《Entertaining Reclamation》


 Damnation - Rewrite

    The Aether chooses not who to play within their sadistic Games, it beckons poor souls, showers them with power beyond understanding, as they write the Story they oh so dearly wish to enjoy. What happens to those ensnarled, enthralled is up to the slave themselves, or rather, how entertaining they are.


    Should you stop to play, they''ll make you part of another.


    If you fizzle out, it all depends if they can even remember toying with you in the first place.


    And if you don''t pay your toll in full, it''s only a matter of time, until they start a new round.


    -Hans


    <0>


    Today was a beautiful day on the 7th of May, 2019 in the town of Wellsboro.In the town''s graveyards, down to the dot, was once again a resident only known as Sarge.


    Everyone knew him, but only because he was there. The old, such as the young, see him on this very day, always, at three grave''s no one but him tended.


    He wouldn''t talk, not engage in conversations, rarely speak a word or two in any encounter, only definitively would he speak when mourning once a week.


    He appeared one day, and from there on was part of the town.


    Sarge was an old man, but strangely he seemed healthy for all doubts. He was big, had a chunky body, and a face like that of a rotting squash. Sarge wasn''t his real name, more so an alias for the folk to use, picked up by the mailboy thirty years ago after having caught a glimpse of his home and claiming to have seen medals galore. Medals in cabinets with broken, cracked glass, almost as if someone punched them regularly. And today once more, some people watched as Sarge cleaned the tombstones, ripped out the pesky weeds, planted new flowers, scrubbed nameplates, and lastly, but most importantly, he would talk with a whisper to the dead. What was picked up by passengers could be described as lamentable, regret.


    As Sarge kneeled forward, almost touching the stone with his forehead, he was for once silent, and people around thought that perhaps he has died, was it not when a dreadful, paining pop echoed through the city. Sarge fell down, barely holding himself from sinking into the inviting gravel below. The old man turned around, shivering as the taste of familiar memories pooled within his mind, just like the blood in his mouth.


    "Turn around." Ordered a new voice behind Sarge, so calm and welcoming, as shivering and disturbed while people ran away in all directions. And yet, this moment did seem so peaceful.


    "I said turn around, I want to see your face, Scrappy." The mysterious man spoke, and the words seemed to shatter Sarge for a moment, for while this too wasn''t his true name, it was one he was once called by his friends, accompanying him to hell.


    Finally, Sarge pushed himself up, remarkable for a man looking like he had surpassed ninety years of age. And as the two men met eyes, standing and staring, like they both had seen a ghost, a deceitful illusion, it would be Sarge who had the last word.


    "Hans?" That was what Sarge spoke before he was discharged a third time, released from the mortal coil a second, but what waited would be a first.


    A second gunshot rang through the area, and Sarge''s vision was parted, as the bullet of the gun, an Astra 600 in vintage condition, pierced his right eye. The moment, as he fell to the ground, on his back, lasted seemingly an eternity, savoring the vision of his murderer: A tall, german man with blue eyes, blond hair, a bomber jacket tightly enveloping his body. But what shone most thorough in the seconds before death was the rusted belt buckle of an eagle.


    Finally, the seamlessly endless, empty abyss took him back after almost fifty-five years.


    <hr>


    Sarge''s eyes snapped open when a devastating sensation ravaged through his beck, forcing him to wheeze and cough while rolling on the ground. Finally, opening his eyes he saw an illusionary and yet elastic surface of yellow light keeping him above a voideless fall into a maelstrom of colors only some he recognized, a miasma of color. Yet, the amazement that caught the old-fashioned man lasted but a breath longer, for a booming voice announced itself with authority and power enough to make a man crumble.


    "The judgment shall commence."


    With his withered husk, Sarge pushed himself up shakingly, only managing to rise to his knees, sapped of almost every inch of physical strength. The old man found himself on an island suspended in an empty void which''s sky was a galaxy of lights, and countless spheres formed an ocean illuminating the void below. To the rock on which Sarge was abandoned where chains fit of a leviathan were linked, chaining three metal rings of light to it, with a fourth one, shattered and forgotten far off.


    A deep rumbling echoed from one of the rings, drawing Sarge''s eyes to it, and from the hoop emerged but half of a creature of myth. A giant to rival all giants, a demonic atrocity of skin and muscle. The beast, a green, hulking mass bearing two tusks that grew from its lower jaw leaned forward ever so slightly. The hair, a red mane reaching down its back imitated a field of hay. But it all did nothing to describe it, for only one detail mattered to Sarge: Eyes shining so bright that and painful, that only meeting its stare whitened Sarge''s eyes, cracked his skin like a month in the desert.


    "Who are you?" Sarge uttered with a whisper while shielding his eyes.


    "I bear the name of Osmodeus, the judge of destruction." The creature spoke with an aggravated voice, even when it appeared to be physically calm. "I once demanded your demise."


    A sizzling, an ever-ending rattling that echoed ushered in the arrival of the second judge. Like a found, countless snakes grew out of the hoop''s lights, melting into one grand, before returning to their parted state in a never-ending, un-flawed cycle. A create of white snow scales, shards of marble forming an ocean bearing gemstones of the kind which could not be compared.


    "I am Premura, the judge of creation." The titanic serpent sizzled, but this one bore a voice more beautiful than anything he ever heard before. "And I once called for your revival."


    Sarge was drawn in by the blue eyes of the snake, so deeply he felt his very mind melt away alongside all his mental perils, or perhaps, they were all that held his mentality stable. Such a soft and elegant visage that at the same time horrified his mortal body.


    And at this very moment in which he was crumbling, Sarge remembered that this was just a faint display of his brain as death was cradling him into death.


    "Incorrect." One last judge made its presence known with sounds so disturbing that Sarge''s very bones were twisting as if they were attempting to peel themselves for the chance to escape. A clicking and clattering of wet bones and thick muck rubbing against glass, that was the music that echoed in the last arrival.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    With dread clawing at Sarge''s back, he turned around and felt himself becoming void, devoid of all that makes him Sarge, human, alive, only leaving him indifferent, all caused by one look into the ''face'' of an indescribable creature.


    A lanky, wraith-like monstrosity to tower all nightmares. An eel-like body was bent and twisted to resemble a humanoid form to a certain extent. Stark white ribs protruded from its back and grew like bark into a container vaguely akin to a ribcage housing not organs or air, but an ever-changing mass of slime that become a new substance with every tic. Ivory, skinless limbs that were nothing but skin hung loosely from the beast''s sides, longer than the creature itself and bearing three digits switching between wicket claws and pestilent tentacles. A featureless, mirror-like orb resided there where a head should''ve otherwise been placed, and it reflected the world around it, twisting it into the polar opposite of the sights perceivable, a miasma of nightmares and disorder.


    "I am Idobaht, the judge of Opposition." The wraith-like creature spoke with a foggy voice and whispering tone. "I called for your fate to be twisted. Rewritten. Unbecoming and appearing as what opposed."


    "You stand before the three judges for your crimes against the Aether." Osmodeus spoke; this time, his body leaned forward, one hand resting upon the rocky island, the other tightly formed into a fist.


    "What the hell are you talking about, I don''t know any of you!" Sarge shouted with much defiance, enabling himself to stand up on one foot. "What do you devils even think I own you." The mortal man spoke, and his words seemed to anger Osmodeus, and yet, barely fazed him compared to its already enraged nature.


    "You misunderstand your summoning here, mortal creature." Premura spoke, her head leaning forward, but this close Sarge could only see his mere reflection in one of her eyes. Or rather, and reflection of an old memory. Countless corpses littered with holes, bathing and caked in mud and blood as flashes of light and explosions of air parting velocity surrounded the piles.


    "You have called upon the Aether to grant you more time and strength to withstand great perils, for any price." Idobaht spoke; however, he leaned back. "To change what lied ahead, you offered yourself to us, and we gave you more than you could wish for. Now, we wish for the payment."


    "You survived, took the lives by the dozens, became an perfect tool of war and rose up to be a warhero. You were granted all health and sweetness of live you could grant you, but thanklessly drew the divine pact into the dust. Condemning the great Aether to watch your story crumble away into a dull, undeserving slog, the only payment that was desired of you for heavenly gifts." Osmodeus spoke. Rising his hands into the sky, appearing almost fanatical.


    "W-what the hell do you mean, I don''t understand what the fuck you are talking about." Sarge looked around frantically as the judge''s rings, and thus themselves drew in closer, their shadowless presence looming ever more crushing.


    Idobaht only stared; not a tone left his globe.


    Osmodeus lowered his hands, crossing them while a deep scowl overtook his visage.


    Premura pulled her head back and spoke with a voice lacking any and all of the crystal-bell-like magic she bore before. "When the flames licked your face to the bone, metal pebbles by the many pierced your flesh and corpses buried you in the mud, there you called upon any creature willing to listen. Let me live, I do anything, just don''t let me die here, those were your words. Such, were the terms you set, such was the contract forged."


    "No... no-no-no-no.. This couldn''t have been-but, what else would''ve done..." Sarge mumbled, his head was weakly shaking as he looked down onto his hands. The haze that clouded his mind for two hellish years was not his mind breaking under the torment, but a curse. The nightmarish spell that drip-fed him nightmares and fragments of memories, of the crimes he committed in the war, over the course of decades was beckoned by himself. The ability to move, endure, kill through anything so long as blood was shed was a bargain for his soul. All those poor people died because of him, and were all his other achievements also just a farce?


    He let his arms fall and looked Idobaht in the eyes, pleading. "Impossible?"


    "Impossibility is a human concept brought forth by the weakness of mind and body." Idobaht said, now leaning forward when Osmodeus un-crossed his arms and straightened his spine.


    The three judges stared down at the petrified mortal before he let down his head.


    "What do you want." Sarge said with defeat, there was nothing they could still take away from him; he had nothing anymore, no hell could ever compare to the horrors he went through; it all was just an extension of his time of consciousness.


    "The thing you owe the Aether. A story it deems worthwhile." Osmodeus spoke harshly, spatting by the sound of his anger. "To achieve this, a second chance must be granted. The judges'' rule of three will be placed upon you, and your debt will be repaid in your time beyond our reach."


    Sarge feebly grit his teeth and looked Osmodeus into his eyes. Empty eyes. "Do whatever you want, Ogre." For just a moment, he saw some more teeth of the judge of destruction, and all due to a little, short-lived smirk.


    "I take away your face." Idobaht uttered, and one of nine runes that circled the yellow energy floor below Sarge lit up with a black hue.


    "I take away your home." Premura spoke, a white rune lit up


    "I take away your humanity." Osmodeus spoke before a red rune shone with power.


    ''Mother, Father, Ted...'' Sarge thought with grieve.


    Metalic shackles sprung from the yellow field of energy and shackled themselves onto Sarge, but instead of resisting, shouting, screaming, wriggling, he only let down his head. Accepting orders like the good soldier he used to be, or perhaps, just a man who could gain through anything. No, neither, he just didn''t have the care of will to defy the world any longer.


    "I enforce a watcher." Premura spoke


    "I enforce an untainted heart." Osmodeus declared


    "I enforce restlessness." Idobaht said, and with his sentence finished, six of nine runes were lit, and the yellow floor started to lose its saturation, slowly becoming pale and translucent.


    ''Tom, Gary, Will.'' Sarge thought with bittersweet nostalgia.


    "I gift you Agramir." Osmodeus spoke proudly; whether he was impressed by the weapon or by the effect, either positive or negative, it would have on Sarge was yet to be seen.


    "I gift you the body of Effunternum." Idobaht spoke and held one of his claws.


    "I gift you Relilis''s mask." Premura spoke, but before the ninth run lit up, a great shock rocked through the room.


    "What do you think you''re doing, Serpent?" It was a low, enraged grow shunned by shock and surprise. He laid both of his hands onto the island on which Sarge resided, pressing down and creating cracks that reached deep into the stone, hundreds of meters below. "This gift is unfitting." The gritted teeth and threatening tusks spoke louder than any scream he could emit.


    Idobaht tilted his spherical head and spoke calmly while staring deep into Osmodeus''s enraged and appalled visage. "I, too, question the judgement, but it''s your choice I defy."


    "You claim my decisions are slipping?" Osmodeus asked with a crooked tone. "You gift such blessing to an oath breaker?"


    "It is not our place to punish when redemption is already decided, and your reckless decisions have already disappointed the Aether once greatly. Not long ago, if I recal. Afterall, wasn''t the mask of Relicit lost due to your ambition to reward those useful in your eyes?" Premura spoke tightly, lifting her head and looking down upon the judge of destruction with anger.


    Osmodeus glared back at the judge of creation while Idobaht watched from the side, the images in his reflective skull changing like a river in chaos.


    "I agree not with your statement, but honor your argument. I will let your judgment happen without resistance." Osmodeus spoke through his teeth, almost as if he only read from a protocol and didn''t speak his thoughts.


    ''May, Lilo and Ben...'' Sorrow filled Sarge''s hearts and he leaned back with his head, starring into the heavens once more as his flesh once again would be made anew.


    The ninth rune shone up with divine light, the barrier between Sarge and the whirlpool collapsed, before the chains released him into the void below. Skin and flesh and bone shed to dust, but no sensations, emotions or thoughts plagued his being in that moment. Only did he witness something growing over his face.


    Sarge didn''t lose consciousness; however, he could not remember the things he saw, and yet, he could''ve sworn to have heard three familiar voices.

 A New World Awaits

    In this world born twice, in the third age of men, and populated by the Primati, Sedu, Terdu, and Novidu races, change of the kind it hasn''t seen in 800 hundred years was about to usher in.


    In this world ruled by the three lords of old: Solamus, Tercadus, and Olphasum, the Custiqua composed of Dragons and Spirits that cradled the first races when the world was young, the Kings and Queens that watch over the two shattered continents in political warfare and lastly the Chamu which keep the circle of Magic and Darkness ever spinning, imbalance was on the rise.


    In this world existing only in the now and tomorrow, the mortal races lived to the fullest they could, for any day it could end. The inhabitants, for all their will and desires, be it of the kind that primates, serpents, avians, feline, or canine possessed, could no longer match the arising challenges.


    Yes, in this very world, known as Abadar, on the first continent called Cardem, in the Rejuvenated Forest, appeared a strange statue. It was a masked man, concealment that was so large and ingrained in his appearance, that it seemed as if it was part of his very biology.


    Concealment was a very fitting adjective for this depicted person, for not an inch of his stone skin could be seen. Long patches of silky rock veiled over his thin, leech-like plate armor, from his gloved, petite hands down to the heavy reinforced boots. But strangest of all, this stone being was chained by restraints of lights that, as if it was on command, shattered into vaporizing mist.


    Crack, the stone shuddered under the sudden movement below the rock. Click, plates began to separate from the being below. Thud, the encasement crumbled into gravel and pulver, letting the prisoner free, who fell onto the grassy surface below like a freshly hatched magpie.


    Sarge was reborn but also shackled.


    With growling which slowly ripped in his throat, swole up while he slowly pushed himself on his legs. "Was it like this the first time too...?" Sarge questioned while rubbing his masked face, and yet it felt so close to reality, the sturdy material gracing his ''skin,'' it was less so of a separate object, but more akin to a permanent extension. "Blue grass?" He suddenly asked with confusion, the previous groggy groan momentarily swallowed, he rose to his feet and inspected the alien surroundings.


    Sarge found himself in a forest, but not one an earthling would ever see with their own eyes. Blue, fluffy grass grew under his feet like a carpet, almost like moss in a way, and next to him were trees more akin to fungi than barked poles. The stem was silver, and the tops were mushroom caps of azul. And well above the clouds watching over the lands was a pale sun granting cold light.


    Sarge''s skin took in the alien climate and as he breathed, breathing which he hadn''t done in the minutes he eyed this world, felt unnaturally envigorating. He could not differentiate whether this new body was more receptive than his old one, or if the world was more bright. Yes, he knew that he wasn''t in his old body, the new senses, the increased height, and prime strength he felt, in short, inhuman abilities were nothing new to him. It was after all not the first time he has been ''blessed'' before, not, that he was allowed to panic this time either, the Aether didn''t desire a tutorial phase, they desired for their avatars to be ready the second they awake. it was also very apparent that he felt no heartbeat in his chest, and no mouth or nose was present either.


    Sarge knew that all too well, for when he was reborn the first time, with his flesh remade, he killed three soldiers, a trio of lads who should be home instead of plundering corpses. From birth on ready to fulfill the contract. And despite being shot four times in the chest by them, it didn''t stop him. He was, after all, still able to entertain the Aether, after all.


    With clenched fists, Sarge tested his strength, slowly rotating and moving the joins, finding them to be, he couldn''t quite describe it, but this time there was a severe difference, unsynchronized with his mind.


    ''You have been merged and mended with a body that remained for many cycles within the vault of the judges. It really isn''t a surprise, especially with an old man such as yourself. Haven''t been actively doing cardio now, have you Quodo?'' A voice, one with no physical presence spoke to Sarge as if he stood within an empty room, the sounds coming from every corner.


    Sarge leaned his head forward, and ''closed his eyes,'' going inside of himself and grasping at the faint presence of peace in himself in hopes of calming himself. "My name isn''t Quodo, it''s..." Sarge added firmly with a short remark, and as he was about to reveal his name, his voice stopped and had he a tongue, it would''ve frozen as well. There was no memory of his name. He peered deeper, for the times his wife, mother or father called the birthday cards or cakes that bore his name, not even his id, all of them had his name whipped.


    "I really didn''t think that my watcher would be a second voice in my skull." Sarge prematurely gave up his search and remembered the trial once more. "Why are you calling me Quodo?" Sarge called with a demanding tone, before looking at the horizon and seeking a sort of structure, almost like a great wall looming over the woods. With interest sparking within him, as well as relentlessness pushing him to action, he trotted forward towards what seemed to be civilization.


    Suddenly Sarge felt motion from his left hip and beheld a sword, one that reminded him of many weapons, but not the one he viewed exactly. It was far-reaching like a longsword, possessed the shape of a bayonet, but light as a katana. The weapon was colorful, vibrant like metals of myth, purple, silver, and green were dominant. From the sword emerged, like a phantom arising from a puddle, a spiritual creature.


    Sarge saw a creature that reminded him of a ferret, yet it bore serpent features; its scales were blue while white fur patches adorned the strange body. Short limbs and claws hung of the, in comparison, big and fluffy body, but transportation was not a question, for it flew, and rings of gold clung tightly against its skin. The eyes the creature bore fascinated Sarge most; its eyes'' color was that of illuminated Amber.


    "Because that, Quodo Dobromir, was the name given to you by the judge of destruction, his highness Osmodeus, with the input of the judges of Idobaht and Premura." The strange creature spoke with suddenly found respect, the kind one gained through severe reminding of the most direct kind. "And little ol'' me is going to be your watcher, bound to the fair blade Agramir: you are roped to me. Oh, and I''m Devula. Hoi."


    If Quodo could raise an eyebrow, let his forehead sink or wrinkle, or display any other fascial expression other than that of a plain, porcelain mask bearing but two black spots appearing as eyeholes, then he would.


    "Amusing." Quodo muttered with false pleasure, before turning his eyes away from the Serpent of vigor. "Tell me, what does the Aether want this time?" It was a sudden shift in voice, the voice of this artificial body reached a kind of dreadfulness it was never meant to display. Far more vicious than the bloodstained flesh he previously bore, or perhaps the marks soiled his soul just as much?


    "Huh?" The spirit asked with confusion, floating along with the spirited away man. "Not going to judge you for the sloppy introduction, but what do you mean?" A hunch of stale emotions filled the fleeting atmosphere between the unlikely pair. "Whatever, ''so long it''s entertaining."


    Crack.


    Quodo, not halting for but a moment, punched a tree while passing, but to his surprise, a deep indentation formed within the wood, and it either seemed this world was too soft for his body, the crafted creation bore too great strength. As for the provocation, of such action, were twenty-six months of hazy fragments of memories.


    "Blood." Quodo muttered while shaking his head with great discomfort, hunching forward and trying to banish old lingering thoughts that pooled within him. Lifeforce was the most prestigious of currencies for the Aether, and it was more than generous to reward bloodshed. It was the greatest entertainment.


    "Blood?" The spirit asked as the duo walked past a usual, humanoid skeleton bearing great similarities to the homo sapiens, but with differences present such as spring-like feet and a more profound chest cavity. "Oh, quick tip bit, don''t try to actively wield blades that aren''t the rapier on your hip, just trust me, it''s for the best." Devular added with ballistic remembrance, upon seeing the broken sword at the side of the corpse.


    "Yes, blood, it''s very entertaining, it would seem. If it gets dirty, brutal, inhume, all the better. ''I'' once killed some poor man who tought I was some native vietnam man with an revolver." Quodo noted, before his eyes turned towards an old, nearly crumbled tower, only the foundation and the cellar remained. It looked like the structure was shortened by extreme heat, for the top was scorched and the fallen bricks appeared to have molten to some degree.


    "It''s an balisitc intrument, if I am not mistaking?" Devula asked, but if she expected Quodo to agree or correct her proved to be fruitless, because he didn''t answer. "Doesn''t sound that brutal to me." She spoke about the topic casually as if it was not about the death of someone.


    "The gun, not the bullets." Quodo snapped, his voice hissing as he looked at the spirit with such anger, it almost looked like it caused some sort of surface tension that floated over his body to waver. "Blood." He repeated once more, but the malicious, rage-fuelled emotions saturating his speech now lacking.


    "You, uhm, already said that." Devula said with uncertainty.


    "No, blood." Quodo corrected the false assumption and pointed with his finger at a not so far off tree around which blood, fresh lifeforce, gathered and grasped the extended bayonet firmly with both of his hands, at least, that would be the use he intended for the weapon if things turned sour. Although, he did not wish to savor the taste of strangers'' blood again, ever again, despite it being, at least under the influence of the Aether, sweeter than any drug he ever used.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    With heavy, steady footsteps that dented the soft forest floor with every single motion, almost like it couldn''t even bear his weight, only swallow his sounds, he advanced towards the fresh corpse. Looping the source of interest, awaiting a foe or beast to jump from the shadows, he found but a desecrated body of an animal that never was on earth.


    A quadruped bearing great similarities to a dog''s silhouette, a mix between great dane and husky, but completely furless, draped in tarry skin from which several antennae sprouted. The Legs consisted of blade-like appendages, and its face seemed to have once been able to split into four parts, each bearing an eye on the outside, and a patch of teeth on the inside so tightly placed, it might have a used as natural sandpaper. Now, a great hole seemed to have been forcefully implanted into the animal''s skull, from which''s wound yellow blood flowed out and gathered as a puddle around a long, slick tongue once belonging to the dog.


    "Eww, that''s way worse than roadkill." Devula muttered as she floated above Quodo''s right shoulder.


    "Silence, we aren''t alone." Quodo spoke coldly, before turning his attention to the sudden visitor, or perpetrator revisiting the scene of crime.


    A bulbous creature eyed Qudod with interest, supported only by four long, barbed legs like that of locust. A mosquito-like head, bearing three honeycomb eyes peered upwards to stare at Quodo, for he towered above it with size being twice as great, as the bug.


    The sharp blade of the creature waved in front of his body, pulsating, as the creature twitched and titled its head before suddenly acting. Quodo took a quick, great step forward with his weapon drawn at the bug while taking on a threatening pose. With fear or instinct kicking in, the mosquito creature jumped away deep into the forest with intense, elastic propulsion of such magnitude, that the vegetation that resided under it moments ago, was shredded.


    "Hmpf." Quodo huffed with satisfaction, before sheathing his weapon. His mask turned towards the corpse again for one moment, perhaps there was a momentary thought about taking the corpse with him or mayhaps an idle second of imagination: After all, such monsters didn''t exist on earth, but to Quodo, he greatly preferred these beasts to his previous threats. Greatly.


    "Uhww~ you''re something of a veteran when it comes to entertaining, aren''t-cha?" The pesky serpent asked, to which Quodo replied by continuing to walk. Quickly, however, the watcher floated faster, perhaps this demanded power walking or jogging? "Oh come on, only blood gets boring too quickly, a conversation can''t hurt, ''sides, I''m sure being more talkative will pay of your debt much quicker." Devula said in a disturbingly persuasive way, tracing one of her claws along the outline of his mask, the sensation was ''unique,'' a faint warning that so much so as taking the mask off would reward a new kind of hell. It was like an interrogation: Answer or scream.


    "Why talk at all, if you can just scoop out all my thoughts?" Quodo asked with... genuine curiosity? "Would make things quickers, less annoying."


    "Pfff, that''s soo boring, ''sides, the journey is the destination, not the finish line." Devula spoke with a sharp tone, before tapping the mask once more. "There are certain liberties to my proficiency, of course, I can''t steer fate or physically change your course of action, but I can watch a memory or two of yours, maybe even have a peek at your imagination and see how you knock." At this point Devula laid with her back atop of Quodo''s shoulder, spraying her body and taking on a relaxed demeanor.


    "If you relieve my memories. " Quodo stopped in his tracks, staring deeply into the eyes of his ball and chain, "I''m going to kill you." before resuming to walk like nothing ever happened.


    "You know you can''t kill me, right?"


    "I''d find a way."


    "Nothing made by the Aether or his trusted Judges can hurt me unless directly ordered high lords Osmodeus, Premura, and Idobaht. Of course, me perishing would also kill you since it''s the connection to the outer realms keeping you alive."


    "It doesn''t change a thing."


    "..." Devula pursed her lips, releasing a quiet, squeaking sound, before smacking her lips with an empty look. "Oookay then, let''s switch to an topic not involving my taxidermy. How are you feeling?"


    "Empty, bored, tired, annoyed, tired again, but physically more than sufficiently efficient." Quodo answered with short breaths while eyeing the grand forest reaching as far as his eyes could see.


    "Another topic then..." Devula secretly rolled her eyes, before turning her head back to the displaced man and forcing a smile, she possibly still had hopes that this champion would still become pleasant enough. "So, hmm, random question, but if had one wish, what would you want to have."


    Quodo stopped once again, looking down at the ground and sighing deeply with annoyance. "If I tell you, will you shut up for like three hours?"


    "Nod." Devula said while nodding herself, excessive.


    "I''d tell my family I love them." Quodo said coldly.


    Devula lifted her claw as if she was about to question the answer given, but then remembered the deal. Puh, oh well, she''d give the old man 181 minutes of silence, but not an ounce of generosity more.


    <hr>


    ''Finally some fucking silence.'' Quodo would''ve thought fifteen minutes after striking yet another deal with an associate of the Aether, wasn''t it for the telepathic parasite stuck to his skull. There was a certain irony for the judges to steal his face, but then again, he didn''t need it again, he hadn''t expressed much with it in the last thirty years anyway, but the question was if he still needed to eat or drink. While the thought of nourishment lingered in his mind, his mind suddenly expanded, bombarded with new sensations and old, haunting once at that.


    Quodo turned around out of instinct, his vision swaying past Devula holding her mouth shut with her claws while pointing her tail towards the origin. Before the masked man''s vision even grasped the intruder, and dreadfully, tormenting and well-known sounds echoed in his skull.


    A small creature''s neck was caught in the hands of Quodo. Thick, grey hide covered its almost juvenile, humanoid, if not outright ogroid, body. A head, bearing not features but two great, yellow, bioluminescent eyes and a shark-like maw, leaned back unnaturally. Quodo broke its neck, before even thinking about it.


    Quodo''s stature froze, before jerking violently and tossing the dead body onto the floor while the man himself slowly distanced himself with shivering overwhelming his flesh. His state wasn''t bettered or worsened when the corpse turned into a dispersing, black mist.


    "Not again, not this easy." Quodo cursed under his breath while attempting to keep his vibrating hands under control. Quodo looked up to see the serpent filled with worry and confusion. He grunted deeply, before tightly clenching his fists and holding them to the sides of his new body. Muscle memory seemed to be transferable from body to body.


    He continued walking towards the great wall with stiff pace, while his back faced the origin of his latest victim, a great maw of stone leading down into a dungeon-like undercroft


    <hr>


    "So, not so fond with killing?" Devula asked, gaining a unique kind of interest from the masked man, perhaps it was irritation, possibly anger or most likely he forgot the serpent already. "You seemed quiet gibberish back there, which is weird for a man with such an big killcount."


    "Do not call it a ''kill count'', that''s unrespectful to the dead, and I''ve never wished to kill to begin with." Quodo grumbled lightly while pushing low handing shroom sprout from the trees out of his path.


    "If I remember correctly you joined that one war willingly." Devula asked while momentarily looking away from the man, using the time to watch a majestic mushroom, the size of two mean surrounded by large, pushy, and seemingly shining spores floating peacefully through the air. When she looked back to Quodo, she found him pointing his finger to his chest with an angered manner, before retracting his limbs from her quickly and begrudgingly.


    "It wasn''t some war you inconsidered reptile, it was hell." In thirty years Quodo didn''t hiss once, neither when someone tried to steal his car or have him transferred into a retirement home, but this seemed to have struck a nerve. The words left Quodo''s mind only tediously, broken while attempting to isolate fact with emotion. "It was 1967, the army was desperate to get bodies to the front. I was about 21 at the time, stuck in prison with no friends or family. ''was desperate and at the time thought nothing could be worse than another 23 years in prison."


    Quodo stopped for a moment and leaned against the bark of a tree, his maks momentarily looking upwards to see the pale sun descend below the horizon.


    "At the time I already killed someone in a ruffle, we tumbled and he broke his neck on a stool''s corner, an accident, but his friends saw it differently, got beaten up twice and stabbed once." He shook his head with a regretful undertone. "So when the chance arose, I took it alongside a selective bunch of inmates: A clean record, military pension, and a new life. Chub, one of the few good ones volunteered me, said he''d cover me, said children shouldn''t rot." It was clear for even the greatest of fools that Quodo wanted to remain silent, he didn''t know why he opened his lousy mouth, to begin with, but he did so and retold a skeleton of a story. Leaving much, for imagination.


    "How did the story go?" Devula held a claw to her lips.


    The serpent spoke as the sunlight slowly trickled down the two unlikely creatures until they both were veiled in the bright moonlight of the two titanic moons. Both silver but one bearing a charlotte aura, and the other a green shine, hung in the sky. One rose from the south, the other from the north, they traveled towards the center, where eight stars, each for one celestial direction waited in a circle for their siblings.


    "His promise couldn''t stand against the betrayal of Hans Schneider and artillery during a supposedly peaceful recovery mission in the Fall of 1968." Quodo panted, tired in a tireless body he looked to the night sky for a moment of solace. "I don''t know why you care for the lament of an old man, but just so you know... Ultimately I got what I wanted, what I deserved. I never wanted to live because I desired life." Quodo turned back to Devula and walked past her to the great wall forward, and whispered, not out of fear for the truth or possible listeners, but because it was a truth that laid heavy in his heart.


    "I wanted the power to kill Hans, and killing him I did by firing a bullet through his right eye. But, in my waning sanity, I also took 112 poor people down with me into damnation, and many more through uses of poison and chemicals."


    Only a few steps after telling his watcher the painful knowledge that plagued him, the one he previously had ever only repentingly admitted to his beloved wife, he coughed and noticed a dark pulver escaping his mask there, where his mouth should''ve been. He shook his head and threw it to the ground, oblivious to the vegetation that died around the fallen dust.


    He did, however, notice something different when he felt his power leave him as if a flight-giving rush had abruptly stopped, and the man turned golem fell onto his knees and upon a field of grass, a haven so peaceful, it almost appeared to Quodo like a haze.


    In the light of the two moons, the blue grass began to shimmer and insects rose from the grassy meadows. Previously slumbering beasts, critters, and creatures arose, were awakened in the light of night, just as we rose to day''s embrace, and arising they did; so many they couldn''t be counted. Some climbed, many flew, a few fell from the capped crown trees and others left the underground.


    Quodo held out his hand and an insect landed on it, it reminded him of a butterfly, but it was much larger. It bore fluffy fur and two sets of wings, one yellow, the other red, but lacked mouth or eyes. It played around, tapping the gloves a few times, before fluttering away with the bright moonlight shining through its wings, mayhaps that is how it ate, or it just enjoyed itself.


    A slight popping woke his curiosity, and he saw that flowers began to grow in seconds, first sprouts and later blooms of the most colorful hues. The petaled flowers basked in the glow of the night.


    Quodo sat there silently, just watching the play unfold, and while he could not say that all the day''s troubles were worth the sight, he couldn''t deny that it was beautiful. Quodo hadn''t been in a flower garden since his fortieth birthday, a day he held so dearly to his heart, it was perhaps a cornerstone of the man he used to be. He was so deeply trapped in the mirage before him, that he even failed to notice the serpent landing upon his very head like a cat imitating a hat.

 The Trade City Of Octupales And The First Vent

    "We''re gonna talk about what happened there?" Devula asked, still resting on the golem''s head. The mellow, luke-warm winds passing through her ethereally-manifested form like dust through a hologram, both unfaced, yet both warping space.


    Time had passed, neither knew how long, they wouldn''t look at the movement of the moon to find out, look back, to see their steps in the cottonous grass, attempt to recall the second or minutes that were added to their timeless existence. They could, but one didn''t ever wish to recall times gone, while the other wished to have it read to her. And as such, they, just like before, continued to walk with ever-growing silence, but even mute mice could tell a thousand stories with just their eyes.


    Quodo lifted his masked face upwards, the moons'' light glided across the smooth surface like a blade across a field of ice, glimmering and shimmering, but where the spots marked his eyes, no light reflected, and if stared, one might not only claim to see an avoidance of soul but perhaps even less than nothing. The made-man lowered his gaze but slightly to take in the sight of the wall reaching into the heavens, greater than any he had ever seen, broader than even a mountain pass breaking through the clouds, an undaunting dominant. The was no explanation for why chained Quodo felt drawn to it, or perhaps, what lay beyond, he couldn''t fathom what his driving force was, the thing that pushed him to move. After all, he thought that exactly death should''ve been what persuaded people to remain, especially after so many years of decay, so why now, after so many years of yearning rest, when now possessing the power to just slumber, at last, was he lured, or maybe dragged forwards?


    Maybe it was just the lingering fear to be woken but once more by creatures neither gods nor devils.


    "No." Quodo answered with a dead voice, before stroking the edge of his mask with his gloves hand and sensing a sort of sensitive sensation akin to fresh stitches after a prolonged period of time. He double took as he concentrated on his hand''s movement, waving it in front of his face, and he could swear he saw a blurry, transparent shade of his hand move just shortly delayed after the true one''s movement. It was concerning, but his slumbering, tired, yet to awakened mind was benumbed to this phenomenon. "I am not in the mood for conversation right now, Devula."


    "Oh, well, I''m patient." Devula mumbled, rolling onto her back and upper form danging in front of Quodo''s mask-like the line of an anglerfish. It was quite impressive actually how far she could bend, at least it was to Quodo whose eyes were separated by but millimeters from hers. "We got all time in the world, and if you don''t croak, we''ll be here for years to come." The ferret''s claws tapped onto his eye-spots, not impairing Quodo''s vision, however once more briefly activating a sort of yellow chitin to manifest over his form in addition to most certainly rubbing him in uncomfortable ways, even without the severe arrogance of his companion.


    Quodo grasped the limp and lazy being, before putting her on his shoulder instead. "I don''t appreciate how you emphasize ''we'' and ''years to come'', wyrm, I don''t." Quodo said with annoyance and rolled his shoulders to purposefully or not purposely, disturb Devula. However, as Quodo moved, he stopped and clenched his fists, a momentary act of defiance, if you will, to his inner drive. "Do you know why I am here specifically? what I am to do and can do?" Quodo spoke aridly, and his head turned to her like a grindstone, and for a moment, and only briefly, was a spark seen indicating that there was, indeed, life in this hollow hull, a glimmer of the man that once was known as scrappy and later on sarge. A man done with tricks and trickery.


    How funny, how a man who got zero things to defend, could be so motivated to keep the nothing he has left, to not be left with less.


    Devula''s fluttery ears peaked up and shortly after followed the rest of the watcher, extended and stoic. And she smiled, but if it was bearing sadistic, empathetic, or neutral kind, that was veiled to the man of a hundred murders. "I''ve been here centuries ago, much longer before you were born and it really just depends what you are looking for." Devula smiled broadly, so much so her cheeks appeared chubby and mellow like that of a grandmother witnessing just about anything their grandchild did, so notorious or ulterior motive, but not enough to part gaze for the younger, old creature. "Hmpf, not nearly as patient now, huh? Fine, here¡¯s your cut and dry answer: Your kind residing on this world go on great journeys, travel far and wide, they hunt and explore, it''s just in their blood, call it a natural proficiency, and coin is but a morsel on the plates they''re after, such power beyond your wildest dreams~."


    Quodo remained unmoved, untouched, the thought of travel and additional murdering appealed to him, not in the slightest, and if he could he''d bite his tongue just to further push his opinions down, but something slipped past nonetheless. "No power comes without a price, and the offers I''ve been offered weren''t worth it."


    "Well, doesn''t the chance of regretting your decisions already justify taking it?"


    For a moment, there was as if Quodo retreated to the very, innermost parts of his mind and it was as if a shade blemished his mask just a second long. "No, it''s time to end these blood sacrifices. My life could be traded for a child''s smile and it''d be an offer I wouldn''t refuse."


    Quodo swayed his eyes from Devula, looking far ahead, and slowly moved his hand to his hip, grasping the soft, firm hilt of the rapier tightly and trotting forward with lowered head.


    The buzz that envigorated Devula died out when her chained companion pulled out his weapon and sank to his knees, carefully advancing to the now apparent source of chittering.


    "By the way that masks can do a bunch of cool stuff, like it translates languages and-."


    "Will you shut it, you''re giving me away." Quodo whispered aggressively.


    "Oh chillax, they can''t see or hear me."


    Quodo grunted, drawing near to the wall the sounds intensified, their voices sounded distorted for a moment, and a second only. His hearing warped, the sounds becoming distorted, changing in volume and pitch, before finally, just like the devious devula promised, he heard them in English.


    "You heard about the rumours? The Naga''s are about to become their own folk again, can you believe it?" Someone spoke.


    "Really? Damn shame, how''re going to get the medicine then?" A second spoke.


    "How am I supposed to know, probably trade." A third spoke.


    "Trade my arse, I can already see us inspecting spending our shifts looking through overpriced deliveries from Cal''valcas or Sargendale, or even Dormigrad, how are the people from Ob supposed to hold against that economic shift?" The first replied.


    "Don''t know, don''t care, crown pays for my healthcare." A fourth butted into the conversation.


    Quodo huffed, tightly grasping his weapon''s hilt, and continued to hold it even when sheathed, before walking past the last treeline between those taking and the displaced man. Soldiers, five of them in number, patrolled just outside the walls, not far off from a great gate, so large a giant could fit through. Quodo''s mind raced while his body calmly walked forward towards the city, thoughts, and plans formed on how to kill every last one of them. It was not an active decision, he couldn''t suppress it, but his first blessing remained deeply ingrained in his mind, and thus the integrated ability to kill on demand.


    It took a few moments for the guards to notice Quodo walking towards them, the shadows hiding his form well, or perhaps, they couldn''t see quite well in the dark?


    "Oi, boss, we got company!" beloved one of the guards.


    Quodo did not halt, nor changed his pace while analyzing their armor: It was a very strange design, very bulbous with leather coating the green metal which could be seen in few spots. The helmet looked like an old furnace and their weapons reminded him of very long, thin machetes.


    A second passed, and his gaze wandered to the new arrival, a man who was large in every sense of the name, the only difference was that a feather graced his left shoulder.


    The voluptuous man pulled his helmet off, entirely unfazed by the appearance of a golem that towered over every last one of them. "Well if the groger isn''t eating its own tail! A Chamu, goodness haven''t seen one of your kind in ages!" He proclaimed the moment his chubby, pumpkin-like face bearing countless wrinkles, seemingly caused by laughing too much, was revealed. "What''s a lady like yourself doing here, you Chamu usually go away from Octupales, not towards it?"


    Quodo couldn''t quite tell if the overly healthy man was threatening him, warning him, or simply greeting a welcomed stranger, but what lay most importantly on his table right now was: ''Lady?'' Of course, Quodo has been called many things in his life, most negative to be honest. Murderer, widower, monster, but a lady, that was something new, so much so that it stunned him for a second.


    ''Well, to be fair, your body is quite tall, slender, has petite hands, and don''t forget the armor that creates quite the bust.'' Quodo heard the voice of Devula in his mind, and for the first time, he found having a second voice in his skull advantageous, not that he ever had an active voice telling him what to do, but greatly preferable to unquenchable bloodlust.


    "Just on a vacation." Quodo answered dryly, slowly as he moved towards his leader of the group. "I''m Quodo." It stung to use this forced alias, but he bit through it and extended his gloved hand.


    The chubby man smirked, his brush mustache shaking slightly as he embraced the offered handshake. "Guando, third rank watcher and currently on patrol." Guando canceled the interaction after a few moments and turned to his guards, men and women alike, before walking away as Quodo has never even been there.


    Quodo shrugged, but remained for just a second longer, before turning his attention towards the city entrance, slowly and gradually walking towards it. He ''eyed'' the detail he could make out, the number of guards, the heavy portcullis suspending well above 20 meters in the air and ready to crash down with enough force to crush even a heavily armored vehicle. What reason would justify this commission, what could they fear to break in through ''that?''


    "Oh, I almost forgot."


    Quodo''s hands inched towards the grip of his rapier, gliding under the silk of the mantel, while remaining still, not moving an inch. He awaited everything, even when it could possibly just be the reflexes - It took every last drop of strength, all the power he possessed to restrain his urges when he felt the hand of Guando on his shoulder, every alarm telling Quodo to grab the fat man''s appendage, throw him to the ground, and break his neck.


    It was a good reason he was ''honorably'' discharged before he murdered allies.


    "Meet me early at the Reburt Circle tomorrow, you look a bit green behind the, uhh, mask, and could probably use a bit of advice." Guando slipped a piece of paper in his pocket, a surprisingly sophisticated, one at that, not one he expected in an era of time where the police force still primarily used melee weapons. "Oh, don''t give me a silent treatment, a bit less sleep won''t kill you, ja, besides, you''re not going to get advice this easy down your path."


    Quodo remained still, frozen, petrified, but his fingers were shivering, itching to grasp something tightly. He took a deep breath, swallowing, or the nearest equivalent, and walked through the gate and into the so-called ''Trade City Of Octupales'' thus said the great banner at least.


    And what a city to behold, one that could not be held in memory or be told in just words. But if Quodo could describe it, it''d be sophisticated, refined, or even marvelous. Perhaps, magical could fit as well.


    The giant wall that stretched to aspire to be part of the heavens didn''t exist to his eyes once inside, but the spires and towers of the city did, indeed, stand proud and tall like ancient archtrees. The architecture envisioned this very principle to reach above, no house, nor hut or adobe would reach below, there was no cellar, for, in fact, the houses'' floors didn''t even rest on the streets, they stood elevated by exactly a singular meter. The streets were pure, crackles grey stone, and every last detail carved into the monuments, walls, and houses were like artifacts, works of art. The paths were segregated, and the sidewalks were raised and lightened by most obscure lampost, each their own master-crafted piece of engineering. Wells bearing statues gemstone, molded and mended in impossible shapes, statues so close to the physique of the creatures they embodied that no man or woman could be faulted for believing they were real.


    From where he stood, Quodo could not even take in a fraction of the grand majesty of the city, but what he did see was a palace, two pieces of one to be exact, one half at the foot of the mount which the walls of the city partially encircled, and the other atop like a crown, only connected by a singular tower. But the palace itself was a testimony of an engineering marvel, overhanging the mountain, defying gravity, reaching above while remaining unmoving despite its titanic size, so large in fact, that even from the other side of the city, few details would be missed.


    "Like Manhatten, but cleaner." Quodo mumbled with a shrug.


    "Oh come one you old fart, this place is more advance than the whole roman empire at it''s peak! The peak!" The infuriated ferrets shouted, swinging her undersized limbs around angrily in protest of Quodo''s clear disinterest.


    "And for all I care, it could burn to the ground." The bitter old man spoke quietly while walking past pedestrians, creatures of various forms, races, he''d never imagine seeing in his ''lifetime.''


    There were quadrupled mammals trotting upon blade-like appendages, small, flying creatures consisting of almost nothing but wings and minuscule torsos. Below he eyed a small group of creatures who appeared to be no taller than red pandas but walking upon two legs and covered in so thick and fluffy fur he couldn''t even see their faces. Looking away from the sidewalk he shuddered for a moment seeing a giant, snail-like blob of slime-covered, sentient meat inside a stall. People seemed to harvest the excretion for a certain purpose. Suddenly in his field of view came a scene of two merchants shouting vulgarities in a strangely german sounding accent after their carriages crashed into another. Their pack animals? A group of lizards the size of Great Danes, tapping and tipping and squirming on the floor expecting to run further and more while an ostrich-sized, four-legged, golden Chick eyed the scaled labor animals with hungry intent.


    "Just like rome did." He finally finished his sentence while parting eyes with the titanic piece of poultry that, in fact, possessed serrated teeth.


    "Urgh, you''re unbearable!" Devula moaned, before looking pack forward with a stretched smile. "Anyways," She said emphasizing, "That Gouda fellow said he wanted to meet you at the Reburt Circle, it''s not far away just a bit further ahead and a left turn five streets down and you''re there."


    "I am still within my capability to read signs, snake." The Quodo muttered dryly while looking up to see signs leading exactly to this place. It must be quite important for there to be so many signs.


    Devula''s eyelids sank slowly while displaying a lack of enthusiasm. "You know, you''re not really the most charismatic or friendly person. Like, seriously dude, you''re making a poor impression."


    "Aha..." Quodo agreed with a small nod before the Reburt Circle came in sight, and indeed, it was a circle of diamond, pure gemstone shaped like a stomach-high wall surrounding a twenty-foot tall statue. Quodo, at first, paid it no mind. "I''m not going to entertain you, I''ll just spent some more time, digest the last few hours and think about my life before going to sleep."


    "Wha-? Come on! Oi, don''t you just go and ignore me!" Devula explained angrily as the Chamu walked towards a bench, giving him the chance to see the monument entirely.


    A man or woman, a humanoid wearing heavy, plated armor atop which a silky mantle hung stood weakly, holding a great, glowing pearl to their heart. In the background, five dragons and a combination of the elements air, water, earth, nature, fire pressed into singular, titanic, hulking form stood valiantly, unwavering and steadfast, ready to waver the next storm.


    "You''re not being serious right now, you''ve been giving youth, strength, power and magic, but you''re just going to continue procrastinating?" Devula floated right in front of Quodo''s face, tapping it vigorously. "Pal, you''re being a pretty bad partner to her-"


    "I never treated-" if a damp match had been gliding this entire time across a whetstone, it now ignited by striking one of the few remaining nerves Quodo had. He caught his word, biting down on it and restricting his outstretched limb meant to job the spirit in her chest, but never intended or destined to do more.


    "-graceful and patient watcher-ness Devula..." The guide finished her sentence slowly after a long, stretched pause, and now seemingly having all her wind stolen looked at the now suddenly empty appearing eyes of Quodo.


    "Bad. Devula." And there Quodo said her name, leaning back and crossing his arms. "Just let an old men rest a bit, I''m just-I''m just tired, so... so incredibly tired." His voice devolved into a whisper as his head fell to his side.


    Devula floated there, just wondering, looking what this one was about, but at the same time contemplating if she really should dig for answers, literally or figuratively.


    Without a heart, or lungs, the body just laid there motionless, but the mask made him appear conscious. A restless spirit still walking in the living world, a corpse not allowed to die.


    <hr>


    Sarge doesn''t dream, he just couldn''t and hasn''t in well over thirty years and he never questioned it, believing that the nightmares, the midnight panic attacks, the sudden flashbacks of murder and brutality have burned out the ability to dream. Now, it was just snap, no comfort, no rest, no refreshing awakening, just suddenly gaining conscience, the opposite in fact, of shooting yourself.


    Until this night.


    "I hate you!" Screamed a voice, so close and akin to Quodo himself, that one might think he screamed into a mirror, and in a sense he did. Standing in an old office, reeking of alcohol, in utter disorder, an old man stared fearfully, shocked and paralyzed into the room.


    A gunshot rang loudly through the house, like rusted church bells on Halloween night, beckoning the devil to an invite.


    Bloodstained was the old man, but he was the second to fall those his knees, for the liquid staining his clothes and face was not his own, but just in the last second, before Quodo could see the one who died, the slumber ended.


    <hr>


    With springloaded shock, Quodo jumped up from the bench and hit something heavy out of his way while shambling forward like a pervitin drunk soldier. Sarge held himself upward, drained of his energy and strength atop the diamond wall, and clung to it for his worthless life.


    "My damned generosity, Bube, you almost gave me a heart attack! Just imagine, the first Chamo to come here in decades found dead on a bench." Guando gasped with a miffed voice and grumbled into his mustache.


    Quodo cursed under his breath, feeling still the phantom pain of his heart widening his ribcage and an unrelenting, disdain-filled beating battering his skull. "Didn¡¯t try to run you over." Quodo croaked with a beaten voice before rising up shakingly, but still remaining mentally weakened.


    "Pah, I''ve got enough polster to survive a teetsy bitsy fall. If I didn''t, I wouldn''t have lived so long." Guando''s grimace quickly changed to one which only a pleased panda could match before a burst of hearty laughter erupted from the deftly below which were Guando''s vocal cords.


    "See, why can''t you be as happy to be alive like fatso over there?" Devula asked with most snide joy while elbowing Quodo.


    "Well, I''m here, not dead so far the eye can tell, and my ears haven''t given up on me yet, so please, do go ahead." Quodo gestured with his hand at Guando, before quickly throwing a peek at the sky, seeing the pale sun above. It would a hell of a task to get his sleep rhythm in check, not, that he really was planning on seeing either celestial body again. Or should he say, one of them?


    "Now yes, I''m not going to show you fighting, most certainly not how to shoulder check someone, but just give you an insight." Guando rubbed his left chest. "You Chamu are like a pack wolves, go from the south to the north and see the whole continent, few even get to Indomentia in this quest to get the Charma, those wishstone. Never really staying, outside of society, travelers." Guando walked forward with a small limp, before sitting down on the small wall. "Your kind and the vents are intertwined like naram and mana, always needing each other, for you the stones, the lifetime, the money from the metals below and the vents get cleaned, freed so that their magic can heal the land like it always did, but this above me, is the reason we wish to see in you, the pull that pushes you to those hell holes, instead of just power."The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Guando pointed towards the statue of the lone hero, Gratciou.


    "About nineteenhundred years ago, in the time of the ancients, this world was on the brink of decay as the Cavfra infested it. Only through the last effort of the remaining five dragons, the Elementum Alfasum and Gratciou could they save it by wishing one hope into the world."


    Quodo looked up at the statue and the liveliness that it exuded, clinging to a deeply ingrained, all-pushing wish. "Do you believe the story?"


    "Well, the Cavfra is still there six feet below us and down where no man ever treated, and while Gratciou died to save us, the Elementum Alfasum shattered into the five Elemental tribes who are still with us, just like the dragons who as well taught humankind to survive in this harsh world. At least, there is no older record in the grand halls."


    Quodo crossed his arms and shook his head slightly while Guando looked at the statue with a satisfied smile. Quodo didn''t believe in religion or goods, he would only go to church for his wife, but never out of personal belief.


    "I find it hard to see the correlation between this story and me?"


    Guando huffed with an amused chuckle, so much so that his armor juggled. "Not just green, moss must be growing as well." The fat man turned to Quodo. "The Chamu do as Gratciou did. They go to vents, leading deep into the crust of thus world, slay the Cafradi formed from the blasted Black Pulver, so that magic from the core of this world may give life to us here. Or, more importantly, that those beasts don''t crawl up here and repeat the story." Guando looked down for a moment, just a split second as a dark grimace painted his face, before returning to smiling at Quodo.


    "And at the end of it all lies a fragment of the original wish stone which breathed life into this world. Come on boy, it isn''t that hard." Guando


    Like a piston, Quodo''s arms extended, grasping the shoulders of Gaundo and pulled the chubby man to himself so that their breastplates touched one another''s. "What wishes can these shards fulfil." Quodo''s voice was deathly tense and sharp as a dagger. When Guando didn¡¯t respond in the exact millisecond Quodo asked, he shook the fat man like an old woman inspecting the ripeness of a watermelon.


    "S-S-Stop it you public danger." Quodo stopped after the cauldron knights sputtered his sentence, or rather, had his voice shaken out. "W-well, just about anything. Most just, nun-ja, wish for more strength or gain powers, hell, you could even revive someone as long as-off-hey, where are you running off to?!" Guando shouted loudly when Quodo let him fall to the ground like a sack of stone, but it was too late to stop the masked man. Quodo charged with about forty kilometers towards the city gate, towards the hole from which the teeth monster he killed stemmed forth. It was a hunch, that this was the vent Guando spoke about, but if need be, he¡¯d dig up this whole kingdom until he¡¯d found it.


    No reason, no thought, no desire, or force could stop Quodo as he evaded the civilians, jumped over carts and ducked under signs without slowing down. It was as if fifty years devoid of every hope, every desire, all energy, and will to life suddenly returned into a single, adrenalin rushed charge. And with each step taken, the crusted hull that overgrew the man Quodo once was peeled away. The man of action, unafraid and unstoppable, one might claim him to be restless, returned to retrieve his life even if it was at the cost of countless''.


    <hr>


    A Krilk stood by the entrance of the vent, claws sharp, teeth even pointier and more plentiful than a shark¡¯s maw. Its back rested against the stone wall, while its large, yellow glowing eyes blinked tediously. Each time its vision vanished, it did so for several seconds, but then, when it opened its eyes, for the briefest of moments, was its sight taken with eyes wide open.


    A thunderous crack boomed through the forest as the wall behind the Krilk gave away, dented and crumbling as the beast¡¯s skull was pushed into the stone by a piston-like force. It took a step forward, its skull was broken open, teeth chipped and shattered fell to the ground like a ripped marble pouch, and finally, the Krilk fell to the ground motionlessly. The corpse of the Cafradi started to shed, and flakes of black dust crumbled away from the husk as the remnants started to leave this word. A second crack ensued, and a heavy, armored boot crashed onto the corpse, now quickly dissipating cloud of black pulver, and a gloved hand pulled a long, crooked, toothed dagger from the remains. Quodo¡¯s chest rose and sank, stomach becoming plumb and then a cavern, while his every sense was invigorated by the sensation of life, an poisonous, insidious, addictive thrill, one that dominated his mind for a second only. Then the burning sensation in his absent heart, and a gnawing pain, there where his teeth should¡¯ve been, took over.


    ¡°Hey, uhm, you good there?¡± Devula formed next to Quodo¡¯s skull


    Not yet.¡± He spoke with a smoky, croaked, intoxicated whisper, that slowly evolved into a pained, sad chuckling. His hand clenched the weapon firmly, and looked onward into the maw of the beasts, for anything to kill. His artificial flesh contracting, while his posture sank lightly, he could feel his non-present heartache, like two souls in opposite nature chewing at one bone. ¡°How did you call me once mister Tailor? The Scythe Man?¡± He caught one of the black flakes and guided it into his mask, through which it passed. He ate it, and the taste was reminiscent of blood, although more tainted than usual.


    Quodo walked forward, into the darkness, into the dampness, into the danger, and it felt so natural, so primal, it was happiness that only a few things ever were able to outbid.


    The walls of the cave passed the quick walking man who was followed by his furred companion. A crackling far into the cave violently sounded, guided by the sharp, skin furling wind. Somewhere droplets fell, and the echoing sounded from all directions, just like the countless steps of monsters. Quodo held his hand against the wall, the bits of metal screeching against the rock until a stalagmite came in his path, but he did stop, he grasped the sharp mineral and ripped it off, thus equipping him with another dagger.


    He jumped around the corner, yet his metallic boots sounded no alarm, it was like he turned into a predator on the prowl, with an emotionless mask and a hollow chest, it was now forming a question in the mind of Devula: Who stood next to her, hunter or monster?


    The path descended deep below, the slop so steep a human would¡¯ve fallen, but into what was a question left to answer.


    The air, if it even could be called that, became a horrendous gas, that bite at life itself, Naram, the breath that brought motion to the unanimated flesh. The sizzling wind had vanished, the dripping water was silenced, the vents resided in a realm no mortal creature could call bound to reality, and madmen were forbidden from entering. It was the hellscape within an ocean of fire that burned fiercer than acid and more insidious than venom, no mortal creature was ever allowed to venture there below, and the Chamu chained to cherish this endless cycle, mankind above mankind, dreaded it, but feared the consequence of letting this blessingless place stir.


    And Quodo, the man who walked through a lesser nightmare? He felt his very mind slowly slip into a rush of bliss, but above pleasure laid a goal so deeply ingrained, that even his defiled, deformed, destructed corpse would continue to claw further with the flame of ambition feeding on all for the hunch of progress.


    Quodo pulled out his knife, still following the luring shine of light that stretched and bent to impossible lengths, and the blade licked the wall on his right. The sound would alert more. He extended his left hand, the rock hitting against a dark patch of wall, the sound emitted was blunt, yes, wet too, he hit something watery, and the stone fell out of his hands. -But, it didn''t matter, he grasped it quickly, again, even if some stones fell to the ground, clicking and clattering. However, now the rock was hard to hold, with it moist and his body shivering in sudden anticipation, so he dug his fingers into the stalagmite, it cracked and crumbled a bit, but eventually, his fingers dug through the ceramic-like material, but he overdid it, and it crumbled away, silently, nonetheless it didn''t stop him, he just continued forward.


    Even if the air was dead, the noises of flowing water forgotten two minutes ago, and his footsteps too scared to enter the devil¡¯s colosseum, the crackling of fire never ceased and the sound of munching, or perhaps it was gagging, escorted him. Finally, he felt it in his bones, company had arrived. He saw three of the spawn sit next to a blazing brazier, so great it might¡¯ve just been a firepit, enough to swallow a man whole.


    He walked forward like a wraith in the night, slow, even, soundless and ready, and once he stood behind the one in the middle of the group, his hands slid down as he did it a thousand times, the caressed the beast''s jaw for one moment of confusion, before, like a snake, snapping back with a crack. The other two Krilk jumped up from their position, but without even looking, Quodo lifted his right hand and rammed the dagger through the top of its skull. The remaining one, now active and lacking fear nor horror just like any Cafridi, jumped at Quodo. It hopped up to his chest, held up by the cloth of his mantle, and rammed its small ax at his chest, but it never penetrated, for a yellow shimmer glimmered across his body, but even without this pokus at play, there was no heart left to squash.


    He felt so touched by the gesture, he gave it a hug, so tight its weapon fell to the floor, so comforting its limbs dropped, so enveloping it fell into a slumber and onto the floor.


    ''Great, another nutcase, just like the last loony on this dirtball. Seems like really were a one in a thousand Archie or at least one in three.'' Devula, watching from above as more of the mindless horde rushed towards the madmen, or were hordes of madmen charging the madder man? She didn''t know, and while there was a tingling worry for his health, she feared only slightly her own mentality in the presence of a deranged Chamu.


    Quodo used this second of reprise to look around, he felt them coming for him, and it invoked a sense of joy, but also claustrophobia, and although it was overshadowed by the thrill of the hunt, it was still one of his greatest fears, equal to trenches, firecrackers, and belts. He snapped back into the waking world turned nightmare, and with a clenched fist punched a jumping Krilk''s throat into the rock and shattered it.


    He heard them, they were like rats, dirty rats tunneling under the trenches. He lifted his boot and took a step forward, pinning the ribcage of one to the floor, and kicked another one into the brasier, now the weight alone crushed the organs of the laying one. The flames ignited beautifully for just a moment, revealing a dozen more rodents.


    Death hung thickly in the air, it could be described as chokingly musky, intoxicating even, but to Quodo it was a familiar smell, after all, it caressed and enveloped him during his rebirth and the following months. No shower, no fire could ever cleanse him of the memory. The wolves attacked at once, no hyenas would wait either, there wouldn¡¯t any scraps remain after this.


    He stabbed one of them into their throat, penetrating the leathery skin, another he caught with his hand and broke its neck, but the hordes, equipped with knives, claws, axes, daggers, and one even a spear, slashed, stabbed, and poked into the forcefield enveloping his artificial flesh. It buckled, shivered, and started to crack. Quodo tried to walk, but the weight of what? Thirty of the rats laid heavy on him, they clung onto him like honey, each step slow as he pried one after another of his walking corpse, breaking one neck after another, he saw but grey, and yellow, and brilliant light in the darkness.


    Quodo sank under the weight, but not from the burden, and hurled himself into the brazier, and for one moment saw nothing more than a sun¡¯s light and screams, nothing but screams, as the hordes, still clinging to his flesh out for blood, soon crumbled away. The darkness, the blackness, yes this sight was how he remembers dying. The seeping cold, the piercing heat, the blindness, the stolen and overstimulated senses till the void took hold.


    The artificial man climbed out of the fire, corpses crumbling off his form like mold off a dried slab of bread. The fire of the kindle was suffocated, but he still saw through the cave devoid of light, unlike a cat, but more akin to a bat.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to get yourself killed like that.¡± Devula floated down, her body upright and arms crossed. She watched as Quodo¡¯s form slowly turned to her, the Cafra flaking off his armor, the energy of his shield reforming, but there was now something lacking in her partner. The mask, but eyes on a plane surface, simply stared nothing but eyes, nothing behind, nothing more to observe, no brows to indicate, no lips to deduce an opinion off.


    The old man¡¯s head turned from the stomach to the intestines of the vent, deeper into hell and heaven the like. Quodo ignored the huffing and puffing of the ferret chained to him, though only a hollow journey awaited, he had lured most of the rodent out, perhaps a few more runts awaited deeper in the nest, but that was up for guessing, his aspired treasure, however, was certainly awaiting.


    Suddenly, he stopped, nearly tripping as his hand surged towards his chest, clinging to it dearly, but was it fear? Was it dread? He couldn¡¯t understand, when his goal was this close, why the hesitation? ¡®At least they should get their happy ending, that¡¯s all that counts.¡¯ Quodo said to himself, his hand gliding up to his mask, covering his eyes and then in one motion across the metal-wire-like hair. He shook his head wearily, pushing further, just telling himself that peace was just one more stained corner away.


    He turned yet another corner, but before so much so as entering the next interval, his vision exploded, and he was knocked onto the ground. In his head rang an unending, shrill tone while the cavern interior phased in and out of a vast, burned field of long grass. Quodo crawled onto his feet and saw far off an ugly parody of a shaman. Bones for charms, feathers, and fur stained in grimy, black slime covering its almost malnourished form and to caress cannibalistic tendencies, the skull of a Krilk impaled on an ivory stick permanently pried open.


    With the second wind in his soul, Quodo rushed forward with no regard for safety or efficiency, while his sight was forced upon the Krilk shaman waving his staff at him in a circular motion. A flame, a miniature sun formed like a growing droplet, but Quodo wasn''t pushed away, he faced the fire, this time voluntarily, and took no precaution to cover his false face. His body was close to the ground while running, it wouldn''t have taken much more for him to run like a dog on all four legs.


    The fireball shoot forward, slower than a bullet, faster than a grenade. He felt the flames wash over him, the recoil trying to push him back, the lights consuming his skin, and the shrapnel yearning to shred the soft flesh of the face into bits of plenty. He pushed through the fire, the smoke, and found himself now completely on the battlefield.


    He saw soldiers, American, just like him rush towards the top of a hill from which countless glimmering, zipping flashes rained down.


    Soldiers fell around him, blood evaporated and shot out of their backs, before the life drained corpses of youthful, innocent men fell down, tumbling down the dirty pyramid as if they were worthless, they weren¡¯t, but they were wasted. Quodo rushed forward, something shot passed him, barely gracing him, the scorching sensation branding his side but not halting the charge. Quodo jumped over the sandbags atop which a chain gun was mounted, and with his weight, he pinned down a man who looked more akin to himself: Similar skin tone, facial features, and even voice. He screamed in a tongue most certainly not English, but he understood it very well, it was his first language afterall: Vietnamese. He screamed at him to get off of him. Quodo didn¡¯t back down, then and now, and rammed an exactly 7, centimeters long, worn down knife into the man''s throat. The other Vietnamese soldiers shouted, one of them pulled out their rifle and pointed at Quodo, but a loud, thunderous boom that ripped the defender¡¯s chest wide open, ending his life, ended the vision.


    Quodo gasped loudly when he saw himself lying in the disintegrating corpse of the shaman, once again in the cavern. He breathed heavily, if he needed air, he needed now more, could he sweat, he¡¯d do just that, but he couldn¡¯t. Quodo punched the ground, grunting while doing so while pushing himself up on his shaking legs. ¡°Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK.¡± He whispered ever loudly before screaming into the cave. Although this memory was older than the one of his death, and it being his second murder, it stung all the deeper than all lives lost in his blood rush, more fierce than that night.


    ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re okay?¡± Devula once more floated down from above, however, it was unnecessary, she could just speak through his mind, the gesture was wasted.


    ¡°I said, not yet.¡± Quodo said sharply, but not with spite while pushing himself up, but he buckled and fell down again. ¡°Dammit, come on you hulking mass of rotting flesh go on, just a bit further!¡± He forced his voice through his mask like he was attempting to blow a bubble with industrial glue.


    He cursed, swearing at his failing body, the form that was superior to his old one at its peak, perfect in functionality, immortal and regenerating, it was not failing the spirit in the machine.


    Finally, Quodo, with his second attempt was able to rise once more in hope of kindling three flames even if it meant extinguishing his own. Could he clench his teeth¡­ then they might¡¯ve shattered by now. He stumbled forward, seeing a doorless gate towards a long corridor from light seeped, the last source of illumination in this cavern, the penultimate flame left to extinguish before Quodo, kin slayer, soldier, murderer, failure could be set to rest.


    Bones set back into place with each step, the damage barely noticeable, stamina never decreased during the stay underground, but sanity and nerves ground down into a thin sheet. While on the brink of losing his mind, the memories taunting his fickle soul, he felt the energy from the walls, from below seep into his being, from far below, deep beyond the human reach. If there was a primal sensation of being alive, he felt it when entering this hellhole, but now a new, unknown one came, but only now in the deepest layer of the vent. The feeling not of being alive, but of life itself was¡­ there was no similar emotion to compare it to, other than fulfilling his very being, only further boosted by the faint hope of ending the trial at last.


    In a long corridor, a throne room it was, littered with animalistic, mutilated corpses as trophies, with torching every two meters hanging side by side on the walls, with a crudely stitched together carpet of furs trailing towards a rock throne, sat a Krilk of gigantic stature. Three and a half meters tall, shoulders that were twice as wide as those of Quodo, with a club that along bore more mass than he did, that was the last guardian keeping him from his sweet goal. Like death, it was bittersweet.


    Despite seeing a monument of muscle, a level of physics maybe giants like Andre the Giant might¡¯ve been able to stem against, Quodo did not halt his advance and it seemed to have garnered at least the slightest haunch of interest from the stone¡¯s guardian. The beast rose from its throne which creaked in relief, and the bones still residing in the carpets cracked like crisps.


    It took the two monsters but a few seconds to finally reach a suitable distance, Quodo rushed forward as the aggressor, waving all senses of self-preservation one last goodbye. The giant wound his club back with one hand and swung it horizontally, Quodo stopped in his track at the last moment, but it was so close that the club cut his hair and scratched his chest armor. Sadly, however, the Krilk didn''t give Quodo a second to breathe and punched forward with his great hand bearing fingers as thick as bottles. He rolled to evade the attack but was met with another peril as the club had reached its climax and was swung back at him. Quodo stopped his roll, momentarily laying on his back, before kicking with both of his feet into the giant¡¯s kneecaps, both pushing him back and brutally inverting the Krilk¡¯s leg.


    The giant roared not with pain, but anger as now was forced to balance its weight and that of its club on its right leg. The monster looked up, lifting its club in preparation to charge forward, only to see that Quodo had jumped on the oversized stick before the artificial man leaped at its face. Quodo''s stolen knife sank into the giant''s eye socked, twisting the bone fiercely, before stabbing into its face, a slash to its throat, followed by ramming the weapon into the collarbone, but before yet another attack followed, Quodo¡¯s back was grabbed by a giant hand, his ribs were forcefully compressed, and Quodo was hurled onto the floor.


    Quodo coughed, and quickly hopped up, but not before being caught by the club and being launched into the rock wall. The cavern shook violently, the torched on the wall broke off their hinges and onto the floor, setting flame to the room, but Quodo heard but one crack, and that was when the yellow energy shield around him shattered like a window through which a car drove.


    A thick, white breath escaped Quodo''s mask, he was breathing with no lungs, and slowly pushed himself up and clenched his fists while his body shivered, but, even with the pain of cracked rips slowly pushing him down, it served but to spur on. Like a warning shot went off, Quodo ran forward, each step strong and heavy like a barbarian charge with no care nor fear for harm. The fist came for his head, but Quodo lowered his head, and like a piston he shoot his head, no, his whole body forward, but one thing additionally happened. A draw, a reduction in his very lifeforce, an sacrifice, for the very next moment his speed and strength increased threefold and he collided with such force, ribs shattered in the giant¡¯s chest.


    Out of the Krilk''s mouth shot a dark substance mimicking blood and bile alike, and with the shock let go of its club to support itself by pushing its palm onto Quodo''s back, and with the other punched onto his spine.


    Quodo grunted, again feeling something break, and the pain was euphonizing. With a grunt, he punched, once more like a piston, with his right hand into the side of the Krilk, feeling the giant''s pelvis crack under the force. A second later Quodo grasped his rapier with his left hand and rammed it into the abdomen of the monster, followed by his right hand joining his left and slicing the gut of the beast open and quickly jumping away. The Krilk fell to the floor, holding its open wound as black liquid, akin to liquid nitrogen, but lacking the cold, spilled onto the floor. It''s suffering, even without pain, was short-lived as Quodo, now standing above the beast, rammed his rapier through the monster''s neck.


    Flakes started to shave off the hulking beast and the corpse plummeted to the floor, erasing its imprint on the world, but leaving it on Quodo.


    The man in question, standing triumphantly, clutched his left arm, it was broken in four places, shattered, and hung on but the fewest of muscles, however, no blood seeped. The right arm appeared better but cracked to the bone. Quodo grunted between his heavy breaths but was forced to control his breathing to keep his cracked ribs under control, but the pain was unequal to the things he endured as a mortal man. Suddenly, mellow, warm lights erupted behind him, turning around, he saw the promised price, a floating orb bearing all colors, some he had never seen before, while at the same time being colorless. It floated there like an angel, even when he didn¡¯t believe in religion, and seductively awaited like a devil.


    Quodo stumped forwards with a limp, the pain soothed or at least blocked out by an overwhelming sense of euphoria, like a lens that was cleaned for the first time in a decade. A pack mule finally released of the burden it carried. Like a bird finally gaining wings. Quodo felt happiness for the first time, a sense of life for the sake of living, to see his wish fulfilled. If he could cry, he''d possibly just break down and savior this one moment of triumph in a life of failure, a victory that actually meant something. Finally, standing before it, he extended his right arm and gently grasped the orb, the sensation was so sweet. He slowly moved the wish stone to his chest and whispered with kindness, softness, and joy.


    ¡°I wish for the revival Jenny Horton, Jan Horton and Ruby Horton.¡±


    The light that previously erupted now appeared but like a fickle shine, for the orb released a brilliant light that bathed the small world of Quodo in hope. He leaned his head back and sank to his knees as all the burden and debt that kept him in place crumbled away, he was free to float. He sighed with pleasure and stood up and looked down, and stared, and stared, and stared.


    The orb was still there, shining just like before, not an ounce of its power was lost.


    ¡°Wha-what?" He asked faintly like smoke and with a whisper. Quodo heard faint scrapping, and he turned towards Devula fiddling with her claws with unease and a look that hurt him more than the many bullets that pierced his skin. "Why didn''t it work." His sentence reminded him of his son asking him why he couldn''t grow sunflowers from roasted seeds.


    ¡°The stones, they get stronger the harder the challenge is, and the vents get stronger further north.¡± She said somberly, scared to break something fragile. ¡°This one is too weak for that and finding one which''s influence is greater than time and space and not interfere with the Aether could take years."


    Quodo continued to stare, clutching the orb tightly against his chest, not breaking eye contact while Devula attempted not to cross sight. He felt all the weight crash down on him again and lost his balance, falling onto his side like a rotten tree, and the orb rolled in front of his mask as he attempted to just, even if it was but a wasted hope, die. He had used all he had on this challenge, there was no strength, no will left to push on, and even if he was back where he started, he knew that this was a challenge he couldn''t overcome.


    Devula floated down and landed on the ground as the fire slowly dimmed around them. She was slow, calculated with each step, before jumping onto her hind legs and resting her forepaws on the stone. "Come on buddy, pal, amigo¡­" She leaned forward and tapped his mask but garnered no response. "This one won''t bring back that trio, but it isn''t useless. Most Chamu use their wish stone not for dreams, but to make themselves permanently stronger, you heard that, you can achieve your dream.¡±


    Quodo stared numbly at the orb and the ferret and sighed deeply, and after a moment of reprise, his arms slowly crawled forward, until his index finger touched the glassy surface of the orb. ¡°I wish to become more powerful.¡±


    And the light consumed the cave one more, but this time the wish stone was consumed. The first stone was laid for a road yet to be paved.