taken out from a hidden sheathe. The scuffling noises suddenly stop. “Show yourself, you bastard!” The blade of the silver knife shatters into sharp pieces. “Argh!” The man falls back, wondering how the hell that happened. “Viribus Meis!” He holds his gloved hand in the direction of the sound. It lights up in a bright yellow hue, engulfing his entire arm. “Solvo!” The yellow light quickly rushes into the middle of the man’s palm, forming into a sphere of dense light. He pulls back his arm, orb of light in hand, and stretches it forward with great force! The ground cracks due to the immense force emitted by the giant beam of light, the entire cave shattering from the raw strength of the beam. It blows a gigantic hole straight through the cave, leaving an opening as large as the cave itself. The foundations start crumbling, and stalactites start falling from the ceiling. The man rushes out as the cave is buried in stone and rubble. “What the hell?” The man gazes upon the sight in extreme confusion. A boy in rugged clothing floats above the newly created opening he’s just made. His eyes are filled with blue energy, azure flames dancing around him. He points his hands toward the man, mimicking the stance the man created earlier. “Universum Solvo!” The boy shouts, all the blue flames congregating between his outstretched palms. They whirl together in a harmonious balance and create a giant orb of blue flame. In one quick gesture, the entire orb disperses into multiple beams of blue light that circle around the man. The blue beams randomly go around the even more confused man, obliterating anything in their vicinity. Unbeknownst to the man, the Nyedremor wolves jumped at him right at the second the blue beams were released, easily destroying the magical creatures. The following wolves turning back and retreating, smart enough to know that they can’t beat this boy. “Damn, Kid….” The man still fixes himself on the boy’s sheer power. That is, until he falls from the sky, losing his shining blue eyes and blue flame. The man leaps up to catch the boy from falling to his death. He lands under a thick layer of snow, laying him on top of it. Instead of the blue light that emanated from the child earlier, he possessed jet black hair and black pupils. Any and all signs of magical power absent, the only mark being a small scratch mark on the boy’s neck. It still glowed faintly with blue light. The man’s home was near the horizon, the smoke billowed from the still lit fireplace. Yet he still thought about the sleeping boy in front of him. He looked to be living in that cave before he arrived, and he looks to have been far away from any town. All that unkempt power… He shudders to imagine what heights the boy’s abilities can reach if not properly controlled. “It’s decided then.” He thinks to himself while lifting the boy up and laying him on his shoulder. The boy would be his own, and he’ll be safe from ever destroying anything again. “Huh? Where am I?” Salvador thinks to himself, remembering he had just been inside a cave. Obviously waking up in a warm, fur bed made him very confused. He stands up, putting his bare feet on the warm wooden floor. The room he was in was quite spacious, even more than that cave was! Salvador looks at the stairs beside the bed he woke up from, it leading down to a larger area. He walks down the stone steps, admiring the shields, artworks, and items attached to the wall. “Oh look, you’re awake.” Salvador’s eyes flicker to the voice. It was a man wearing a long, fur coat and leather armor. He seemed to be eating a large piece of pork, accompanied by red sauce, garlic and strong ale. His stomach grumbled to his discontent, and to the man’s pleasure. He laughs and offers him a chair adjacent to him on a small table. Still very hungry, he rushes to sit on the chair, the hearty meal making him lose all sense. He delves into the pork first, finishing it a few bites. The chewy meat giving him a massive wave of euphoria. He hasn’t been able to taste things like this ever since he abandoned his village! It really was worth the wait. The only thing that he didn’t like was, well, the man staring at him thoughtfully, never even taking a moment to blink. :”E-excuse me sir? Is there anything wrong” The man snaps from his mind and returns with his big , warming smile. “No nothing. It’s quite alright. But I do have a few questions of my own.” The child lets him continue. “What’s your name?” “Salvador.” He replies blankly. “No last name?” Salvador shakes his head. “Well Salvador.” The man leans back onto his chair. “ You can call me De’Vour, or Dev for short.” “Okay Sir Dev.” “ Do you want to know why I brought you here?” Salvador again shakes his head. “Well, it is because of the way you easily dispatched the Nyedermor wolves yesterday.” Salvador’ face turns into a look of confusion. “Wolves? What wolves?” “Hrrgh.” He was unconscious the entire time, yet he killed them like he was stomping on ants! “A-are you okay Sir?” the man was already heavily breathing. “Huh? Oh yes of course.” He regains his composure, but he was still troubled. “Do you realize what power you hold?” Another head shake. Now he was just plain choking. A child like this, lost in the woods! He began to wonder what else this stupid forest hid. What next, a sword made of light? “W-Well Salvador, you have extraordinary powers that you seem to have no understanding, control, or even knowledge of.” Oh did the thought make him dizzy. “Who are your parents? Do you have any family, relatives?” “No sir. The last person I’ve come across was a trader, and he didn’t even see me.” No parents. No understanding or ability to control his power. It was almost too perfect for him to have found the child at such a moment. He contemplated it. And again, and again. And again….. “Well child, I will be your new guardian! I will teach you the ways of magic if my name weren’t De’Vour, the great Elder Lord of Vyertemus!” “Really! That’s awesome!” The child smiled in great delight. It was going to be a long couple of years.


It was a long, cold hike in the snow, but I had finally reached the perfect position on the mountainside. I took the stool, easel, paper, and charcoal from my pack and set up my little portable workshop. Through my gear, I could tell it was freezing. Thankfully, for my comfort and for my work, the air was still this morning. I sketched the outline of the bell tower first - such a quaint vision, a church in the middle of town with a bell rising above all else. It was the first thing to catch my eye in the town below and the perfect centerpiece for my work. I loved creating new art, and was appreciative that I was allowed to do it so consistently. My job was difficult, so it was essential to find joy in small things such as that. Plus, for the same reason it was difficult, I was able to look upon each of my landscapes in a way no other artist had before. Certainly in a way I never had, at least. Not when I really should have done so. That's the thing about hindsight, I suppose. I'd resolved to never make that mistake again, and it gave me a unique view of each new scene. I had to convey information through my work that people would never be able to see for themselves. It was a fantastic responsibility, and I did not take it lightly. Once I had finished with the basic structure of the homes and small shops, I made sure to include the flora around the town so they wouldn't be forgotten. Whether preserved or planted, they existed today because somebody cared, and that deserved to be noticed. As I outlined an evergreen tree on the outskirts of town, I recalled a time celebrating Christmas with my family. We decorated a tree in our backyard as the sun went down. When we were finished, the kids played in the snow as my wife and I sat by the firepit exchanging small gifts for one another. Christmas wasn't 'til morning, but we had a Christmas Eve gift tradition just between us. She got me a pair of silly holiday socks; a simple gift, but the socks she bought me made me smile all through the year, every morning as I got dressed. This time, a snowman, half-melted with its head plopped on the ground beside it as the sun shone above it; not unlike the one my kids were making now, only the head in the snow was newly-crafted and nearly ready to be placed atop its lopsided body. My daughter finished packing the snow together while my son added extra arms to the torso. Those kids were my world. I was lucky enough to realize it in the moment, each time I looked at them. My wife opened her gift and smiled through tears as she realised two things simultaneously: First, it was exactly what she wanted, and second, it was far more expensive than a pair of socks. This was a game we played every year. It was never my intention to show her up as she playfully claimed, and truthfully I never saw it that way; my favorite gift was seeing how happy she could be because of something I had done. Back on the mountain, my heart ached, longing for my family. It had been too long since I could hold them; longer than any person should have to go without such joy, but I was certainly not the only one these days. I was forced to wonder about the families in the town below, constantly making new memories that they didn't yet realize were all-too-fleeting. I checked my watch: Nearly 0300 hours. Not much time left. I was grateful to think these people had at least gotten to enjoy Christmas the day before. Again, small joys. But I had to work quickly, now. I was careful not to miss anything. I added the finishing touches of moonlight glistening on the snow-capped rooftops and the small bit reflecting off the bell in the tower. It was important that I capture every detail. After all, I was memorializing the town. I signaled to the company that I was finished. I gingerly placed the drawing into my folder to keep it safe; it was the most precious thing in the world right now. Until the next one, anyway. I folded my stool and easel, packed them away with my charcoal as the planes began to sound in the distance. I waited in the cold, silent morning watching the town. They deserved that much, though they couldn't possibly realise why. I felt a tear burn my cheek in the winter air and quickly wiped it away. The planes flew overhead. The bombs dropped. And just like that, like so many before, the entire town lived on only in my drawing.


"What do you mean 'no damage'?" Barked the Captain of the ASF Fragile is a State of Mind. His crusier was in pursuit of a stolen experimental ship. Orders were to not allow it to escape under any condition. "The warheads impacted but other than knocking the ship off course it did negligible damage." - The never named ASF ship rung like a bell as hundreds of rounds of ammunition impacted on her hull. "Holy shit! It actually works!" Shouted the woman sitting in a makeshift captain's chair in the centre of the bridge. Though shaking and vibrating furiously the little craft was holding together. "I can't believe they actually got 'shields' working." A small man wrapped in a web of cables turned and gave a wicked grin, "Totally impenetrable. They could fire everything including the mess sink at us and the shield will never break. Told ya the intel was good!" "Ya, ya, brag when we're at the bar later with 40 mil' in each of our accounts. Just get us to the jump point." "Sure thing boss." He turned back to his nest of wiring and dug around for a tablet. Finding it he quickly pulled up the engine diagnostics and began calculations for the jump. "How's the kid doing?" - Twenty metres aft of the bridge was the only other finished room on the ship, the engine room. Clutching a power conduit a youngish man firmly held his eyes closed. Repeating his new mantra of "40 million, 40 million, 40 million..." he began to regret signing on to this job with the two other Mercs. He was the muscle, or the gun more aptly. The job was supposed to be a simple one. Small facility, small staff. Stealth infiltration, cut communication, steal something, get the fuck out. Simple. Except when the something turned out to be an experimental ship and an ASF crusier shows up to perform a staff rotation. So now, in a less than half finished ship, they were running as fast as they could to the nearest jump point. - One of the scientists who had accompanied the ASF Fragile is a State of Mind stood on the bridge watching salvo after salvo of missiles impact on the little ship which had been his focus for the past 2 years. In a sense he was incredibly proud that it was performing exactly as the simulations predicted. "That's it Captain. We're spent. All that's left is the nukes." Reported the gunnery officer. "Major damage to both of our rotary launchers. They weren't meant to launch the entire payload in such a short time period." "Motherfucker!" exclaimed the Captain pounding the arm of station. "You," pointing at the scientists, "will a class 2 nuclear warhead destroy that thing?" The scientist gave a shrug. "Maybe? At this point I don't know how the shield will perform. It's held up incredibly well." The Captain let out a long exhale. "Bring up the launch codes for the fusion warheads." "Yes sir!" Replied the gunnery officer, tapping instructions into his console. A few seconds later a dozen warnings appeared on the Captain's screen. With a grunt of frustration the Captain began filling out the required forms. "Sign here, and there, and here. Oh and initial there, great. Can't imagine what we'd do if we actually had to use these things in a real combat." Finally the red warnings were dismissed and he was left with a single green button which read 'Confirm.' Quickly pressing it he turned to the gunnery officer "Fire when ready. Both of them." - "Aaaaaand here come the nukes!" Shouted the man lost in cables. Looking around, he quickly began tying himself down with whatever was available. The woman seeing this followed suit and shouted aft through the uncovered structure of the ship. "Hang on baby face, it's about to get bumpy!" Turning back to the small man, "this is gonna work right?" He gave a shrug "Grea..." Was all she managed to get out before the ship shook with a force that warped and bent the bulkheads far from their intended positions. But the ship held and kept burning furiously towards the jump point. "Woooooo! That's what I'm talking about!" Yelled the woman returning to a sitting position. Her arm was dangling useless at her side as it had been pulled from its socket. The small man's head popped up out of the cables. He has a gash in his forehead but seemed otherwise unscathed. She then noticed the pile of flesh mashed into the wall to her left. Confused for a second she then realized that the kid had failed to strap himself down in time and was thrown about the ship by the blast. She considered the sight for a second, honestly remorseful that he had died. He was a good shot and took orders well. She turned to the small man and gestured to the pile. "Make that 60 mil, we'll pour out some of the good stuff for him." The small man gave a solemn nod and glanced at his tablet. "20 mins to jump point, and I don't think they have anything left to shoot at is, we're in the clear." - "Her superstructure is bent to hell, any normal ship would dust. She's still flying though." "What do we have left?" Asked the Captain. "There's got to be something else." "We've fired everything we had at them. All that's left is the point defense turrets and they wouldn't even damage a normal ship let alone whatever is going on over there." Said the gunnery officer pointing at the ship on the forward monitor. Getting the Captain's attention with a sight cough, "I think I have a suggestion. The shield was meant to repel high velocity projectiles with the intention that PDTs would take care of slower threats." The scientist explained. "We did that so resupply craft, fighters and shuttles could come and go without lowering the shield. With a quizzical look the Captain asked "So we need to hit it slower? Well that's great, I'll just go out and give it a kick then, shall I?" "Well actually, I worked on designs similar to our current ship and I know that a lot of the reinforced areas are towards the bow of the ship where the ammunition is held. While the shield ship is smaller we have the advantage in speed as our engine is more powerful." Giving a long sigh. "So what do you propose I do then, huh?" Asked the Captain. "Ram it." - "Five minutes till jump, calculations done. We'll follow the backup plan jump to the fallback system, sit in an asteroid field for a few days then jump to the client and do the sale." "Sounds good. Still can't believe we pulled this off." Said the woman who let out a long breath she didn't notice she was holding. The calming hum of the engine was a nice replacement to the stacato rhythm of the bullet impacts. "What are they doing?" Said the man as he squinted at his tablet. "What?" "They've blown by us and are going wide. I don't know what their plan is." Glancing at his console. "Well whatever it is they don't have any time or ammo left. We good?" Asked the woman shutting her eyes and laying her head back. It had been a long day. "They've come about. Heading straight for us on intercept! They'll reach us before we get to the jump! The fuck are they doing!?" He yelled as he once again began strapping down. - "All hands, clear the foreward sections." Reported a member of the bridge crew. "One minute till impact. All hands brace!" Came the call over the ships intercom The Captain liked his ship, but he knew she wasn't built for this. It would be unlikely she would fly again. Fuck it. Next time he'll have the egg heads put one of their fancy 'shields' on his ship. - The two mercenaries left on the ship, braced as best they could but there was little they could do as the bow of the ASF Fragile is a State of Mind pierced through the side of the little ship. The sound of tearing metal was quickly overpowered by the detonation of the power core and the rush of air as the atmosphere quickly left the ship. The man and woman, and the remains of the kid were torn apart and sent spiralling of into the black. The ASF Fragile is a State of Mind did not escape without damage. The forward 15 metres of her length were crushed and destroyed by the impact. The shockwave spread through the ship and warped her to the point where many of the main power conduits were severed. She was adrift, but had fulfilled her orders.


Charlie had been drinking for days, solidly, sleeping little and doing little other than drinking. The sleep wasn’t even real sleep; it was just his body crashing the way it does when one is perpetually drunk. It was midday on Thursday. He had crawled off the king-size luxury mattress at around 10am; the king-size luxury mattress that had lain on the floor, dirty and without sheets, since he’d destroyed the bed frame in a fit of pure rage a few weeks earlier. He had a mug of gin with a bowl of dry Weetabix, and then started on the ouzo. The pub next door didn’t open until after 12, and his sciatica was really playing up so our man had to make do with the remains of his dwindling home stock. Dozens of half empty bottles that sat in a small dark wood chiffonier pulled up right next to the sofa for ease of grabbing. It was a large living room, but the television and all of the furniture had been dragged over into the back corner, on the other side of the room from the bay window that looked out into the real world. It had been this way since Kelly left. His wife, his agent, the only thing bringing any semblance of organisation to his life, had left. And all that remained of a prosperous and happy partnership was an alcoholic old man, with a novel to write for a publisher that had already paid him, writers block and chronic back pain. **Charlie Slater and the fight with the delivery boy.** *I feel like shit. Where’s the remote? I can’t listen to these idiots anymore. I used to like chat shows, people mulling over their lives and careers with a man in a nice suit who really looked like he was interested and knew all the right questions to ask. I used to like a lot of things; movie stars and rock bands and popular culture. Then this new decade happened and everything just got fucking annoying.* Charlie scrabbled around the seat for the television control. He switched over from the light-hearted daytime talk show being hosted by a young man he didn’t know the name of talking to an old actor he’d forgotten the name of, and onto ‘antique hunters’, which was basically a lot of people without real jobs running around a car boot sale. He did this whilst simultaneously pouring himself another mug of ouzo and coughing violently. Charlie was a man who could multitask. *Jesus this is boring. It’s the sort of thing Kelly made me do. Put wellies and a windbreaker on and chasing around a car park at 7am looking for useless rubbish people are willing to sell for pennies. I might be miserable and alone but at least I’m not freezing my balls off trying to look excited about an old lamp.* It was lunchtime. The television and Greek alcohol had kept him occupied for the last couple of hours and now it was time to feed. He had peculiar eating habits did Charlie, and they’d become even more peculiar since he was left to his own devices. Kelly would always try and get him into a routine, whereby he would eat three square meals a day, with an equal amount of carbohydrates, proteins and roughage, but he’d never really taken to it. He would try to find ways out of sitting down for dinner at normal time; say he’d hit upon a purple patch, that he was really getting somewhere with a character and had to stay in the study to write. And if she nagged he would pretend to yield and take his plate into that dimly lit room with him, but instead feed the neighbour’s cat through the window. Over the years that little tabby grew plump, whilst Charlie just got leaner and leaner. Charlie was 6”4, and weighed on average just over ten stone. His doctors would say he was underweight, he would say he was svelte. His bones were brittle, and as a teenager he broke his arm in four places, his leg twice and his collarbone once. He kept all his old casts, sweaty and signed, in a cardboard box in the airing cupboard. Every so often he would get them out to show guests, almost as proof that at one point in his life he had friends. He reached for the nearest takeaway menu. He had hundreds of them scattered around the house, Chinese, kebab, pizza. There was even a leaflet from a place that only sold roast dinners, full roast dinners with gravy and Yorkshires and all the trimmings, delivered straight to your door by a man on a scooter. But these glossy little menus, all brightly coloured and screaming for your intention, were scattered out of reach and Charlie had no intention of moving from his groove. He grabbed at the only one he could. It was a plain and poorly put together leaflet, with bold Helvetica font on the front that simply read ‘The Tandoori Palace’. *What time is it? Can I eat curry at this time in the day? This place gave me the shits last time. I’ll just order some bahjis. And maybe some sag aloo. That’s onion and spinach and potatoes. All vegetables and the healthier I eat the more alcohol I can drink without feeling guilty. That’s actually three of my five. Then if I ask for some of that mint yoghurt stuff aswell I’m basically sorted for the rest of the day. Free delivery on all orders over £7…I reckon that’ll come to £7. They shouldn’t charge me for the yoghurt though. Should come gratis.* When Charlie was eleven years old, his sister Claire took him to Margate for a weekend. Claire was born a decade before Charlie and had moved out when she was just sixteen, just as Charlie would when he reached that age. She had decided she had been spending too much time drinking and taking drugs and had been neglecting her little brother by leaving him in a sterile home environment with their overbearing mother and mostly absent father. She wanted to get him away for the weekend to experience some life seeing as the only occasions she had spent any time with him in the prior three or four years he had looked painfully bored and lonely, and whilst it had taken her some time to convince their parents they eventually relented. Claire picked Charlie up in her rusty Vauxhall Nova and on a road trip to the Kent coast they went. She booked them into a bed and breakfast on the seafront; being the early nineties and Margate still being popular destination amongst day trippers and holiday makers from all over the country this wasn’t cheap, but Claire was doing alright for herself working for an insurance company in the city and wanted to treat the little boy brother she had barely seen in months. On the Saturday night Claire took him to an all you can eat Indian buffet. It would be the first time he would sample food of an ethnic origin, and he sampled all of it. A little bit of something from every metal trough. He had Chicken Korma, Lamb Madras, Vegetable Jalfrezi and egg fried rice. He had onion bahjis and potato fritters. He had little garlic prawn skewers and chapatti and peshwari naan. He had dal and endless poppadoms. He ate until he vomited, and then he vomited for the rest of the weekend. When Claire returned young Charlie home on the Sunday morning, pale, shaking and still occasionally expelling Indian food from his stomach, their mother went berserk, hollering charges of recklessness and irresponsibility at her reckless and irresponsible daughter. What she didn’t realise was that something had stirred in her innocent and impressionable young son. What had stirred was a love of anything exotic, and a composition of dangerous compulsion. *“Tandoori Palace…”* *“Hello can I make an order for delivery?”* Charlie sat upright on the sofa and adjusted his pants, still looking at the menu; still unsure of what it was he wanted to eat. *“Go ahead…”* *“Excuse me?”* *“I said go ahead”* *“What do you mean go ahead don’t you need my address first?”* Technology had always been something that had puzzled Charlie. When he wrote he used a pen and pad, and only occasionally a vintage typewriter. He didn’t have a mobile phone, wasn’t a member of any social networks, and consistently refused to upgrade his 25 year old television. The fact that the young man that had answered the phone to him to take his order already knew his address had caused a panicked and confused look to appear on Charlies face, and when he was in a state of panic and confusion he had a tendency to get angry. *“I have your address. What would you like to order?”* *“How do you have my address? That’s an infringement of my privacy”* *“It comes up on our computer system. If you don’t like it mate call someone else…”* *“I don’t like your tone.”* Charlie took a second or two to deliberate. Whilst he was extremely unhappy that his whereabouts could be so easily located, his stomach moaned at him in impatience. *“Can I just have some pilau rice, mushroom bhaji and some sag aloo please?”* *“Is that all?”* *“A thank you wouldn’t go amiss”* The line went dead, and Charlie cursed the abruptness of youth. Still, his food wouldn’t be long and he could then carry on his business of getting as drunk as humanly possible. The television spat noisy disorientating images at him; the sun crept in through a gap in the curtains and after what felt like a lifetime, the doorbell rang. Charlie stood up for the first time in over an hour and his knees cracked. It was a sound he had always enjoyed, and frequently initiated by way of bending his joints and bones until they popped. At the door stood a slight Indian boy, no more than 17, holding a crash helmet and a vinyl bag full of hot pungent food over his shoulder. *“Are you the one I spoke to on the phone?”* asked Charlie, with the intensity of a wronged man. *“Dunno what you’re talking about mate. Thirteen fifty yeah.”* *“Don’t lie to me you little shit”* he spat *“I recognise your voice!”* The boy, not intimidated in the slightest in spite of Charlies hulking frame towering over him, laughed impudently in his face. In a sudden fit of rage Charlie lunged, knocking the bag of hot food all over the doorstep. They fell to the floor, grappling and wrestling for dominance. In a moment of improvised genius, the boy reached out and grabbed a plastic spork from the vinyl satchel and rammed it in Charlies eye, snapping it in two and causing immeasurable pain. Charlie let out a high pitched squeal, the sound a dog makes when you accidentally step on his tail, and clutched his face with his spinach and potato covered hands. The boy sped off on his moped and left Charlie rolling around on the pavement. After a minute or so he regained his composure, scooped the bhajis and from the floor and stepped back into his house. Charlie smiled to himself, a packet of frozen peas strapped to his eye socket. A free dinner, and all it took was the blunt trauma of some recyclable cutlery to the face and a bit of a roll around with a teenager. The only downside was that he really fancied that sag aloo. *“Tandoori Palace.


By Alwyne Ashweth. Comments gratefully received. \ His world was a thin sliver of reflection. He could only see the mirror, as a plastic cage squeezed his head so that he couldn’t move. Lying on his back he faced upwards, but his view was of his feet. The angled mirror allowed him to see out into the white room. “You alright in there, Mr Ionnides?” The woman’s voice came over the headphones jammed on his ears. He presumed it was rhetorical; there was no way for him to answer her. The top of her head bobbed up and down beyond a large window on the far side of the room. It looked as though she was at a computer. She looked up and smiled at him. She seemed a world away, and he felt disoriented. It was as if she was both above him and across from him at the same time. “Remember you can press the button if you get into trouble.” He fingered the device in his left hand. He supposed it was reassuring, but he felt that he wouldn’t need to use it. This whole MRI thing was turning out to be a breeze. He had been to the doctor only the week before. On giving him the list of his symptoms, he had expected a quick diagnosis of acute migraines. That was what all his friends were telling him that they were, anyway. A numbing of his right hand that soon went away. Then a visual disturbance would creep into view. It was like looking through drops of swirling oil. And then the pain. “Just to be on the safe side, we’re going to send you for an MRI,” the doctor had said. He must have looked startled, as the old man had hurried on. “It’s probably nothing, Alex. But when there’s tingling hands and headaches involved we had better be 100% sure.” His best friend Judy had then proceeded to inform him of the horrors involved in having an MRI. “It’s really claustrophobic. You sit on a metal tray thing, and they slide you inside of this *gi-normous* machine. You’re held down with straps so you can’t move or the pictures they take would end up all fuzzy and shit. But the worst thing is the noise. Loud thumping bangs all the time you are in there.” So, he was a little nervous by the time he arrived at the hospital. He asked directions to the MRI lab at the front desk. A porter informed him to follow the yellow line painted on the floor. “If you reach Psychiatric you’ve gone too far,” he had said. Alex had grinned to himself, hoping that it wouldn’t come to that. Nurse Hanover had met him in the lab’s reception area. Her cheerfulness put him at ease straight away. “Please call me Gillian. Just doing your head today, is that right Mr Ionnides? No need to get fully undressed then. Just leave your jacket in the changing room.” She had taken him through the proceedings with practised efficiency. She places a set of headphones over his ears. They were already playing a Beethoven piano concerto. There was a small moment of panic when she placed the plastic cage over his face. It seemed too tight as she pushed it hard into place. It was necessary, she explained, as his head could not move during the scan. Then she had pushed a button and he had slid into the belly of the machine. Alex stared up at the small mirror. The white cylindrical walls of the tube framed the image. He could see his feet at the end, but he couldn’t work out how much of his body was inside the tube. Nurse Gillian’s voice broke through the music in his ears again. “OK, Alex. We’re ready to start. Thirty seconds of noise now.” *Thump thump thump thump thump…* The loudness startled him. Even with the protection of the headphones, a deep sonorous banging filled his head. It drowned out the music, and he began to relax. It stopped after the prescribed time, jarring him back to the present. “Now about eight minutes,” Nurse Gillian said in his ears. *Thump thump thump thump thump…* It was faster this time, and he soon felt himself drifting off again. Was it womb-like, him being so completely cradled and unable to move? And the machine’s heartbeat was overpowering. He wondered if he could move his head at all, but stopped himself from trying. He might ruin the scan and incur the wrath of the good nurse. *Thump thump thump thump thump…* His eyes fluttered closed. The ever-present noise kept him from falling completely asleep. Disjointed dream images filled his mind. He lost track of the time, dozing in the cradle of this unfathomable machine. And then it stopped. The banging was gone, and he came awake into his locked down and limited world. He looked up at the mirror, expecting more instruction from the next room. The nurse was still there, sat down at her station. The angle of view allowed him to see only the top of her head. Her prim ponytail swung into sight as her gaze shifted from one thing to another. She stopped what she was doing, and looked to her left. A door had opened into the control-booth, its back resting against the window. He thought at first that she was talking to another nurse or a doctor. Her head had risen, and the top of her mouth moved as if in conversation. Her forehead creased in a frown, and she turned from the door back to her desk. She picked up a phone and began to make a call. He was about to close his eyes again when a hand appeared from behind the open door. Its fingers curled around the edge as if their owner was trying to pull themselves inside. And like a stalking cat, the visitor came into view. His face appeared first, unshaven and wrinkled. A mop of greying hair stood up from his forehead as though shocked to attention. Even from his distant and prone position, Alex could see the blank look on the newcomer’s face. The ancient head turned this way and that as he moved further into the room. He was wearing a hospital gown, and a plastic I.D. tag adorned one bony wrist. A patient? Still turned away from her visitor, the nurse did not notice his advance towards her. Alex watched as the scrawny arms stretched out, reaching for the back of her neck. He had a moment of disbelief as the patient told hold of her forehead from behind. The wrinkled fingers yanked her head backwards. Was he dreaming this? Both Alex and the Nurse now shared an expression of upturned terror and surprise. Then the cracked and dirty fingernails bit into her skin. Alex could tell that she was screaming. Sinew and muscle stood out on her attacker’s limbs. Alex watched the man strangle her and his brain finally caught up. “Shit shit shit…” His body tried to react now. His legs thrashed around, banging into the walls of the MRI tube. His arms slapped at the smooth cylinder, trying to find something to grab on to. At the same time, he was involuntarily trying to sit up, but the cage around his head stopped any movement. His neck muscles strained as they tried to pull his skull free of the thing, but it did not budge. And all through this his view of the world was a fixed rectangle floating above his eyes. In it, he could see the dying woman through the gap between his flailing feet. He couldn’t even look away, let alone help her or raise the alarm. The old man pulled her to a semi-standing position, still wringing her neck from behind. She faced the window towards the MRI, and her eyes pleaded with him through the glass. A gaunt, jaundiced face appeared beside hers, and a large tongue pushed out of its cracked lips. It slathered up and down her ear and moved along her jawline. He was tasting her! Then she slammed forwards. Her nose crumpled squirting blood to either side. Finally, Alex had to close his eyes. His heartbeat drowned out the piano sonata now playing in his ears. He panted like an animal, panic seizing him by the balls. His neck muscles cramped, and he forced himself to calm down. He concentrated on slowing his breathing. As he regained control, he realised he had been punching away on the emergency button the whole time. He stopped himself from clicking at the thing. It would only be signalling the nurse’s station, not anywhere else. He realised with dread that the only person he had been alerting was the psychopath next door. His eyes flew open. The nurse was now gone from the window. A trail of smeared blood down the glass marked her exit. Behind this stood the mad-man. He held up a hand to his forehead as he tried to see into the room with the MRI. Alex began to panic again. The creep must have heard the noise from the emergency button. And here he lay, all trussed up and waiting to be butchered; a psycho’s free-lunch. He had to find a way to escape this wretched machine. He watched the monster in the tiny mirror for any sign that he had been discovered. The old face there held rheumy eyes set back inside folds of wrinkled skin. But such eyes. They stared through the glass, wide, and without any kind of emotion. Dead eyes, Alex thought. The eyes of death himself. When it came, the movement was quick. He sprang to the side with a gleeful vigour. Yanking open the door again he disappeared through it. Alex’s stomach sank in a wash of sour adrenaline, and panic took control one more. His arms twisting, he clawed and slapped at the sides of the tube, trying to move the tray-table he was lying on. When that failed, he shuffled his buttocks down as far as they could go, trying to dislodge his head. His exertion left him panting, and he stopped cold when he realised he had not been listening to the room. Had he missed the sound of the door opening? Was the killer already in here with him? *Thump thump thump thump thump…* For a moment he thought the MRI had turned back on. But there was a different quality to the sound. Someone was banging on the outside of the machine. He froze in terror. Prey caught in a trap. *Thump thump thump thump thump…* There was the smallest of giggles. It was an insane sound, and Alex tried to cry out. He produced a loud groan that squeezed out between rasping breaths. All he could do was watch the mirror. There was no more thumping, no more sounds of any kind, and he existed in a limbo of horrified anticipation. When would the haggard face of the madman appear at the end of the tube? His breaths became shorter and quieter as he tried to make as little noise as possible. His fists clenched against the side of his body, his bladder and bowels loosening. The ends of his legs felt exposed, and he tried to draw them up inside the tube. There was a snort of breath on his right calf, and then his ankle was given a long, slow lick. Alex screamed. The face appeared and moved into the gap between his legs. He screamed some more as he saw the look of death in the eyes of the man, and the wry smile on his lips. He watched in disgust as a thread of drool emerged from his mouth. Between his screams, there was time to be amazed. There wasn’t enough room. Even so, the creature was making his way inside the tube with him. Alex closed his eyes and clamped his mouth shut. For a while, he drifted away from reality, unhinged and carefree. But he was flung back from this bliss by the touch of a tongue against his chin. He smelt the fetid breath of death’s kiss upon him. An intimate whisper tickled the skin of his ear. Just three words: “It’s your turn…” Alex screamed some more.


We waited until the second moon rose before we made our move. Silently we stole through the forest - half a dozen shadows flickering through the underbrush, hardly distinguishable from the green-grey darkness of the great wood's densely crowded floor. Ullic wove a spell around us, chanting beneath his breath in the rolling speech of the Arkingdoms, and I felt the chill of sorcery in my bones as he led us on. It was a dark night, even despite the twin moons. Made darker still by the task ahead. I stuck my hand into one of the pockets of my overcoat and felt the cool touch of a brass medallion, familiar and comforting, worn smooth by long handling and the slow passage of years. It was my greatest possession. I grazed my thumb across its face and repeated the incantations for the hundredth time. I knew I was ready. If I wasn't, there wasn't time to become so. But I repeated the words and went over the steps and prayed that we would be enough. Something in the air began to change, and at once we could sense the edge of the clearing drawing near. Through the darkness I could see the faint outline of an enormous structure; more visible through the stars it obscured than any true feature or distinction. I went over the outline in my mind's eye, trying to remember where we were supposed to be. Somewhere just outside the southern wall was my guess. Ullic raised a hand to halt us, and as one we drew in close. "We're here." He said simply, his breath coming in steady gusts. He was winded, but still strong -- the spell had only been the first taste. "Does everyone remember what it is they need to do?" We nodded silently, there in the shadow of the massive, ancient trees. In the gloom I could see the rest of our number; Imbra and Ilyas, Ana, Tenoch of the Risar. This last seemed even more monstrous than usual, his craggy, stone-like features and hulking form made ominous by the faint light. I would never speak such words aloud, but I was glad to see his face. The risar were a strange race, but they were useful in a fight. With assurances given, Ullic gave the final word, and as one we stepped out into the clearing. Six figures, still hidden against the shadow of the trees. And before us the ancient temple of Randrabram stood tall and malevolent. We broke into a run, heading straight for the curtain wall of blue stone that encircled the base of the entire structure, keeping out unwanted visitors. It was a stalwart edifice thick enough to hold off battering rams and onagers -- but against sorcerers it was a trifling distraction, and hardly worth its weight. Imbra and Ilyas took the lead, the foreign pair sprinting faster than I could match, and as I watched they loosed a burst of power and vaulted themselves upward. They twisted gracefully in midair, feline in the smoothness of their movements but something other in their weightlessness, landing softly upon the upper ramparts with hardly a break in their stride. Ullic came after, though not near so prettily; he reached into the satchel that hung by his side and drew a series of brass rods. In the dark I could barely make them out -- but I noticed the glimmer of colour as he threw them toward the wall. With soft sounds they pierced stone, forming a trail up to the wall's upper ranks where the twins crouched and waited. The northman leapt lightly upward and began his climb, reaching from rod to rod as he scurried up the wall with startling speed. Ana half turned and gave us a wink, before she took spoke a spell for climbing. Hers, however, was not so physical as the other's. She whispered beneath her breath, and then she flew. That left only Tenoch and I at the base. I looked at the hulking giant, and he looked at me. "There's no way I'm doing that." He rumbled. I grinned at him, and reached into my own bag to find a narrow length of rope. It wasn't much, but sorcery could make up for a great deal of lack. It wasn't long before we joined the others on the ramparts. The temple spread before us like a stone lily; concentric rings of pale blue walls all centered upon a grand central tower. Buildings cowered in the shadows of each ring, most not much bigger than a hovel, but the true wonders were the ornately carved statues that seemed to fill every corner and crevice. Dogs, bears, demons and devils, drakes and manticores and all manner of beast -- all found their place in the ranks of those unmoving denizens, their bodies painted with a pale gold ringlets, their eyes gleaming with gemstones. But all throughout there was not a single living soul. "Not quite the guardians I expected." Ullic muttered. "Where are the soldiers?" asked Ilyas. "I thought there would be guards." Imbra scoffed. "The gods are dead. What need do they have for guards?" "They're not dead. They're merely sleeping." "Five hundred years is a very long nap." "Quiet!" Ullic hissed. "We are in the temple of Randrabram. Hallowed hall of the Ruddhan kings. Here the demi-god Matharu slew a thousand foes with a broken arrow. Here the goddess Derrinkor was laid to rest after the Abolition! Here we bring the age of gods to a new and glorious beginning! Have some respect, damn you, or at least some wits. We know not what lurks in these shadows." Both of the twins seemed annoyed at the rebuke, but they wisely held their tongues. Tenoch made a noise like a landslide through a canyon. I think he was attempting to laugh. "Tenoch," Ullic spoke with an urgent air of command. "Take the mute and head down on the left. Imbra, Ilyas, you take the right. Ana--" He paused, sharing a strange, long look with the dark-haired southern woman. "You're with me." He declared. "Straight down the center." "Right into the maw of the beast?" She replied. "It would be my pleasure." The risar and I made our way across the wall, marveling at the temple as we did. The ramparts were wide enough to accommodate two chariots side-by-side, and so high the world below seemed strangely peaceful. It was easy to forget how much blood had been spilled here. Easier still to forget how much would spill after we were done. We came to the head of a long staircase, the steps carved directly from stone. Side by side we began our slow descent. It was then that we heard the scream. Both Tenoch and I halted in place, struck by the agony and horror in it. It lasted for hardly a moment, but in my ears it sounded like an age -- I could hear the shifts of its pitch and timbre, responding to agony like the reflection in a mirror. It twisted and roiled and burst into the silence of the evening like a storm, setting every hair on my body to standing, and filling my stomach with no small amount of dread. Beside me, the risar grunted. "Damn." We took off running. Down the stairs and into the maze-like corridors of the temple grounds, the ringed walls rising above us so that all was obscured save the sky. We wasted no time looking for our comrades. Spent not a moment worrying about their fates. We knew the risks, and we knew the dangers, and we had come to this place with a mission in hand. The mission surmounted all. That was what Ullic always said. The slap of boots on stone echoed around us, my speed matched by the giant's long strides. I found myself grateful again for the eight-foot tall slab of stone and gristle. How my father would pale at the thought of his son being thankful for the help of a risar! But he was not here, and he had not heard that scream. I was. I had. And thanked the gods for Tenoch. A crossroad opened up before us, branching paths between the corridors made clear. I drew up short, while Tenoch glanced around for any sign of trouble. He looked to the left and the right. But trouble came from above. With a screech like metal on metal a great dark shape came hurtling downward, leaping from the ramparts of the nearest curve of wall with teeth and talons bared. It was a blur of blue stone, amber paint in swirling designs glowing faintly on its flanks as it landed hard -- both Tenoch and I scrambled backward, hands reaching for weapons, but already the beast was moving. It went for Tenoch, clearly decided him to be the greater threat, or the tastiest morsel, and with fangs bared it leapt for his throat with violence in mind. He threw up his arm, bellowing loudly as the devil struck its mark; the risar had skin much stronger than a man's, but the creature's teeth sank home nonetheless. Tenoch roared again, and I scrambled for my bag, digging through for anything that might help. I found a small bag of blackpowder but discarded it quickly, searching for something that wouldn't kill Tenoch as well. The two struggled with one another as I hunted for a tool, my mind racing for spells and incantations. Tenoch shook the beast, its teeth still buried in his arm, its claws rending great long slashes in his clothes and armour, while with his free hand he struck it again and again. Neither seemed to gain the upper hand, though the ground grew dark with risar blood, and at last I felt my fingers close around something of use. A bladeless hilt, weapon of choice for mages all across the Redemah. I pulled it free and pushed myself to my feet, trying to remember the incantation even as I sprinted forward. I raised the hilt high and worked my fingers for the spell; calling upon the power of the Firmament and the forces beyond. A blade of light and fire surged from the hilt, and with a shout of fury echoing through my mind I leapt, and buried into the beast. With a keening shriek it fell backward, loosing at last the worried, bloodied arm of Tenoch as it twisted and writhed in agony. I drew back the blade and struck with it again, and again, and yet again -- up and down the blade rose and fell, until the keening died and the sword grew dim. Panting, I glanced at Tenoch. He clutched his forearm to his chest, but seemed whole. The bronze armour he wore was a tattered mess of torn metal, and blood coated the whole of his arm and streaked across his chest and side. I offered him a sympathetic look. He grunted, and spat a few curses in his native tongue. Tentatively I made my way to the ruined corpse of the beast that had come for us. A strange creature, almost like a lion but…wrong. I knew at once what it was; the blue stone form, the pale yellow markings. One of the statues, come to life. “Should have guessed.” Tenoch growled. “Whole damn world full of magic, and mages, and treachery. Should have guessed this would be one of those.” He wasn’t wrong. I put the hilt back into my bag, and joined his side. There wasn’t much to be done for his arm, but I gave him what aid I could. Suddenly a fluttering filled the air, like a canvas sail whipping in the wind. Both Tenoch and I looked up in time to see Ana descending to meet us. “You heard the scream?” She asked. Tenoch grunted his assent. As the witch landed, she caught sight of his arm and then the beast. “Seems you’ve had troubles of your own.” “The damn beasts are coming to life, aren’t they?” Tenoch spat again, as if it was curse enough. “All those tomes you read, all the preparation you did – nothing told you about magic statues?” “Nothing concrete. Certainly nothing said that they would be this dangerous.” “Creatures of stone, animated by magic, charged to defend the grave of a god with their lives. What could be dangerous about that?” The witch shot him a withering look, and turned to me. “Time for subtlety has passed. Time to make for the central keep. You have any tricks in that bag that can help us?” I shook my head. It was her turn to curse. She turned to Tenoch. “What about you stone-face?” “Where is Ullic? You were with him.” “He sent me to find you. He went for Imbra and Ilyas. They were the ones who screamed – one of them anyway. But I doubt the other was very far behind.” “We should find them.” “There isn’t *time*.” Ana’s voice was hard, and sharp and swift as the crack of a whip. “There are dozens of these creatures. Scores of them. All hunting *us* as we speak. Let Ullic find the others and join us at the keep. We need to move, and we need to move quickly. You know what he would say.” Tenoch grunted. “The mission before all.” “Before all indeed. You ready?” The risar nodded. I did the same. “Good.” Ana took the lead, and together the three of us plunged deeper into the maze. The blue stone walls seemed to loom large overhead, threatening to tumble inward and envelop us – but they held as we rushed onward underneath, running hard as we made for our goal. Every so often Ana would take to the skies, adjusting our path to steer us rightly or avoid another beast. By the end Tenoch was panting and I was drenched in sweat. But we found our way through the corridors of Randrabram, and came at last to the final steps before the citadel. “Here,” She told us. “Gods be good, we’re nearly done.” We took to the steps three at a time, our energy renewed by the nearness of victory. The only sounds in the night was the slap of boots upon stone and the labored breath of weary men. But as we came to the doors that led into the temple’s heart, a new sound joined them all. *”Wait!”* I whirled, and there came Ullic – running hard with Imbra clutching to his side. She was wounded, badly, and even from a distance she looked pale. The only thing keeping her moving was her arm slung around Ullic’s shoulder, and a desperate, undefeatable will to survive. They lurched along the path up to the staircase, half hobbling, half stumbling, desperately trying to make up the space. In a few moments I saw why – behind them came death, in all its many faces. “Gods be good.” Tenoch breathed, his own eyes catching sight of the half a dozen shadows hurtling down the corridor to our companions. They were moving too swiftly, and Ullic and Imbra too slowly; they would catch them before they were halfway up the stair. There was no hope, unless we gave it to them. Tenoch did not wait. He drew his sword with his good arm – a long, savage thing of bronze, gleaming with fury in the half-light. I reached into my bag for the bag of blackpowder, and offered a quiet prayer to the gods for true aim. It was Ana who stopped us. “Are you *mad*?” She hissed, slipping before us. Her arms were spread to bar the way, and her gaze was hard. “Just *one* of those things nearly killed you. Six will rend you limb from limb.” “I will not watch our companions die.” Said Tenoch. “Do not watch, then. We go on.” I stared at Ana, but for all my shock I was not surprised. We were companions in arms, but not friends. We had a mission. And it was paramount. But the risar was not so easily convinced. He took a step forward, and in the shadow of his might the witch seemed a child. “Move or be moved.” He said. “No son of Sarmath leaves allies unaided.” Ullic’s voice reached us at the top of the stair. “Please!” He shouted. “Help us!” The statues were closing swiftly. Tenoch and Ana locked eyes and wills. My hand closed around the sack of blackpowder, and like water from a spring the spell came to my fingertips. I drew the sack and threw. It flew high, and far, heading straight for the ranks of the onrushing specters and their seething, shadowy hate. As it reached just above their ranks, I raised my hand and clenched my fist. The word of power in my mind burst into incandescent light. And above the guardians, the sack of powder did the same. With a roar it exploded into scorching flame and smoke, belching forth across the ranks of the devils as they came. They let up a chorus of shrieks and cries, their terrible approach halted for only a moment. Tenoch rushed down the stair, pushing past the witch and moving swiftly for Ullic. I watched the smoke from where I stood, hoping. Praying. Then something moved beyond the haze. *TENOCH!* My mind bellowed, but my throat could not do the same – and I watched in horror as he ran to his doom, the beasts already rallying, one leaping through the smoke. Its jaw hung at an angle, clearly wounded by the blast, but these demons of stone and magic seemed to care little for the pane. In their gemstone eyes hate glittered, hard and cold. They came on with renewed fervor. Tenoch spotted them and redoubled his speed, leaping down the ancient staircase with little care for anything save haste. He skittered down the steps toward Ullic and Imbra, even as the latter slipped on the stones and fell, buckling beneath her own weight and agony. Ullic tried to move her, but he did not have the strength. I watched with horror. Then felt a hand on my shoulder. The witch woman looked at me, her eyes intent on my own. “Do you know the runes?” She demanded. “If we make it to the top, can you do the casting?” I nodded. Tenoch was the runemaster, of course – the risar had invented the craft, and knew it best – but I had learned the spells as a precaution. I was meant to perform the final ritual, but in a pinch I could do the rest. “Good.” She glanced at the scene unfolding below. “You’re not so crippled by attachment, are you?” I followed her gaze. Ullic and Tenoch stood together now, united over the body of Imbra who lay unmoving at the base of the steps. The northman had fire dancing along the tips of his fingers, and Tenoch bore his bronze blade high. Four of the statues circled. Waiting for an opening. And in the distance more shadows seemed to move. The mission before all. I turned my back on the fight below, and followed Ana into the temple’s heart. I offered a quiet prayer, for northman and risar. Blood was often spilled in Randrabam. A little more would be of no consequence. We entered the temple and climbed its steps, ignoring the chambers and hallways that whispered of secrets and treasures and glories unknown. Ana led the way, a witchlight floating just beyond her, and I followed while straining for the faintest sound from outside. Nothing could be heard. And as we climbed higher and higher, outside faded from memory. Soon enough it seemed inconsequential. Soon after that, little more than a dream. We surfaced at the top of the tower, forcing open a door that had not been opened in centuries. The wind whipped harshly around us, whispering admonishment, but there was a power here that could not be denied. It thrummed through the air, through our beings, warmer than a furnace, so rich and sweet it was almost heady. It felt like being drunk, only greater. Like lust, only stronger. Love, but deeper. “This is it.” Ana breathed. And indeed it was. The altar of the temple stood before us – a black stone monolith of unknown make, glossy in the light of the twin moons. I could feel its draw upon my heart. Every breath I took was like a gasp in the face of a hurricane. “Its time.” I stepped forward. Tentatively, as a boy before his father’s wrath, my head bowed in fear of rebuke, but driven forward by an order I could not disobey. Even step made the air feel warmer. Every moment I felt more alive. And as I stood before the altar, my fears slipped away. There was no doubt. There was no worry. There was only this. The spells I had spent all my life learning came to my fingers without demand. They too seemed bowed before the power of the presence before us; subdued in the wake of the force that we now embraced. I bent to write the runes of power, and with the tip of my finger etched them in white fire along the altar’s base. I worked the incantations with the shifting of my fingers, and I felt something beyond the Firmament shift as well. Summoning is a lot like picking a lock. You twist and tweak and listen for the changes. You test the mechanism for weakness. You let it tell you where and when to push. Summoning a god is nothing like that. It’s more like sliding down a hill. Once committed, it’s out of your hands. There is only the draw. There is only the fall. Yes, that is what it was like. Summoning a god felt like fighting gravity. A fight that I was losing. “Come on!” Ana urged, her eyes wild and alive with power. “Keep pressing!” Press I did. Upon the very boundaries of the world I pressed. Deep into the fabric of creation, straight into the veil, right into the Firmament and beyond it I pressed my power and *pushed*. There was no time for thinking. No time for planning or the cleverness of mages. I could feel the power of that which we locked away, and it was like staring into the heart of the sun. It called to me. Urged me onward. Promised me power, and glory, and dominion. Immortality. Apotheosis. Fire, water, and blood. It offered me my speech. How could it know that, I thought. As if the gods did not know all things. As if the piercing light that now divided the contents of my soul could not tell where I was weak, and failing. Slowly I could hear music in the distance, and I knew then that the moment was coming. It began to grow, louder and louder, crashing with cymbals and bright with lyres and alive with wood and brass. Voices were in it; ten thousand voices in ten thousand tongues, crying out a name - *my* name – and offering me praises, offering me glory, offering me power over life and death – “Fool!” Ana began to shout, “What are you doing? Bind it! Bind it!” But there was no binding the storm. No leashing the wind. I could feel it coming, sure as dawn. Who could forbid the sun its dominion? Who could stand before the sea, and tell it no? Only the gods. Only they. And I was not such a one. Not yet. The music was louder now, and I could feel the blood as it ran down my ears. I fell to my knees in reverence, shaking with the force of creation. I could see visions. Crystal towers, stretching from the center of the earth to the outmost stars, and upon them strode demons and heroes, colossal and mighty, wreathed in power. “Bind it!” Came the distant voice again. But the binding mattered not. This power did not care for bindings. This power did not care for me. My hands etched the runes upon the altar without my will to guide them. Slowly, surely, they carved fire into stone, and undid the names of the locks that sealed this ancient god from all creation. Vaguely I remember a loud, desperate scream. Then a sound like canvas in the wind. Then there was nothing – nothing but the storm of song that surrounded me, and the feeling in my gut that *something was coming*. I heard it. Steps. Each one the death knoll of millions. It was coming. They were coming. And I would be their herald, their arbiter, their servant, their son and devoted slave But as the flash of bronze caught my eye, I loosed a guttural scream of horror and fear. Sharper than steel was the risar’s blade, and swift as moonlight on water it bit into the flesh of my wrists and severed my hands at the bone. I fell backward, blood gouting in crimson streams as I tried to voice my agony. The pain seered through my mind, and as the hands ceased their writing the visions were lost – like a door slammed shut upon paradise, all the wonder and peace and glory I had known was hidden once more with one dreadful, final boom. I railed, and laughed, and wept bitter tears, and screamed with my mangled tongue. I found myself thinking, quietly clearly, that I had gone mad; but I cared not. It did not matter. I wanted more. Tenoch, bloodied and wounded in more places than could be counted, looked upon me with pity. His sword still dripped with scarlet blood, even while his clothes were streaked and stained with black. “The mission before all.” He sneered. “Damn the mission. Damn your gods. Damn it all.” He coughed, and spat red blood upon the blue stone. You have, I thought. You have.


Down on his luck again, Phil was in his study pacing, how he usually spent his nights. Having lost another investor, he knew this was the death of his beloved family business. He didn’t know what else he could do. He had already lost his wife, was on the verge of losing his business and eventually his house. He poured himself a drink and swigged it down quickly as he tried to think about what he could. It was a calm night. No rain, no breeze. Eerily quiet, but a beautiful moon to light the outside. He walked by the window and stopped, having seen what looked like a man standing underneath his tree. His eyes fixed, the figure remained motionless. They seemed to share a staring contest, before the figure raised his hand to Phil, motioning for him to come outside. He knew better, but was intrigued enough to begin walking downstairs and to the front door. Opening the front door, he was met by the figure. An average sized man, fit in a nice suit with a modest smile stretched across his face. “Good Evening, Mr. Hutton. How do you do?” Phil was obviously a little off-put by the late visit by the stranger who had no reason for knowing his name. “Little late for a vacuum salesman to be here huh?” The stranger gave a small chuckle to his quip. “Oh, Mr. Hutton. I’m here to offer you something much more valuable than a vacuum.” “Wait, how do you know my name?”, Phil replied. The stranger ignored him. “I’ve got quite the bargain for you. How would you, Mr. Hutton, like to have everything you have lost returned to you?” Phil is taken aback by this. “What?” “I can give you back everything you’ve lost. Your wife, your business, even help prevent you from losing your house.” “How did you know…” “Oh, I know a lot of things, Mr. Hutton. But all that is for another time. I’m on a tight schedule tonight, several other stops to make, none of which affect our business. I hope you understand that I’ll need an answer at this moment.” Phil stammered. He was skeptical, as he should be, but also greatly intrigued by the man. “I’d need some time to think on it, could you stop by tomorrow?” “Oh, Mr. Hutton, unfortunately this is a one-time offer. And since you don’t seem receptive, I’ll just be on my way.” The stranger turned to leave, but Phil wasn’t about to let that happen, no matter how implausible this all seemed. “Wait!” The stranger returned his gaze to Phil, who nodded fervently. The stranger now wore that same modest smile he began their conversation with a simply replied, “Splendid.” There was a second of mutual silence as the stranger dug through his suitcase. Phil was becoming uncomfortable. “So, what do you need from me?”, he asked the stranger. “Your soul.” Phil looked at him in shock, but the stranger just started laughing. “I’m joking, Mr. Hutton! People always think that’s what we want for these grand deals, but that’s not the case. Well, at least not always the case.” This didn’t ease Phil’s nerves. “We?” “Yes, Mr. Hutton. We. And what we need right now are homes.” “Oh, well I have plenty of rooms here. And it’s just me right now.” The stranger started to laugh again. “No, Mr. Hutton. I don’t think you understand.” Their eyes met, and Phil came to the realization of what the stranger meant. “I see…and exactly how many ‘homes’ do you need?” “Well, that depends on how the rest of my night goes, Mr. Hutton. But I think it’s fair to ask for yours and the missus.” Phil nodded. “And how long before you…come ‘home’?” “10 years is the standard deal, but when it comes to realty, we like to extend it to 20 years.” “That seems fair to me.” “Oh, believe me, Mr. Hutton. That’s a real bargain.” The stranger put a piece of paper in front of him and handed him a pen. Phil stopped short of signing it when something struck him. “One more question: what happens to us when you…you know?” “Ahh, fantastic question, Mr. Hutton. What would you like to happen?” “I’d like for me and my wife to go to heaven.” The stranger chuckled. “That can be arranged. But it’ll cost you ten years.” “Deal.” Phil signed the paper, handed the pen to the stranger and shook his hand. The stranger smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Hutton. You’ve done a great thing.” Phil went to speak, but found himself breathless. He was choking. He gasped for air, but to no avail. He fell on the ground, the stranger still wearing that same modest smile. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Hutton. I forgot to mention that it costs you ten years…per home.” Phil tried to curse him, but failed to squeeze out any sound. The stranger watched as he struggled, before he finally died on his floor. “Don’t worry, Mr. Hutton. We’ll take good care of the missus.


If there were ever an utterly inappropriate time to suddenly remember the song "The Wheels on the Bus go Round and Round"- It was definitely after the bus you were in ran someone over. Jolene thought as she unconsciously white-knuckled her bat. She looked back at the rest of her team as they all registered varying degrees of horror. It wasn't enough to survive a drive back from the NCAA softball tournament in Iowa, but to run someone over once they arrived on Del Playa boulevard? That was just fate delivering a bloody middle finger. The rest of the hand belonged to the NCAA after they revoked the medals after Darcy and the rest of the outfield tested positive for iguana testosterone. Jolene knew to have an Australian on the team was going to be trouble, she didn't think it would cost her the championship medal her senior year though. Tom, the portly driver, yelled and immediately slammed the bus to a halt. He sprung out of his seat like someone had rung the dinner bell. He opened the door, only to feel the teeth of a foaming frat boy sink into his generous neck. Tom's face twisted in pain and surprise as his blood across the first few windows of the bus. A fresh round of shrieks tore through the bus as Jolene stared in horror as four other button-ups joined the frat boy in his dinner snack. Smoke and screams rippled through the Del Playa Boulevard as the rhythmic bass of the Del Topia festival failed to drown out the immediate chaos. "Bats up, ladies!" Jolene barked at the rows behind her. Thirty pieces of hardwood popped up as she cautiously approached the open door that claimed Tom. "This isn't a drill, no bunts or short swings. These guys are animals out here, and we need to carve a path to the clubhouse." The screams surrounding the bus grew louder as it joined the sound of hundreds of desperate feet. "We don't know what's going on outside these doors, so new rules are in play. If they don't have a bat, they don't matter! Let's go!" Jolene shouted as she jumped into the chaos and cracked the first button up in her way. The rest of the team, clad in their warm-ups and bats followed her out the door. A few girls on edge shoved frantic runners away before Jolene took point and headed towards Uyesaka stadium. Darcy guarded the back as Jolene heard her outback insults cut through the din. "Move it, you fucking sheep! We're all screwed if you don't lift those knees, Brenda!" Jolene couldn't help but cackle as she delivered another homer as a sorority sister lunged at her face. "No rushing for me!" She howled as her Louisville slugger connected with a vicious crack. Jolene wasn't called Captain Thunder for nothing. The team fell into pods of threes as they broke through the crowd to campus. Their championship ears filtered out the screams like game day noise. The only voices that cut through the white noise were Darcy's and Jolene's. Their alternating barks kept the team on the path past the Storke field as they neared the stadium. The campus grounds opened up on all sides. They neared the relative security of the double reinforced doors of the clubhouse when a ragged girl with a single Birkenstock lunged at Jolene. Dani pivoted into the girl, and hip tossed her to the ground. The girl clawed onto Dani's ankle and took a bite before Jolene brought her bat down. "What the fuck?!" Dani screamed as Jolene pulled her up and hobbled towards the locker room together. Dark blood left a trail of pain that the rest of the team was careful to avoid. "Lock the door, Darcy! We don't want any of those psychos coming in." Jolene roared as Darcy shepherded the last of the team through the door. Stranded like the Maccabees, Jolene knew the team couldn't stay in the clubhouse forever. She looked around at the ashen faces that filled the once spotless room. Bats covered the floor as the girls stared at one another for answers. Answers that Captain Thunder didn't have.


October 2143 720 Ion Ave. Uranium City, Mare Imbrium, Moon of Earth Dear Alex, I know my previous e-mail to you left many things unfinished and that was for a good reason – at that time I was still frightened out of my wits, and had a hard time composing myself. I apologize for scaring you with my hastily writings about “the most horrible thing I have ever seen” and many other such vague and uninterpretable things. Now that I am more thoroughly constituted please allow me to explain how I have come to fear being near the endangered female. But don’t you dare accuse me of being some raging bigot towards the disfigured – surely you’ll understand where I come from. Even a week or so after this incident, I still find it most unpleasant and grating to be near one of them. Something so horrible has been burned into my mind, into my very core. I become deeply disturbed when I see one milling about on the street, and I often have to turn away or simply stare at the ground. The sight of one reminds me all too much about the things I witnessed about a week ago. It all began when I remembered my old friend Dallas from my teenage days. We got into contact, and we planned to have a meeting. It had been a while – oh, perhaps 30 or 35 years – since we had last seen each other. We planned to convene at the nearest coffeehouse to his residence, and then from there we would go to his house and listen to old jazz music or just another dusty record from the collection he inherited from his grandparents. We planned to discuss how our lives had progressed and changed. If you were not aware, something that made Dallas stand out was that he had acquired some unknown and undiagnosed genetic disease from the gestationary. For whatever reason, it prohibited him from receiving sufficient gender therapy from a young age until the malformations already took their tolls. I believe it’s one out of every 10,000. Thus, he lacked any of the defining traits that us “normal” people have, such as not bearing a penis (not even a vestigial one), having strange, enlarged breasts, being shorter than average, a disproportionate shoulder-to-hip ratio, lack of any facial hair, and all other kinds of disfigurations that confound the common eye. One could go as far to say that he was much like an archaic Woman before the corrective therapies became available to cure people from being forced into those strange bodies. I’ve seen pictures of these so-called women before the early 2060’s that frankly look a lot like him. But it wouldn’t be accurate to make the comparison. After all, he has since received some hormonal therapy to counteract the influence of this disease, but the damage has been done. And if that hadn’t been bad enough, on top of the disfiguring gender-related illness, he had been diagnosed with another affliction, which was some flavor of cardio-vascular disease. But otherwise he was very normal and kind. He didn’t deserve any of the bullying that came his way. In his childhood, these malformations made him an outsider, and a target for the cruel and apathetic classmates to use him as the social punching bag. Truly, some of the worst bullying that I remember seeing in highschool was directed towards Dallas. Instead of the neutral and proper pronouns of “he” or “him”, they would all refer to him by the slurs, “Woman!”,“Birther!”, “Menstraloid!” and some of the most awful names you could imagine. I remember that they would oftentimes stand behind him and point at his wide hips and rounded shoulders, or pull off his shirt and snicker at his swollen chest, yell him death threats down the hall, and other indescribably horrible things that I simply cannot find it in me to put down onto this message. But the worst part—not even the teachers or administrators would do anything about the bullying other than an indifferent “we are doing all we can to take care of the problem.” It was only I and a few of the more openhearted and understanding folks who looked beyond the biological costume he was forced to wear by birth and simply accepted him as just a man with a disease.   Anyhow, I remember sitting there in the coffeehouse in rapt anticipation of meeting Dallas after the decades, to hear his stories, his life, and the old warm personality I used to love. I recall the moment when the door opened and he appeared out from behind, and I felt as if my stomach no longer had weight. I believe I jumped up from my seat with my mouth permanently set into smiling, and we greeted each other with the usual greetings. It’s always nice to meet with an old best friend. My memory already seems to be faded at the edges, but all I can remember is that I was the only one who drank coffee. And we talked for a while about menialities and small stories. Then we walked a short distance to his house. I noticed that he carried an umbrella, which was weird because it wasn’t even raining at the time. I didn’t ask about it, though. When we arrived at his house, nothing had really stood out as strange until we began to talk about more complex and personal things. He seemed as if he was an actor trying to play an unfamiliar role. When I asked him about Charlie, another close friend of his, he looked nervous and claimed he didn’t know who that was. Then all attempts to refresh his memory with pictures and stories were shot down rapidly with the same “no, I don’t know who that is.” And I noticed that the way he talked had the strangest and most uncanny textures to it. It nearly sounded like he was blankly reading poetry. But I couldn’t pinpoint what it was, so I ignored it, until I realized what it was that had made me so on edge. When it came to me, I started up from the cushions of the couch and began to hyperventilate. He asked me what the problem was, but I found everything to be so unspeakably morbid that I couldn’t even imagine a response. In the flurry of terror I needed to prove to myself if it was true or just my imagination about what had really happened to Dallas. Perhaps my inner psychology wanted to justify my newfound fear of Dallas with evidence; I don’t know. I wasn’t very rational in those moments. In that moment of true horror and surprise I poured the remaining amount of my scalding coffee onto the pale skin that stretched across his face, and ran to the other room to hide from his rage and confusion. Immediately, I heard him scream. When I peeked my eyes from around the corner, I saw it— the horrible thing I mentioned. He had begun to silently twitch there on the couch, with his glassy eyes staring blankly at nothing. His eyes looked like lifeless marbles. And I still vividly remember his face curling into bizarre shapes of emotions, as if something inside had begun to pull and stretch the multiple muscles in his face. And the twitching! —it would have nearly been cartoonish, funny even, if it were not so morbid. And when the terrible twitching mass stopped moving and fell lifeless on the floor, his head made a lifeless, metallic *clunk*. My best friend, the only actual ‘woman’ I have ever known, dead! I tried to feel for his heartbeat in his neck, wrist, and chest but nothing. The main flaw with his behavior wasn’t just the indescribable tranquility in his voice. I heard no breathing when he spoke, I never saw that swollen chest rise or fall, and the way he would move his body when he walked was unnatural, even for a person with the phenotypic wider hips. I knew what this all meant when I remembered the other detail I mentioned from his teenage years. The condition with his heart. If memory serves me correct, there was a large underground problem of sick persons receiving unapproved and illegal thermoelectric organ implants from unlicensed doctors around when we graduated from highschool. There were rumors that some of the most ill, destitute, and damned would go over the top and become entirely electric, but I never believed it. Dallas was a good guy, and I thought he would naturally know that he should avoid those sorts of things, but somehow, just somehow, I know that he must have received this surgery, and bought himself more years. I am furious to admit that this now has completely changed my perception of him, but I cannot help how I feel. It’s permanently burned into my mind. **But don’t you dare say that I murdered him**. It’s not me who’s at fault. You must understand, if my deductions are correct, then Dallas actually died several decades ago on an unlicensed surgery table.


"Order, Order!" The grand wizard slammed his gavel onto the table made of magical stone. The spell muted all of the creatures to stop their blabbering discourse. Nothing had been done in the last fifty years since humanity had been introduced into their magical realm. A reoccurring issue with the main species was that they consistently fought amongst themselves. The wizards, the dwarves, and the elves. Standing at the front of the small group of lords and leaders of the realm, the Grand Wizard let out an exhausted sigh. He knew from the great book, it was not his choice nor anyone else to determine the validity of humanity and their existence in their wonderous world. A world where Elves lived prosperously near the water, the dwarves lived sheltered in the mountains, and the sparse wizards separated in the far reaches of their planet. "We must give the humans a chance to live." The wizard began, "They do not have the luxury of evolving for millions of years, as we had just discovered them less than a century ago." The grand wizard slammed his staff into the ground forming a white cloud above the large table for everyone to see. In three separate segments, the leaders watched as individual projections of their species evolved in front of their eyes. They watched the Elves, who initially grew from an ancient mermaid in the depths of the sea. The dwarves who began as a rare mushroom troll deep in the earth, and of course the Wizards, who were flower pixies before eventually gaining their true power. Lastly, he showed the ancestor of humans, a three-eyed monkey, who had once been able to communicate with all the creatures on the planet, telling signs of the future. As it goes, the Great Book was written by one of the ancient Monkeys who had lived during the stages of the other creatures' infancy. Humanity still had yet to discover its true powers in its primal stage. "You see now, these Humans will one day be able to help us. We must be patient as they are still growing. One day they will use their powers to bring us together as their ancestors foretold." With a wave of his gavel, the spell was uplifted from the room. "They won't come together in time for the war. They are too selfish." Interjected Ravi, the General of the mighty Elf fleet of the East. "Yes, they are too greedy. We cannot depend on them!" Added the Dwarf king from the south. "This is true, this is true. They won't be ready for the war if we keep them here." The grand wizard picked his long white beard to the troubled question. If the humans stayed, they would one day no doubt try to overpower the elves, dwarves, and maybe wizards too, for their bidding one day. Once they had full control of their psychic abilities, they could just as easily use evil to overthrow their planet to serve themselves. Shaking his head at the thought, the wizard repeated themself "As I said, they are not ready." "Yes, and the Book says the war will begin in 2,300 years. I say we raise them as elves. They will do fine within our culture" Exclaimed Ravi. "Oh, you want them, so that you can make them slaves. Just as you tried to do with us and our mines. We must fight for ourselves, and hold true to our own people. The humans can die amongst their own self-pity!" The dwarves cheered at this response from their king, while the elves ignored what they considered small-minded opinions. Again, the room was in an argument, and loud. Mostly because of the dwarf leaders who were yelling. Frustrated, the Grand Wizard saw the meeting going nowhere over everyone's disagreement. If they did not find a way to evolve the humans, the great war would be the end of all their planet. What shall they do? Are they doomed? "Silence!" Slamming his staff into the ground, the grand wizard grew 20 feet tall, a dark cloud over him. He had the power to send these people to another world lightyears away if he wanted to get them to shut up and he sure as hell felt like doing it... Drawing axes and arrows on both sides of the table, everyone waited on edge for the first strike to initiate, however, it didn't come. Instead, they watched perplexed as a sense of peace looked to befall the Grand Wizard. The dark cloud above his head turned into sunshine. "I've got it. Eleanor, please bring in the Human King." Walking down the long hallway into the realms court, was Jesus, the leader of all man draped in rags. The only sign of royalty he had was a sword. "Yes, grand wizard," he answered kneeling before the room. "You will select a boy and a girl from your people and bring them to me before the days end." "What for?" asked the King. "We shall place them in a new world, and they will grow your species there. In time, they shall learn to grow with each other much faster than if they would in our world." "Will they be safe?" "No, they will suffer and go through much pain, however it necessary in order for them to grow. In 2,300 years they will grow more as a civilization than if we kept them here. Don't fret, you and I shall help them in moments of change." The King returned to his village, and selected young Adam and Eve to go as partners to this new world. He did not tell the young ones why they needed to start the species or of the war. All he said was to obey the simple commands given to them by the gods. "But how can we know if we are doing this right, my King?" "I don't have that answer, Adam, all I've been told by the Grand Wizard is this. You must keep your knowledge of this world between you both and nobody else." "How will we survive.?" "The grand wizard will advise you. Remember what the great book says --above everything, and anything, love everyone, and anything.