Here are all the submissions. As a general reminder, I have only included forum names if given permission by the author to do so - otherwise, these stories remain anonymous. Feel free to post reviews for these stories in the general conversation thread. Try to provide some helpful critiques and suggestions, and mention anything you liked. 

Winners will be declared on August 4th, and any applicable Challenge Accolades will also be awarded then. All winning entries will be saved in the Twelve Labours Archive with a permanent link in my signature, as well as mentioned in a report in the News section and General Discussion subforums. Once again, thanks to [@mdk] and the rest of the RPGC crew for helping to schedule The Twelve Labours. Another special thanks to [@mahz] for cranking out the awesome trophy and titles system.

If you did not win, but feel you should have? Make an appeal to the judge who made the call for your entry (yes, you'll know which judge evaluated it). Keep it classy, and exercise some courtesy while making your case, and they might just reevaluate your entry. Please keep in mind, you only get the one appeal. Sometimes you just have to let it go.

Also: For the first time in The Twelve Labours' history, the number of submissions I have received have BROKEN THE LIMIT. Excelsior!

Did you send me an entry? Did you send it before Objective Midnight, August 1st? Does it not break any of the rules? IS IT NOT HERE FOR SOME REASON? Throw a rock at me and scream until I post it here!

The Stories:
[hider=Forever Powerless][b][u]Terminal's Note:[/u][/b] This entry was submitted by [@Psyga315].

[Author’s Note: And here comes more stories from the Brothersverse! This takes place after “Too Much Power” from the previous Labor]

It had been six months since I lost my power. I had rotted on the hospital bed for only three though. The doctors recommended that I don’t watch any of the news, as the situations in third-world countries might make me depressed and thus hamper my healing process.

All they did, however, was pump me up with one goal in mind: find my powers again. I was put in an apartment where rent was low, yet the quality was lower. Faucets won’t work, faulty elevators that spend more hours stuck than working, and worst of all, the apartment was rumoured to have quite a few fatalities to electrical-based accidents, though these fatalities took too far apart in the timeline to consider it worthy of investigation.

I wanted to put the rumour to rest… or rather, a test. I did quite a few things, like run a lot of appliances on one extension cord and running my fingers along the remaining sockets, but nothing seemed to work. However, when I had punched the wall in frustration, I felt a mere spark. I looked at my own hand and saw electricity fly through my fingers slightly before they died. I laughed. I made progress.

However, it seemed like I had not fully regained it. In fact, I barely retained it. I barely had its charge… That’s when I remembered I had held tons of electricity inside me. Enough to power a town. Of course simple stuff like playing with sockets won’t give me the juice I need now. I need more… 

Enough to power a town. 
________________________________________
I travelled to the nearest power plant I could find. I had to travel far, taking the bus for upwards of an hour, before I could find one that was a simple electrical plant. Unfortunately, I looked from a bush and discovered that guards have been patrolling the place. This wasn’t going to be an easy break. I noticed one of the guards standing right outside a door I could easily slip into.

I quietly snapped a twig off the bush and threw it away from myself, but in the view of the guard. To my surprise, he noticed it and went to go check it out. My heart raced. Any moment now, I could be caught. But my heart steadied. I handled worse stuff than this. I ran forward without any hesitation into the power plant. Thankfully, the guard didn’t come back and in fact was bringing in another guard to help investigate the thrown twig and where it came from.

There were fewer guards inside the building than outside. About two as opposed to the eight outside. Seemed they were overconfident that no one would be getting in. Though, once I stepped on the metal grate that served as a floor, I can see why they’d need only two.

CLANG!

It was easy to spot an intruder on the inside.

“Huh?” The guards notice the sound I made and I instantly made a dash.

CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG!

With a breath, I leaped into the air. The guards saw me and pulled out their guns. I glanced to them. These were rent-a-cops. They never fired those pea-shooters in their entire lives. I looked down to the ground. Just gotta make sure I land safely. Though considering the ground level was just two feet below, I landed on my feet and had enough time to dash to the turbine generator.

Getting there was easy, though I knew the hard part was to rip into the steel plating and harness all the electricity being generated while security guards rush to me. I had been weakened quite a bit after my close brush with death, but I knew from my previous experience in prying these puppies open just how to do it without putting much strength into it. 

I dug my fingers into the crack between the cover and the shell housing the generator and pulled the cover off. As I did, I saw the turbine. With a grin, I slammed my fist into it. In an instant, all the electricity flowed back into me and I felt powerful again. I regained that hope I lost long ago. The hope that I could save everyone. That I would be a hero among the underdogs…

Then the turbine began to sputter and spark. Something wasn’t right.

BANG BANG BANG!

And that’s when I noticed the guards actually firing at me. They were bad shots though, as I saw the bullet holes appear on the turbine. The turbine was going out of control and was humming like crazy. Louder and louder, the turbine began to glow a hot red. Suddenly, it exploded.
________________________________________
I awoke in a green field. I tried to get up, but I could feel my body hurting.

“Try not to get up, alright?” I heard my brother’s voice. I looked up to him as he glared at me.

“B-brother…” I muttered.

“You nearly got yourself and a lot of people killed! What the hell were you thinking!?” He said to me. I had never seen him this angry before. I didn’t need to tell him. If I know my brother by now, he’d already figured out what I tried to do. “You almost died the last time! Why the hell were you risking your life?” He asked.

“… You know why.” I pointed up to the sky. “I couldn’t do anything anymore… If I had my powers back… then maybe… maybe…” My body trembled as I did something that I never thought I could do before…

Cry.

My brother placed an arm on my shoulder and held me.

“Zack, you stubborn, stubborn fool…” He said.

My brother, Sam, helped me elude the authorities for the next week until the heat died down and I would be able to integrate into society without any trouble. To this day, I had never attempted to restore my power, knowing now the risks I’d bring to the table. I had always dreamed of power, but knew that obtaining them, at least at the level I wished, would be an impossibility.

I would remain forever powerless.[/hider][hider=A Change of Heart][b][u]Terminal's Note:[/u][/b] This entry was submitted by [@Holmishire]

Tendrils of chill snaked their way into the youth's gambeson as the warmth of his body melted the heavy snow beneath him. While most of his face was covered by an array of thick wool scarves and other such wrapping, his eyes were unobstructed and acutely aware of his surrounding, despite the biting flakes of snow persistently blowing into his face. Over and past the crest of snow upon which he lay stood a young man, blond-haired, clad in heavy gear and steel fittings, likely no older than twenty himself. He held his horse's bridle in his left hand, caressing the horse's muzzle with his right.
 
Thankfully, neither the horse nor its rider had yet noticed Caerys.
 
Shifting his weight, Caerys glanced further down the clearing, to where Odio was supposedly hiding. It was impossible for him to make out the brute's form through all the falling snow.
 
To hell with it.
 
Rising up over the crest, he deftly and swiftly moved through the glade, towards his target. Through a mixture of the padding he wore and the dampening effects of the snow, he made it halfway across before the horse whinnied, hearing him, leading the young man to take notice of the imminent danger. In a sudden panic, the blonde swung himself onto the saddle and kicked the horse back from whence he'd come.
 
Caerys redoubled his efforts, feeling his heartbeat swell in both rate and intensity, boosting his speed—but he knew even he could not keep up with a horse in this snow.
 
Alas, he would not have to.
 
A figure burst forth from behind a tree, only a short distance ahead of the rider, and swung his halberd at the horse's legs, taking it down in a single blow.
 
Caerys caught up just as the thrown rider disentangled himself from his disabled horse's stirrups, rising to his feet and struggling to draw his side-arm. With all his weight behind it, Caerys's shoulder smashed into the blonde's back and knocked him to the ground. He drew his arming sword from his side and stared down at the whimpering young man. [I]I hate killing cowards.[/I]
 
He held his sword up above the prone form of his victim, and with one jerk, plunged it down into the man's chest. White flames spread out across the man's body as the blonde screamed and writhed in agony, consuming his body's energy and lapping back into the blade—once the flames died out, he pulled the blade free and returned it to its scabbard.
 
Odio, having finished off the horse, glared at Caerys with hate in his eyes. "Warlock," he spat, as he strapped his own weapon to his back.
 
The dark-haired youth pulled nervously on the gauntlet covering his left hand. "Just grab his supplies so we can get [I]out[/I] of here."
 
[hr]
Caerys and Odio found their companions waiting for them around a makeshift pit in the snow, surrounding a large fire, and largely kept safe from the weather by a large tarp. The two men slid down to join them.
 
At the far end of the fire sat the captain of their squad, Pedrel. Though reknowned neither for skill in combat nor in tactics, he was an effective leader and loyal to his men. To his right was Heilwen, a powerful man, broad in build and kind in disposition. Beside [I]him[/I] sat Neikel, a thin but agile young man, most proficient with the bow.
 
Odio, the man who had accompanied Caerys to take out the scout that had been tracking them, was perhaps the most skilled fighter in their group, challenged in finesse only by Heilwen's swordsmanship. Though deferring to Pedrel's authority, he was a distasteful man, brittle, hateful, and with a particular dislike for Caerys.
 
At only nineteen winters, Caerys was the youngest member of the squad—but no less skilled with the blade because of it. The svelte lad, son of a blacksmith and raised to become one himself, had only trained in the use of a blade relatively recently, upon enlisting in the Riforsian military—but nevertheless had quickly grasped the essential techniques. What he lacked in grace, he countered with muscle toned from years of smithing paired with his natural [I]abilities[/I], making for a strong, fast, and altogether formidable opponent.
 
"The scout is dead," Caerys announced, pulling some parchment out from the folds of his gambeson, and passing them over to Heilwen, who passed them to Pedrel in turn. "He was carrying these orders. They provide little information on enemy forces—"
 
"—But they [I]are[/I] proof of their intentions," Odio interrupted, shoving Caerys aside and taking a seat around the fire.
 
Pedrel studied the orders silently for some time, before stashing the parchment away in a sack. "Now that we no longer need worry for fear of being followed, we should set out for the mountain pass immediately. With Gaernyf under their control, there is no doubt that they will march through to Rifors come spring." Gaernyf was a massive fortress, with walls spanning from one mountainside to the next, protecting the largest pass to Riforsian soil from enemy troops. Every winter, the build-up of snow made the gap near impassable, blocking off Gaernyf's connection to the rest of the nation. Despite that, it had held off every siege laid upon it—until now.
 
"Nobody dares cross the pass in winter," muttered Neikel, fiddling with his quiver. "What makes you believe we'll be any better off?"
 
"'Tis dangerous, not impassible. For an army, 'twould be infeasible." Heilwen threw an arm over the archer's shoulders, pulling him in playfully. "But for a small group like us? The mountains will show mercy."
 
Odio sneered at Heilwen, then addressed Neikel himself. "We'll make shelter during the worst of the snowfall. The trek will be slow, but we have enough supplies to last."
 
Pedrel leaned back into the packed snow, smiling. "Passible or not, regardless of danger, we have little choice. Surely you do not expect us five to hold off Gaernyf alone?"
 
"Worry not, Neikel," assured Heilwen, "I'll look after you."
[hr]
[I]Caerys stood in an immense chamber, the walls lined with pillars thicker than six men abreast and a ceiling so high it was difficult to make out. Before him stood an altar, upon which he had carefully laid the body of a young girl, her blonde locks cascading across the stone, her cheeks rosy as if she were asleep, not dead.
 
"Bring her back," he begged. "I need her back."
 
A spirit rose from the altar. [B]"Bring me ten thousand souls, and I shall return hers to her body."[/B][/I]
 
His eyes flew open, and he found himself staring into the darkness of his tent, sweating profusely.
 
Pulling himself together, he sat to wait for his heartbeat to calm down. After a few moments, he became aware of the stench of burnt leather—the inside of his glove was smoldering.
 
Throwing himself out of his covers and out of the tent, he tore off the glove and plunged his hand into the snow. The glowing markings on his wrist quickly sizzled, and he found himself shivering. Dressed in next to nothing, the winter chill was making quick work of sucking away his body heat.
 
Caerys glanced down at his wrist as he retrieved his glove. White streaks, shiny and smooth, snaked their way almost from his elbow up to his palm, and a few tendrils continued on to the tip of his ring finger. The streaks were known as the [I]oëfir[/I], a tell-tale sign that the individual could access the magical energies surging in the heart of every living thing. For most mages, energy was channeled directly from a cavity in the heart, though the [I]oëfir[/I], and outside the body in the form of fire.
 
And yet, Caerys was not [I]most mages[/I]. He had a second anomaly. The cavity of his heart was not solely connected to his [I]oëfir[/I], but also open to his bloodstream. The faster his heart beat, the more powerful his body became, as mana coursed through his veins.
 
Together, however, he was what is known as a blood mage, thought to only exist artificially. Whereas most mages were limited in output, so long as a blood mage's heart beats faster, she could pump more and more mana out of their [I]oëfir[/I]. With this great power, he could manipulate the flames of the soul—making him the only person able to use the power of the Eogu orb, a legendary artifact that could recreate the souls of the dead. He had forged the core of the stone into the hilt of his sword, and now for each man he slew, he collected another soul to fuel his quest.
 
Resolute, he pulled the glove back on, and returned to his tent.
 
Unfortunately, circumstance forced him to remain cautious in the use of his power. After a devastating series of wars that ravaged entire nations beyond any hope of salvation—or even habitation—the use of mages in warfare had been forbidden. Against his better judgement, Pedrel had permitted Caerys to enlist under the pretext that it was his sword, not him, that was magical in nature.
 
So far, this explanation had sufficed, but he knew it would not last much longer. Pedrel kept his men in line—but if anyone else were to discover his secret, he could very well be tried for treason.
 
As he pulled the canvas flaps open, prepared to return to bed, he caught Odio out of the corner of his eye, watching him from the campfire.
 
Without a word, the spat upon the snow and walked away.
[hr]
Heavy snow pelted down on the five, stumbling soldiers as they trudged though the snow, single file. Leading the line was Heilwen—pushing open a path for the others to walk.
 
Caerys, walking behind him, patted him on the back. "I'LL TAKE OVER," he yelled, trying to be heard over the blizzard. Turning to face his younger companion, Heilwen planted on of his heavy paws onto Caerys's shoulder, before leaning close to speak into his ear.
 
"Thanks for the offer, but I've got more in me yet! 'Sides," he paused, "You're a bit short."
 
"WHAT'S THE HOLD-UP?" shouted Pedrel from the back.
 
"NOTHING SIR," responded Heilwen, booming his voice out over Caerys's head.
 
"IT HAD BETTER DAMNED BE NOTHING," came Odio's voice, as pissed as ever.
 
As Heilwen turned back to lead them through the snow, Caerys took the opportunity to fall back beside Neikel.
 
"You doing alright?"
 
"Y-yeah," the thin youth muttered, shivering. A bit on the lanky side, Neikel only had his leather armour and lightweight cloak—which he had pulled tightly around himself—to keep out the cold. His dark curly locks tumbled forth from his head in shambles, quickly building up a fluffy white carapace.
 
Taking pity on his companion, Caerys loosened the straps to his own cloak, a thick, woolen affair, and pulled Neikel into it.
 
After perhaps another hour of languorous hiking, Neikel began to suffer sneezing fits, and was having trouble keeping up. Caerys supported the man's weight for as long as he could, but finally the time came when Pedrel announced a halt.
 
"We look for shelter for the night—the boy can't continue much longer like this."
 
"Our tents won't keep us warm on their own, and they're too small for a fire," Odio interjected. "Where do you propose to find this 'shelter'?"
 
"We won't find [I]anything[/I] if we don't start looking," announced Heilwen, taking Neikel and placing him gently on his shoulders. "So let's go, shall we?"
 
The sun had set a couple hours before they found a suitable location—a large outcropping of stone in the mountainside. Neikel sat as far from the winds as he could as the other four men shoveled as much snow as they could away, so that they might set up camp.
 
Finally, they hitched up the canvas of their tents to act as windbreakers, sealing themselves in and the weather out.
 
As Pedrel and Odio left to gather some wood, Caerys sat down beside Neikel.
 
When the archer spoke, it was with a quiet, despondent voice, barely above a whisper. "I never should have enlisted..."
 
"What, because you can't handle a little cold?"
 
Neikel looked at him with irritation. "I'm frail and weak and [I]tired[/I]. You four with your swords and axes—you risk lives for glory, while I hide in the shadows and try not to look as I kill targets I can barely identify."
 
"Hah! You think there is [I]glory[/I] in killing those men? That because I can see the hope in their eyes die as I murder them, that that somehow makes me a hero?"
 
"You kill because you must. But at least you [I]fight[/I] for your country."
 
Caerys  was silent for a moment. "Not even that is true. I fight not for my country, nor my family. I only [I]wish[/I] I was so noble." He looked Neikel in the eye. "If you knew why I fought, you might no be so quick to offer me your respect."
 
Heilwen rose from where he had been resting and approached the two young men. "Come on, lad. Try not to dishearten the boy [I]too[/I] much." He too sat near them, plopping onto the stone with a lour crash. "Ahhhh..." he sighed. "No two soldiers fight for the same cause—and no one's heart is of gold. Out here, the difference between a[I] good[/I] man and a[I] bad[/I] man is whether he looks after 'is own. An' I tell ya, Neikel, you're surrounded by good men."
[hr]
Caerys kicked aside some snow to reveal a broken branch, and added it to the stack in his arms.
 
Thankfully, Neikel's condition had improved quickly in the shelter—and with the weather seemingly approaching a lull, the blood mage expected they'd continue their trek soon enough.
 
As he continued to gather wood, Caerys heard shuffling in the snow behind him. Cautiously, he put his hand to the pommel of his sword and turned to face his stalker.
 
Before him stood Odio, leaning against a tree with a grimace on his face. Despite the cold, the man had his arms crossed and bare, revealing his burly muscles, heavily scarred from years of close combat. He eyed the youth's hand, but made no move for his own weapon—in fact, he wasn't even carrying his halberd on his person.
 
"We could reach the outpost within a week."
 
Caerys looked at him curiously. "I am well aware."
 
"You cannot hide your sword from them. Discard it now, while you still have the chance."
 
[I]So that's it.[/I] "I will do no such thing. This sword is far more to me than just a weapon—I [I]need[/I] it." He began to trudge towards the camp, turning his back on the man.
 
"Need it more than your life? There will be no mercy for [I]your kind[/I] back there."

"I've told you before, I only use the magic imbued in my blade. No laws are being broken."
 
Odio grabbed his shoulder and swung him around to face him again. "Then [I]ditch the sword[/I]."
 
[I]"No."[/I]
 
Odio lunged for his blade, but Caerys easily sidestepped, and in a fit of rage, lunged out with his gloved hand, slamming Odio against a tree and holding him there with inhuman strength as his heart pumped full of adrenaline.
 
[B]"You have no [/B][I][B]right![/B][/I][B]"[/B] he shouted, his face inches from Odio's. [B]"Do you think I [/B][I][B]wanted[/B][/I][B] this life?"[/B]
 
He heard cries coming towards him, and all of a sudden, became aware of his surrounding. Odio was screaming, Caerys's left hand now completely enveloped in white flames that tore into the larger man's flesh. Both Pedrel and Heilwen, alerted by the man's pain, were running to his location, weapons drawn, fear in their eyes.
 
The youth threw himself from the tree, trying to desperately regain control of the flames.
 
The last he saw of the scene was Pedrel swinging the flat of his blade at Caerys's head.
[hr]
"You can't [I]seriously[/I] be considering letting him go."
 
"'E's just a lad, an 'twas an accident."
 
"That [I]accident[/I] nearly cost me my [I]life[/I]. He's a monster, and needs to be dealt with."
 
"He'll stand trial for his crimes." Pedrel stood up, and the others fell silent. "We'll bring him in, and tell them the truth. The marshal shall decide."
 
"That's a death sentence," muttered Heilwen.
 
"Then so be it."
[hr]
Odio stood before him, knife drawn, muttering to himself.
 
"They can't see it. He needs to die. He's not safe."
 
Caerys stared at him silently, waiting to see what the brute would do, ready to strike at any moment. They had bound him in rope, and though they should have realized his magic wasn't only limited to white fire, at least it had ensured that should the need arise, Caerys could burn his way free in an instant.
 
Odio swung.
 
Caerys dodged.
 
The knife embedded itself into the tree trunk, and Caerys brought his flaming hand up to scorch Odio's, leading the man to release his grip in pain. The youth followed by kicking the man's legs from under him. He snatched the knife from the tree, held it to Odio's neck, and placed his left hand firmly on the man's chest.
 
Odio screamed, and Caerys found himself reveling in the torment he endured. After so much hate, he was finally paying back in kind.
 
But just as the last ebbs of energy were sucked from Odio's body, Caerys was slammed aside by a heavy weight. Instinctively, he lashed out with the knife, stabbing his assailant in the heart.
 
He then watched in horror as Pedrel fell to his knees, blood soaking through his armour.
 
[I]What have I done?[/I]
 
"Neikel—run." Heilwen stood at the entrance of the shelter, sword in hand, disgust on his face. Neikel, who had been standing behind him, sprinted off into the woods.
 
"They were right," uttered Heilwen, his voice a growl. "You [I]are[/I] a monster."
 
Tears streaked down Caerys's face. "I didn't mean to—don't—don't make me do this, Heilwen."
 
"Your chances are up." With that, the massive man lunged forward, broadsword swinging. Caerys tried to dodge, but the man was fast, and his blade cut deep into his right shoulder. Falling to the ground, he barely dodged the next downwards swipe.
 
Unarmed, he flung fierce red flame from his hand, burning Heilwen's leg, and sending him crashing down to his knees with a cry of pain. Caerys brought his leg up and kicked the man in the back of the head, sending him flat to the ground. Taking Heilwen's blade up, he cut him down with one foul swipe.
[hr]
Trees flitted past as the archer ran through the snow, muscles burning with fatigue. He had only a faint idea of the direction he was going, but all that really mattered was that he escape the reach of his former companion.
 
[I]Odio.[/I]
 
He stumbled in the snow, falling flat on his face and choking on the cold white. Frantically, he pulled himself back to his feet and continued.
 
[I]Pedrel.[/I]
 
Finally, he could run no more, and fell into the snow, exhausted. Rolling over to face the sky, his breath came out in great sighs that racked his body.
 
[I]Heilwen?[/I]
 
[B]"Found you."[/B]
 
His heart stopped. "Caerys? How did you—"
 
[B]"You hardly covered your tracks."[/B] The blood mage's form came into view from the trees. White flames sparked and twirled across his infernal blade, hungry for souls.
 
"P-please!" Neikel sobbed. "I'm your friend!"
 
[B]"I can no longer afford friends. I'm sorry Neikel, but I'm going to need your soul."[/B]
 
"N-NO!" Caerys's blade struck with a single, efficient blow.
 
[B]"I hate killing cowards."[/B]
[/hider][hider=So Much for the Woman]
Ames felt the morning sun on the horizon while it was dark yet, and breathing silent through a crooked nose, extricated himself from a crowded bed to sit on the chair by the window. He watched the dawn as a man deeply perplexed, in the company of labored drunken snores from the adjacent rooms of the two-story cantina. One by one the town’s prospectors filed out of their homes, mules and hand carts and picks and pans in tow. He didn’t know their names – supposed he never would. From Coulterville to Mariposa was a three-day ride, and Temmel meant to stay only long enough for three days’ worth of drinking and whoring. Ames never minded the latter – the whiskey, though, he meant to leave for good this time.

He heard her rousing slowly, let her wake on her own time. It was lighter now, nearing seven and half. “Shit,” she said after stretching her arms and wrestling her eyes open. Ames’ vigil dawned on her gradually, until all at once she seemed suddenly and acutely aware that he was watching her. She was too groggy to hide her impression of familiar surprise. “Thought you’d be sleepin it off. That’s what y’all do, ain’t it?”  When he said nothing she cursed again. “It’s Sunday.” That meant she had to get to her mother’s and take her to church. Ames knew her from before – named Luanne in the east, but went by Sunflower in the saloon. She was too good for this life and they both knew it.

“Best get,” he said softly.

“Y’all could come,” she ventured, her eyes hopeful.

Ames shook his head. “They ain’t much for churchin’.”

“I meant you.”

“I ain’t neither,” he lied. It was quiet.

“She likes you,” she said. “Ma cain’t remember much but she talks about you sometimes.” Her tone said that she wasn’t really talking about her mother. Ames was carved of stone. “Come with me,” she pleaded.

Ames was thinking about Mexico, alert and somber. “Go on,” he said, meaning for it to be over.

“You don’t gotta,” she said. But Ames was made up. She cast lungful looks at him as she dressed, but they were done talking. She paused long at the door without turning back, and Ames could feel her wishing at him to speak again. Then she crept out, slinking quiet down the stairs and out onto the rutted street. Ames watched her passing in and out of long morning shadows, fussing with the shoulders of her dress and wiping at her eyes. 


They stayed in the trees until the riders from the railroad made their pass and left. Then they set the blasting caps and rode a mile north. Ames stayed with the dynamite. When he saw the train round the bend he set his eyes on Temmel, on the ridge. Temmel fired a signal shot and Ames lit the charge. The blast was bigger than it needed to be, big enough for the engineers to see it. The gang surrounded the engine and they laid on the brakes, and sure enough there was no need for more shooting, though a few of the boys put some rounds in the air for their own health. Ames got on his horse and rode out to where the train was stopped. They’d got a few leathers and supplies out of the first car and a few horses and a rider out of the second. Ames didn’t know him but he was already one of the gang. Ames laid his open shotgun across his horse and set with an eye on the engineers, who looked at him with beaten and hateful expressions.

When Temmel was satisfied they turned their horses south and rode out at a trot. Ames fell in the middle of the gang, and the newcomer and horses made the rear, with Temmel and the other shooters pairing up naturally. They crossed a river, riding upstream a bit and taking onto a game trail where they had to ride one abreast, deep enough in the trees to be out of sight from the road, and went on that way for a few hours, quiet except for a flask or two being audibly passed back and forth through the line of outlaws. Ames shuttled the liquors from back to front and again without taking a sip. Someone in the front sang a cheerful melody with dark words.

Crossing noon the trail brought them into a clearing with too many trees on the east and the road running across the west side. Anguy said there wasn’t a better way around and they tried to walk their horses along the treeline without raising too much noise or dust. When they got to the far end where the trail picked up again, they spotted an abandoned wagon on the road. Some of the boys went to check it out, came back and said the tracks were fresh and two horses had to have gone south more, and brought some foodstuffs from the back. Temmel darkened. He turned his horse north and south and north again, then said they’d press on and cut out that singing, and the next man to open his mouth before the border would taste his knife. They got back on the trail and rode slow and quiet. Ames got his ammo pouch up to the front of the saddle where he could get at the shells. 

About an hour later the gang came to a stop. There were horses on the road, nearing a dozen. Ames couldn’t see them but word came down the line to load up and get ready. He asked if they were gonna run or shoot and was told maybe both, maybe neither. They waited a minute until Temmel came riding back in a big hurry. Ames thought maybe they were gonna make back for the clearing. Instead Temmel cut loose all the horses from the train and gave them a whoop and fired his gun, and set them all running back up north, wild. Temmel came riding back up towards the front with a finger over his mouth. Then Ames saw the line starting up ahead and put spurs into his pony, and they were charging ahead, faces whipped by low spruce branches. The game trail crossed the road a short ways up and they turned north, back towards the posse, and all around him hands found their weapons.

They came on the posse at a full gallop. Seven of them were left in the road, the other three having lit off after the loose horses. Guns opened up on both sides about the same time and a few more outlaws went down than deputies. Ames sighted one on his horse at about a hundred yards and let the left barrel go, hobbling the animal and tossing the rider down into the dirt. He got a little closer and put some shot in his chest and pulled up his horse, and got down to reload. One with a Henry rifle had him in his sights, and the rounds came in close enough to whistle at, then someone got him. Ames slammed his breach shut and put a foot into a stirrup and rode on sidewise like an injun brave. When he got a lot closer he lifted himself up into the saddle and brought his gun on a pair of mounted men with stars on their chest, back to back with Scholfields blazing. He killed them both and cracked his gun to reload. There was a little more shooting but all the deputies were dead and adrenaline was starting to die down. Ames looked at the last two and saw that they were a marshal and a deputy, finely dressed and weathered from years in the work. The outlaws were down to five, Temmel shot but still on his horse and the rest healthy enough.

“More comin’,” Ames reminded them. Temmel got everyone down and hid them in the bush next to the road, and when the three riders came back down the road the whole gang lit them up, killing the men and the horses and anything else behind them. That was the last of them. 

“Don’t touch them guns,” Temmel said. Ames was standing over the marshal and his friend and the four scholfields between them. “They’s got word to a marshal, bet there’s more further on. Don’t touch them guns!” he yelled at someone else. “Leave it all, they’s lookin’.”

“Better leave the leathers too,” Ames said. He wasn’t used to Temmel listening. “Railroad knows by now it got got. Word’s out on all us.” He looked at the blood on Temmel’s belly. Looking was enough to say what he meant.

“Spread out,” Temmel said. “Can’t none of us get spotted with t’other.” He looked busted up over losing most his gang but he was making his plans. “Spread out, get to Santa Anna if you can.” He went to his saddle for a bag with some money and passed it around. 

Ames looked at him. “I’ll take you back up to Mariposa,” he said. “Get that bullet out, we’ll head south in about a week, yeah?” Temmel nodded. 



They rode slow back to Mariposa, careful on account of Temmel’s wound and wary of further patrols, taking to the woods whenever travelers passed. Along the way Ames assured his boss that he knew where to lie low for a while, and Temmel impressed upon him how sincerely good shooting he’d been, and that there was two extra shares with his name if they made it Mexico way. By dusk they had the town in sight, but they waited for darkness before riding in. 

Ames took them to Luanne’s mother’s place. The old woman knew they were up to some mischief, if not precisely what kind, but she let them in anyhow and fixed up Temmel as best she could. Her old man and her husband both were cattle surgeons and she good with a needle. They got the bullet out and stitched him up and gave him whiskey until he slept, then shared the rest of the bottle wordless on the porch with the lights out. When it was empty she gave him a reproachful look and said simply “I’m old,” and went to bed. Ames got himself in Luanne’s bed and settled in for a fitful night.

He was awake already, watching the dawn, when Luanne came home. She came up the dirt road, disheveled from another working night, and stopped a ways off, seeing him in her window. There was something sad about the way she walked. Ames met her on the porch.

“You been up to no good,” she said in greeting. Her eyes were red and she still had liquor on her breath. Ames shrugged. “You come back alone? Or you here for…..” 

Ames meant to let her finish, but there was fury in her brow, a righteous anger that he hadn’t seen before that made her cry. “No,” he said simply. 

“It’s him, ain’t it?” Ames looked down. She stormed at him, past him, to the door, and looked in at Temmel snoring on the couch. Her breath left her. Besides the town waking for the day there was no sound. “Give him to me, Lester.” He looked up. “Give him to me or get out”

Ames looked at her and believed her. “I won’t.” 

She set her jaw in fearful determination and made a brisk step for the road. Ames grabbed her arm and she shrieked, but he didn’t let go, pulling her in close and holding her still until the fight left and she was crying. “Damn you,” she moaned. “Damn you! Took up with the devil, so go on! I’m done with you! I’m….” Her voice became a quiet sobbing and Ames’ grip became a hug.

“What’s he done?”

“He took your soul, Lester,” she said weakly. “I’ll see him hang,” pushing away, courage welling up. “Try and stop me, I’ll scream. I’ll see him hang I swear to god.” Then an idea struck her, oddly hopeful. “Give him up, Lester. You brought him in, you could….”

Ames knew what she was suggesting and stuck his thumbs stubbornly in his belt. “Can’t do that,” he said. “He done good by me.” She started to speak but he cut her off, pulling a knife from his boot. “I ain’t gonna hang a man for what I did. But I won’t stop you neither.” She looked hard at the knife without moving. “I’ll do it for you,” Ames offered. “You ain’t even have to see it done.” She remained motionless. “He got nine hundred dollar in a purse in there. You can take what you need, care for your momma.” She stared at him, and he couldn’t puzzle out what she was wishing for. “Say the word and I’m yours,” he said.

“Give him up,” she said again, pleading. Lester frowned, and put the knife away and sat. She wiped her eyes and went back up the road.

It wasn’t yet twenty minutes passed when she came back with the sheriff and three guns in tow. Ames gave himself up without a fight, and Temmel put up a ruckus inside after they woke him and came out with a broken nose and blood coming from his crown. There was a gallows set up on the edge of town and they went there directly. One of the deputies kept a gun on each of them while they tied two ropes and the sheriff read off their charges.

“That’s them,” Luanne said when asked for testimony. “They was here night before last at the bar talkin’ they’s about to rob a train. Same gang as killed the marshal and his deputies on the road yesterday. That man there is their leader,” she said, pointing at Temmel. “He’s the one shot down Marshal Erickson and my cousin in cold blood, and half a dozen other men that I know of too. He’s the one.”

“That’s a lie!” Temmel bellowed. “Quiet,” barked the sheriff.

“It wasn’t him. It was me.” They looked at him with wide eyes, the sheriff, Luanne, and most of all Temmel, whose gaze was full of grateful respect. “I killed the marshal and two others. Your cousin, did he wear a star on his chest? Pair of scholfields? Then I killed him too,” he said after Luanne nodded teary-eyed and wordless. “I didn’t know he was your kin. If I did, I guess I woulda shot him anyway.”

The sheriff cut in. “This one with the bullet hole. He one of yours?”

Ames looked at Temmel, who anticipated with a grin. “Not as such,” Ames said. Temmel beamed. “I’m one of his. This is Francis Temmel.” The gangster flew into a violent rage, but in his restraints he could only injure himself and fling epithets. “He killed two on the road yesterday, and robbed the Reading too. Killed more before, one that I seen and more that I can’t speak to. She’s right about him. There’s a bounty on his head you owe her.”

There was a hasty trial and sentencing, during which Temmel spat and cursed and Luanne cried. Ames gave what details he could remember about the three surviving fugitives from the gang headed to Santa Anna, and the sheriff sent a telegram after them. Then they put the prisoners to the ropes and asked Ames if he had any last words.

“Only ever wanted one thing,” he said, despondent, his eyes on Luanne. She melted. “Shoulda done better.”

Temmel’s last words were “Fuck you, Lester Ames. Fuck you.” He glared at him until they put the bags over their heads, and kept glaring right through the whole ordeal – the ropes snapped taught and the legs twitched and went still, and the outlaws were buried north of town away from the other graves next to one another, shallow and lonesome, his evil gaze unbroken with dead eyes piercing the dirt. [/hider][hider=The Lost Dagger of G'narv][b][u]Terminal's Note:[/u][/b] This entry was submitted by [@WiseDragonGirl].

The city of Arnheim bristled with life as humans and human-like creatures walked across the paved street. A group of three woman were chatting while carrying grocery baskets filled with bread, potatoes and carrots. Two dwarves were engaged in conversation, telling each other how weak the human ale was, nothing like the decent dwarven stout they were used to. Some children ran across the street with sticks in their hands and hoops rolling in front of them, judging by the laughter they enjoyed their game of hoop rolling. Street merchants were advertising their wares in loud voices, walking around and showed fine jewellery and other items to potential costumers and a baker walked around with a basket filled with bread in the hopes to sell the remaining loafs. A horse pulling a cart filled with grain neighed and the farmer on the seat gently pulled the reins. A bit further down the road was a man who pushed a handcart filled with baskets forward and looked at a group of fur-covered bear-like humans that came from the opposite direction. The creatures had fur ranging from golden-brown to black and only wore a single-colour loincloth in the colour red, purple, blue, green, yellow or orange. Some had a band on their arm in the same colour as the loincloth. They seemed to be engaged in casual conversation amongst themselves, but they received hidden and sometimes distrusting glances where they went. When the sound of metal against stone filled the street the man with the cart looked back and quickly pushed his cart towards the side of the street. A group of ten knights in full armour and with their visor down marched over the street and people quickly stepped aside to let them pass. The tunic with light-blue and white vertical bands covered the chainmail and feathers in similar colours adorned the helmets. 

From one of the tables in front of a tavern a man with short, chestnut-coloured hair looked at the knights as he brought a mug to his lips. The brown and beige clothes were dirty from travelling and the worn out boots seemed in need of replacement. The chair next to him was occupied by an older man, who’s short black hair had strands of grey in them and his moustache was almost completely grey. The clothing matched that of the knights, with the exception of a triple gold star in the area of his heart.

“What’s on your mind, Trevor?” the older man asked.

Trevor didn’t answer the question as he examined the knights. He knew it was just a standard patrol, but for some reason people were in awe when they saw them pass. Deciding he had looked the knights long enough, he moved his attention towards the bear-like creatures and his eyes narrowed.

“No reason to look like that, my friend,” he said after he looked in the same direction as Trevor did. “It is peace with them for almost two years now.”

“I still don’t trust them,” Trevor grumbled, followed by a big gulp of ale.

“You can’t forget the war, can you?”

Trevor glared at him. “Should I, Bendul? That was a bloody war and many humans died.”

“Many Bardugs too,” Bendul sighed before he too drank from his mug. With the back of his hand he wiped away some of the foam that remained in his moustache and he placed the mug back on the table. “War is always a terrible thing. Be glad it’s peace now.”

Trevor grumbled something inaudible and emptied his mug in one last gulp. When he placed it back on the table the silence remained between the two. Both seemingly lost in memories. 

“Have you considered coming back to the army?” Bendul suddenly asked. 

“No,” Trevor answered curtly as he looked his friend straight in the eyes. 

“You haven’t considered, or...”

“I don’t want to come back. I’m perfectly happy with my life now. I live by myself, I earn some money by guiding people through the forest and I don’t have to take orders from anyone.”

“Not that you did before...” Bendul said, without looking at Trevor.

Trevor sighed, but he couldn’t stop a small smile from forming. That was true, he had been called insubordinate on more than one occasion, but it never had lead to anything more then a reprimand. For some reason Bendul had always given him leniency and he got away with more then most, if not all, other officers. Maybe he hadn’t always listened to his superior officers and maybe he hadn’t always followed the rules, but at least he got things done where other failed. Again a silence fell over the table as Trevor recalled how he was recruited by Bendul into the army, back then the man was a major and he started as a soldier. The war with the Bardugs was the second war he served in, the first was against their neighbouring country and. It was a war that lasted for three years, but they won. Because of how he took control when the officers of their unit were all dead he was promoted to lieutenant and by the end of the war he was a captain. Bendul himself was promoted to general, a rank he still carried. During the war against the Bardugs Trevor was fed-up with it and he put in his resignation as soon as the peace-talks began. They stayed friends afterward, Bendul and Trevor, and often shared a drink together, like this day. “I discovered where the dagger of G’narv is kept,” he told his friend.

“And you want to go after it.”

“Of course, I wanted it ever since you told me about it. A dagger belonging to the old dwarven king which supposedly will give the wielder a ghost army under their control, what warrior doesn’t want that? So now I know where it is I’m going after it.” Trevor narrowed his eyes as he looked at his friend. “So why don’t you give the key to me, you bastard.”

Bendul burst out in a roaring laughter and he hit the table with his fist. “It took you long enough to find out!”

“The old dagger of king G’narv was lost for generations,” Trevor said as he glared at his friend, although he wasn’t sure if he wanted to think about Bendul in that way much longer, especially with him laughing like that. “And you didn’t bother telling me that not only you know where it is, but you have the key to get there.”

“Ohh,” Bendul said as he tapped his belly. “That was funny.” He looked at Trevor and the scowl that indication how not amused Trevor was by it, which made it even more amusing for Bedul. “I was going to tell you,” he continued with an almost fatherly expression, “but I wanted to see how serious you were with your search.”

“You’re hilarious,” Trevor grumbled, but his scowl faded. It was impossible to stay angry at  the general, especially after all they had been through. “And?”

Bendul reached under his tunic and showed a simple brass key. He placed it in the middle of the table and looked at Trevor. “I’ve discover the tomb a moon ago and I found the key as well.” With two fingers he pushed the key towards Trevor. “You can have it if you want to, but it won’t be easy. There is a crypt in the forest, the key will fit on the lock of the door. You will enter a long corridor filled with Liadors.” At the mention of those creatures, Trevor showed signs of disgust, he hated those monkey-like creatures, they were deadly and smelled bad on top of that. “If you manage to go through you will find the dagger you desire,” Bendul continued, “but you’re not the first warrior to try.” They looked at each other with serious expressions. “If you want my advice, you could use some help. Maybe one of those Bardugs that are visiting our city, they know a Liador better than anyone else.”

“I’d rather die,” Trevor stated firmly. “I never needed anyone’s help and least of all I want it from those bloody Bardugs.”

“I knew you were going to say that,” Bendul sighed and he shook his head. “Tell me, Trevor, why do you want this dagger?”

“That is none of your business.”

“It won’t bring back your brother.”

A muscle twitched in Trevor’s jaw and he grabbed the key in a swift motion as he stood up. “I know that!” he growled as he walked away.

***

The next day Trevor stood in front of a white marble door with a lit torch in his left hand. The entrance to the crypt was made entirely of this precious stone and adorned with carvings mermaids, for whatever reason. It was something he could care less about and instead of wasting time looking at them, he took the brass key and put it in the lock. With a soft clicking sound he unlocked the door. As he carefully pushed it open his nose wrinkled in disgust. The smell of the Liadors came greeting him even before he set one foot inside. He drew his sword and went inside. One of the few things he knew about the Liador, other then their odour or appearance, was that they stayed away from sunlight, but they weren’t bothered much by the flickering flame of a torch. With careful steps he went down the stairs, holding both his torch and his sword in front of him. Aside from the scraping of his boots on the marble slabs it was completely silent. And he didn’t like that one bit. When he reached the end of the stairs and set his foot on the ground of the corridor he slowly moved his torch around in an attempt to see what was ahead, but he couldn’t see anything in the darkness ahead. Aside from bones, skulls and rusty swords on the ground. A determined expression came into his brown eyes. Liadors or not, he promised himself to get that dagger, so he would. He had to. Not only would obtaining this dagger be a feat that would make his name as warrior, he had to keep the promise to his brother.

A screech echoed through the corridor and something heavy dropped down on Trevor’s back. With a fast turn Trevor was able to shake it off before it could bite down or impale him with the large claws. The Liador ran up to Trevor on his arms and legs, but Trevor swung his sword and sliced across the chest, leaving a gashing wound. He didn’t look as the body fell down, but he turned to face the next of those creatures. One jumped up, but found its end on Trevor’s blade before it could sink its claws in Trevor’s flesh. A third one dropped down behind him and Trevor turned around while lifting his sword, but before he could strike the creature a claw scratched his chest. He uttered a groan as he bit his teeth and tightened his grip on the handle of the sword. With a swift motion he brought the blade down and party severed the head from the body. When he heard a hissing sound behind him he quickly turned around again and kicked the Liador back. Another came from the left and Trevor swung his torch to it, hitting it on the head. As the Liador yelped in pain, another clawed his arm. Trevor let out a cry of pain and dropped his torch, but he stabbed the Liador before it could do any more damage. Slowly Trevor backed away towards the stair as he looked around. As far as he could see five more came towards him, hissing and baring their teeth. By the sounds of it there could be even more. He backed away even more, he knew he was good, but he wasn’t that good. Maybe Bendul was right, even if he hated to admit it. He kicked one of the Liador when it came too close and quickly made his way back up on the stairs. He would have loved to fight his way through the hoard of Liador, but it was hopeless. There were just too many. He closed the door behind him and locked it, after which he slid his sword back in the sheath and he turned around to lean against the door. For a moment he just stood there and looked up at the sky above him. It felt like failing and he hated that feeling. After a moment of standing like that, Trevor looked down at his chest and arm. The clothing was torn and red where the claws had struck and blood dripped from his left hand on the ground. With his fingers he examined the scratches on his chest, but it wasn’t deep enough to worry about it. Those in his arm were deep enough to need binding, so he tore some fabric from his shirt and with his hand and teeth he did the best he could to stop the bleeding. With that out of the way, he decided to return to the city.

***

Back in the city Trevor went to the palace where he knew Bendul would be. The guards at the entrance looked at Trevors bloody and torn clothes, but one glare from him stopped them from asking what had happened. Instead, they allowed him access to the palace. With big steps Trevor walked over the marble floor and he ignored the way the maids looked at him in horror. As far as he was concerned they could be glad he wasn’t dripping any blood on the floor. He went straight to one of the many doors in the corridor and opened it after two knocks, he didn’t care no-one gave him permission to enter yet, he almost never waited for that. Trevor walked inside and almost immediately noticed the general, but much to his surprise he could see a couple of Bardugs there as well. The usual Bardug weapons, a long iron pole with a crescent moon shaped blade on top and a heavy iron block on the bottom, stood against the wall. Trevor noticed two of them had a band around their arm in the exact same colour as the loincloth. He knew enough about the creature to know that they were leaders and instinctively he kept his hand close to his sword as he looked at them.

“I see you fought with the Liadors,” Bendul stated as he looked at Trevor.

“What gave it away?” Trevor asked sarcastically, knowing very well how he looked. He didn’t bother looking at his friend though, he kept his eyes on the Bardugs.

“Be glad you survived,” Bendul stated, followed by a sigh. “I know I am.” He looked at Trevor curiously. “Did you manage to get through?”

Now Trevor looked at Bendul and he shook his head. He would have loved to be able to show the general the dagger, but his first attempt was a failure. It stung to admit that to himself and he certainly didn’t feel for saying that out loud.

“That’s a shame, human,” a dark-brown Bardug with a red band around his arm spoke as he looked at Trevor with his black eyes. “General Bendul told us about your quest and-“

“You told them I was going for the dagger?” Trevor interrupted the Bardug as he glared at Bendul. “What made you think that is a good idea? Bardugs can’t be trusted!” A black Bardug dressed in just a green loincloth growled at that and Trevor glared at him instead. “Oh, don’t give me that, you don’t trust us anymore then we do you.”

The Bardug bared his teeth. “That is true, human,” he growled.

“Enough,” the dark-brown Bardug said with a strict look at the other Bardug, who lowered his head in acceptance. He then looked at Bendul. “It will take a while before trust will be able to exist between our species.”

That was something Bendul knew, even he sometimes had to remind himself the war was over. Some things weren’t easily forgotten and Trevor wasn’t the only one who held grudges. Even if Trevor seemed to be a master at that, but it wasn’t too surprising with what happened. The general looked at his younger friend. “They can help you get the dagger, my friend.”

Trevor opened his mouth to say he didn’t want their help, that he didn’t need their help and that he didn’t want to have anything to do with them. But he closed his mouth without saying a word. He knew his friend spoke the truth, Bardugs knew how to deal with Liadors better than anyone. 

The Bardug in red clothing turned his head towards Trevor. “I can accompany you. I have no desire for the dagger, our people don’t like mingling with the deceased.”

“And how do I know you speak the truth?” Trevor asked with an ice-cold voice. 

The Bardug straightened his back and looked at Trevor with a calm expression. “Because I will give you my word of honour.”

Trevor stared at the Bardug for a moment. He really didn’t want to do this, he didn’t trust them. He couldn’t trust them. But if he wanted to own that dagger and keep his promise, he had to. As much as he hated to admit it, asking a fellow human for assistance was a bigger risk. The word of honour of a human didn’t mean much, that was something he had learned the hard way. There were plenty of backstabbers, especially when a treasure of that scale was in the prospect. For a Bardug the word of honour was something important. On top of that, it wasn’t certain that one fellow human would get them through the Liadors. Everyone was silent as  they waited for Trevor’s decision. Trevor closed his eyes, took in a deep breath and nodded once. “Alright,” he said. “I...I could use the help.” He had never thought he would do this, accept the help of one of these creatures, but it was needed. The dagger was what mattered and if he had to sink to this level and accept someone’s help he would. And if that someone was a Bardug, so be it. 

***

Together with the Bardug, Trevor returned to the entrance to the crypt. The Bardug had introduced himself as Graspal, to which Trevor had stated his name as well. Without a word Trevor took the key so they could enter. This was something he wanted to get over with as soon as he could. He didn’t like it one bit, having this Bardug standing next to him, but this was no time to be arrogant. Doing this by himself would only get him killed. The first time down that had proven that much. Absentmindedly he stroke over his chest where the clawmarks were still visible on his skin. It would probably leave a permanent scar, but he didn’t care much about it. When he felt the furred hand of Graspal on his shoulder he looked at him.

“I have one question before we enter,” Graspal said. “Why do you want this dagger? Do you wish to use its power for your own?”

At first Trevor didn’t answer, but then he shrugged. “I have a few reasons to go after the dagger. One is that it’s a prized possession. It’s one of a kind and it’s powerful. Many warriors have looked for it and attempted to get it and I want to be known as the warrior who succeeded. Secondly, I talked with a dwarf, a friend of mine. The dwarves will give a reward for anyone who brings the dagger back to them. The reward will contain gold, precious stones and a custom made armour of their finest materials. I’m planning to claim that reward. And lastly...” Trevor fell silent for a moment as his eyes fell to the ground. “When I first heard about it I was with my younger brother. We started to research the legend together and grew more and more enthusiastic about it. He died in the war against your people.” Trevor’s voice softened. “I watched him die, I held him in my arms. He told me I should leave the army, he could tell that life wasn’t for me, even if I was good at it. He told me I had to follow our dream to find the dagger. And I promised him I would find it. That was the last conversation we had.”

Neither of them spoke after Trevor stopped talking. Some birds high up in the trees paid no attention to them and continued chattering amongst themselves. Their happy tones didn’t seem in place, but birds were known for their indiscretion in these cases. “I see,” Graspal finally said and he nodded to Trevor. “I will deal with the Liadors, so you can go further and pursue your goal.”

“Will you be fine?” Trevor asked without looking at Graspal.

Graspal let out a roaring laughter. “They fear us, I will not have any difficulties with it. This is play-time for me.” He picked up his weapon and grinned. “Let us go inside.”

Once again Trevor opened the door and he lit a torch. Graspal went in first and Trevor followed behind with his sword ready. As they reached the bottom of the stairs it didn’t take long before the first Liador came, but unlike the last time its movements seemed hesitant. Graspal let out an ominous growl and the Liador hissed, but it remained where it was. 

“Stay close,” Graspal instructed, unaware of the glare he received from Trevor. Even if Trevor didn’t like taking orders, he knew well enough if he wouldn’t do as Graspal said, the Liador would attack him. 

As they slowly walked further down the corridor more Liador showed themselves, but the growling Bardug kept them away. One of them mastered enough courage and leaped forward to attack Trevor in the back, but Graspal turned swiftly and sliced the creature with his weapon. He let out a loud roar and the few Liador within eyesight fled away. Trevor knew they weren’t gone, but they were out of sight and that felt better. One thing Trevor noticed was that there were no skeletons in this part of the corridor. It was safe to say he was now further than any human before him, but he knew better then to let his guard down.  

Finally they reached another door and Trevor grabbed the handle. He could still hear the sound of the creatures behind them and the stench was almost unbearable, but he was where he needed to be. He looked back at Graspal, who nodded at him. 

“I will stay here and guard the entrance,” Graspal told him. “Be careful, if legend is correct the dagger will be guarded by its former master.”

Trevor nodded once and opened the door. Carefully he stepped into the chamber and he placed his torch in a holder next to the door. In the flickering light he could see a statue shaped like a mermaid with the dagger on her lap. Next to the statue of the mermaid was a statue of a warrior with the sword elevated above his head. Trevor took notice of everything in a single glance and started crossing the room.

Just before Trevor reached the dagger, a figure appeared. The figure emitted a light-blue light and had the short and broad shape belonging to a dwarf. Trevor raised his sword and pointed it at the figure. “I came for the dagger.”

“I know,” the figure spoke.

“Let me take it,” Trevor demanded.

“Proof your worth,” the figure retorted.

Trevor nodded once. “I will.”

The figure pointed to one of the statue of the warrior and with a roar it came to life. Instead of a marble statue it seemed like a real person now. Trevor watched as the warrior ran towards him and he swung his sword to block the incoming blade from the other. He looked at the warrior for a moment, before he pulled back and attacked. The room filled with the sounds of steel against steel as Trevor attacked the warrior or was forced to defend himself. They danced around each other as their swords cut through the air and their blades crossed. This warrior was good, Trevor didn’t mind to admit that to himself, but he was determined to win this. The muscles in his arm started to ache from the blows he gave and the blows he blocked. When he noticed the sword of the warrior come down, Trevor shouted as he put all his energy in his blow as he attempted to disarm his opponent. While the warrior held on to the sword, it gave Trevor an opening he needed. With a quick movement he brought his sword in position and thrust forward. The blade entered between the chainmail and the helmet and the warrior lowered his sword. Trevor panted as he looked at the warrior on the other side of his sword. Normally that would be a death blow, Trevor assumed the reason the warrior was still standing was that the warrior wasn’t really alive. 

“Well done,” the translucent figure spoke. With a snap of his fingers the warrior walked back to his place next to the mermaid, raised his sword and turned back in a marble statue. He then gestured towards the dagger.

Trevor put his sword away and nodded, still panting. He walked up to the dagger and looked at it for a moment. The dagger had a black leather handle and the steel blade seemed as if it was forged just hours ago. In the blade, close to the handle, was a black stone. Trevor didn’t know what it was called, but the dwarves would know. He reached out and his fingers folded around the handle. He picked it up and looked at the dagger from all angles. He weighed it in his hand and checked the balance. It was a fine piece of craftsmanship, there was no argument there. When Trevor looked up he noticed the figure faded. He wasn’t sure how he felt, he was glad he finally held the dagger, but a part of him was sad the search for it was over. Most of all he felt gratitude he had been able to keep his promise. That is, if he managed to leave this place safely too. He put the dagger in his belt and crossed the room, as he left it he grabbed the torch and joined the Bardug.

“Ah!” Graspal said. “You were victorious. I heard you fighting.” His eyes moved down and settled on the dagger. “Is that the dagger?”

“It is,” Trevor said. “Let’s go.”

Together with Graspal, Trevor made his way back through the corridor. Just like the first time only few Liador were brave enough to come close, but if they didn’t meet their end on Graspal’s weapon, they did so on Trevor’s sword. They made their way to the stairs and walked up. The sunlight on the end of the stairs was a welcome sight and the smell of fresh air was even more welcome. Once outside, Trevor closed the door and locked it. As he put the key away he looked at Graspal. “I didn’t think I would ever say this to a Bardug, but thanks.” 

“It was my pleasure,” Graspal replied and he smiled. “You have your dagger. Fame and fortune await you.”

Trevor nodded and he took the dagger from his belt. Fame and fortune awaited him, that was true. More importantly, he had kept his promise to his brother. He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly as he held the dagger against his chest. Then he wrapped it in a cloth and hid it under his clothes. He knew he wouldn’t have been able to do this by himself and he looked at the Bardug. Once a sworn enemy and one of them was even responsible for his brothers dead, but at the same time he couldn’t have fulfilled this quest without this Bardug. “Thanks again,” he said to Graspal as he held out his hand.

Graspal took his hand and shook it. “I know you have reason to hate us and we have reason to hate humans. The war is still fresh in all our memories, but I wish to say I’m sorry for your brother on behalf of my kind.”

Trevor nodded once to accept the words. “Thank you. If there is something you need help with, let me know. I will repay the favour.”

After a nod of acknowledgement they went back to the city. Trevor couldn’t say he trusted the Bardug in general, he had seen too much of the war for that, but he was willing to trust this one. His hand moved to the place where the dagger was hidden under his clothes. One adventure was out of the way, the next could begin. There was a reward to claim after all, a fortune to gain. But that was for later, right now all he wanted was to sit back with his old friend, drink an ale and celebrate a job well done. [/hider][hider=Forgotten Dream]
The darkness smothered her, unbroken
As she cried upon her bed.
The electronic words un“spoken”
Tumbled through her head.

“I wish I were loved!” she cried.
“Those are things they shouldn’t say.”
“They might care more if I could die!”
Thus she gave her life away.

Companionship her only dream
Acceptance her desire;
But for her friends yet unredeemed;
Instead she caught more fire.

The written words had sealed her fate
And pain had made her cold.
She cut, she bled, fueled by their hate
She let the dark of death unfold.

Her life was short; her memory lost
Abandoned, it would seem
And thus it was, by winter’s frost
Her lone, forgotten dream.
[/hider][hider=Stained Snow Melts Last][b][u]Terminal's Note:[/u][/b]This entry was submitted by [@Sen].

	“This is the place,” Lynn muttered, looking around in awe at the snow-laced temple before them, the freezing northern winds still whipping at their backs. Roan wrestled his pair of goggles off and ran a hand through his adequately windswept hair, stepping into the entrance of the mountain cave. He looked past the almost ecstatic woman in front of him and surveyed the hall they were in. The ceiling was immeasurably high; the walls distant and lined with some kind of ancient scripting neither could ever hope to read. 

	“So is that it?” Roan pointed over to the end of the great hall with his unmittened hand after striking a torch alight.

	She took a step forward, nodding. “I’m one hundred percent sure.” The two young adults stumbled down the path of collapsed rocks until their feet hit ancient tile. Lynn pulled her goggles off her face and let them hang from her neck. As they walked towards the pedestal housing their object of interest, she found it out hard to not ogle everything surrounding her. The murals, the markings, the statues, even the flooring. Lynn had never considered herself a history buff but this temple was far beyond breath-taking.

	Forcing herself to focus, Lynn approached the pedestal, with Roan trailing close behind. A sword was stuck into the ground before them, and though Lynn swore it had a blue glow to it, it appeared completely normal once she was close enough to touch it. The chestnut-haired girl reached out tentatively, carefully touching her fingers to the hilt. The metal felt red-hot (as well as the air around it) and she immediately jerked backwards, bumping right back into Roan’s chest. He pushed past her and crouched down next to the sword, observing it carefully. “This is the key, eh? The power to control ether does sound handy…”

	“Not quite.” Lynn corrected, squatting next to Roan. “It can control the [i]flow[/i] of ether. Different.” Roan gave her an unimpressed look before reaching out to the key like Lynn had only moments before. A light touch proved the same results, though instead of backing up into someone, Roan could only fall back onto his ass. “And it’s just what we need.”

	“It’s really hot,” Roan stated, as if he needed to state the obvious to get Lynn to continue her train of thought out loud.

	“The key can control ether’s flow by channeling it through itself, and then projecting it into… something. I guess it’s just releasing it back into the air or whatever.” The two stood up, snow still blowing into their faces from the cave entrance. Lynn pulled off both her gloves, shoving them into her coat pocket, and stepped a little closer to the blade. “An example of this would be channeling the impure ether of an area and stabilizing it, which I’d guess is the primary function of it. Why’s it’s shaped like a sword, I can only guess.”

	“Aesthetic, probably. And I assume the reason it’s on fire is because there’s a shit tonne of ether running through it right now?” Roan crossed his arms around his chest, unimpressed with the idea. And how he was starting to sweat from the heat the sword was radiating.

	Lynn stared at the key, a drop of sweat running down the side of her face. “Yeah. Unstable if I had to guess.” 

	“Can this really cut through a barrier that bastard can make? I mean, a human soul is a little stronger than some cave's atmosphere.”

	“In theory, it should be able to break through anything ether.” She was confident in the key’s ability, even if she’d never seen it in action. It was as Roan mulled over this did Lynn grab onto the sword hilt again. The pain was surreal, like putting your hand on a burner. As it seared her hands and fingers, Lynn tried to pull it out from its resting place until a sharp [i]shiiing[/i] resounded through the cave. She quickly threw it to the side after having dislodged it, carelessly sending it into a group of presumably ancient pottery. A cringe was the only response she could muster as Lynn looked at the mess of both broken ceramics and first degree burns.

	“Nice going, tomb raider.” Roan said facetiously, walking over to the key and sliding it back over to the pedestal with the heel of his boot. Lynn stared at it again once it was at her feet, but was ripped away from it when Roan grabbed her by the wrists, inspecting the burns on her hands. “What were you thinking? Your hands are a mess, Lynn. We gotta treat them first thing when we get back.”

	Lynn nodded half-heartedly. Her hands were of the least concern as she picked up the key again, thankfully significantly cooler, and held it out in front of her. Assuming its high temperature was because it was regulating ether, what did its now cold touch exactly entail? The blisters and burns on her fingers and palm stung like hell as her eyes scanned up and down the blade. None of the markings were familiar. And another thing that was unfamiliar was the shaking beneath her feet. It was a delayed realization, seconds after it started, that they were in the midst of a quake.

	“Watch out!” Roan’s voice called, right before she felt a truck run into her side, throwing her to the ground, the key sent clattering away. Her head spun and her limbs throbbed, but she forced herself onto her knees and resituated herself. The cave was collapsing in on itself. On them. Lynn stumbled away a few steps before noticing Roan crumpling to the ground, one arm a bloody mess, rocks flying still. A stalactite had fallen down where she was. The shards pelted her, making tiny cuts and bruises. A fissure was opening up at their feet. “The key!” 

	Lynn shot forward almost immediately, legs taking her before she could tell them to do it. Just as his figure slid down into the chasm, she caught him, desperately trying to pull the man back over the ledge, to no avail. Lynn’s fingernails dug into Roan’s forearm, trying to hold on to that sun kissed skin for as long as she can. Her eyes shot over to the blade she had dropped. The key rested far too close to the edge of the fissure, only one good tremor away from falling into the abyss. Panicked, Lynn looked to Roan’s eyes, searching for some kind of answer in them. But there’s nothing she wanted to find there. 

	“Lynn, listen to me.” His voice was hoarse, strained, a whisper above the rumbling. Eyes more blue than they’ve ever been before. She clenched his wrist tighter as gravity pulled ever harder on both of them. It’s as much of a struggle to hold him up as it was to keep from falling herself. “We can’t lose it. Everything we’ve done will have been for nothing if we lose that thing. Everything we’ve worked for.”

	“It means nothing to me if you’re not there!” A shout, her tears choking her voice. Another wave of quakes shuffled and uprooted the earth around them, tossing the two to the side and back. Her fingers slipped from Roan’s arm but, with a lunge, she caught his hand, though half-off the ledge herself as a result. Roan’s scruffy face turned into that familiar scowl, the sight of it almost enough to make Lynn vomit. Her shoulders burned violently, arms screaming, hands raw and head numb; it all hurt so much. From that day on the train where she’d first seen Roan, to this very moment, it’d all been for him. Lyle. Reagan… Everyone.

	No matter how much her heart told her to not let go, no matter how much she wanted to listen, no matter how much she needed him… As she loosened her grip, her fingers slipped through his. She wanted to scream as loud as she can, numbing the throbbing in her chest, but the sound stopped in her throat and she couldn’t breathe with it there. Any words she wanted to muster, an apology, could not come out. She could only return the smile given to her, a favor she could never give before. Though it was wry, tainted with tears, it was permission for Roan’s eyes to close, losing all tension. His body rag-dolled into the darkness below.

	There was no gas left to burn, but her legs still functioned, still pumped, as she dived for the key, just as it threatened to finally fall off the edge. Her fingers clenched around the cold blade, replacing the human warmth she had left to feel with a metallic chill. Blood dripped as the dull edge dug into her tender flesh. It was easy enough to pull only herself back onto the ledge, and as the hall only caved more, all she could do was run. Run as fast as her weak limbs could take her.[/hider][hider=All Or Nothing]Author's Note: This was loosely based on a true story, but it didn't happen to me personally.

“Yeah, I’m serious.”

“Jesus, Max. You must be stupid, too. They’re gonna—wait, hold that thought… I need a drink.”

“A drink?”

“Yeah, and you’ll probably need one too.”

A boy with sandy blond hair stood up from the lawn chair that he had been lounging on in the backyard of a suburban home. On an adjacent lawn chair sat a boy of greater height and with dark brown hair, who also stood and apprehensively followed his good friend through the grass up to the sliding glass door that led into the basement of the house. It was the Fourth of July, and the two had just finished watching the fireworks display. They were set off in downtown Huntsville, but everything was visible from Max’s back yard, saving them a trip into the city.

“Dalton, we [i]really[/i] shouldn’t—“

“Where does your dad keep the cooler?”

“It should be downstairs, but…”

Keeping quiet, the blond-haired boy slid open the door and slipped inside, accompanied by Max. In the corner of the room, between the stand of a wide-screen television and the wall, they found Mr. Palmer’s white Yeti cooler left unattended.

“Jackpot.” Dalton grinned, snuck up to it, and flipped the lid open. Inside various beers were nestled among a bed of clear ice, which, in the hot and humid basement, almost seemed to output a clear mist into the air. “What’s your poison?”

Max peered over Dalton’s shoulder into the cooler and tried not to grimace. He had never drunk before, but the drinking itself wasn’t half of what was worrying him; he was more concerned about his father catching them in the act of stealing his beer and then cutting off both of their asses to hang over the fireplace.

“I don’t care. Just grab some so we can get the hell back outside!”

“Alright, alright. Let’s see…” He rummaged around, causing the ice to rattle and the bottles and cans to clink together, but his hand suddenly froze. Not from the ice, of course, but because the door leading upstairs opened with a loud creak, filling the basement with the lively chatter of the adults upstairs.

“Shit!” Dalton said in a strained whisper, but Max was already making a beeline for the door. He reached inside, grabbed an armful of bottles, and hustled back outside just as a pair of feet began to descend the stairs. Max was off to the side from the door, breathing heavily and sweating slightly, not feeling any bit better to see Dalton emerge alive and shut the door with his elbow. They made their way back to their lawn chairs, where Dalton gingerly laid the six bottles onto the grass.

“Looks like we’re drinking Blue Moon tonight,” commented Dalton as they both gazed down at their treasure. He reached for one, pulled his phone out of his pocket, and used its case as a makeshift opener to pop off the cap. “Okay, that’s three for each of us. Not a lot, but we can make it work if we chug ‘em.” He handed Max the bottle after which he opened one for himself.

Max felt a little uneasy about drinking what seemed like a lot to him on his first go, but he dismissed the thought from his mind. Dalton drank every now and again, but he hadn’t done so in a while, so he assumed their tolerances would be more or less equal.

“You scared?” Dalton asked after taking a long sniff from the bottle.

“Kinda,” Max admitted.

“Hah, you should be more scared about tomorrow. To Max’s survival!” He raised his bottle and Max waited a second before tapping the neck of his bottle against his. “Okay, ready? Go!”

They gulped down the foamy liquid as fast as they could. Max didn’t exactly have time to savor its taste, though he was surprised to find it was carbonated like a Coke. Dalton finished first; Max had to take a few breaks to breathe or to cough, but he managed to wash down the rest as well.

They were quiet for a moment, then Dalton burped, breaking the tension a bit.

“Not bad. You feel anything yet?”

“Yeah, I feel a rock in my stomach.”

“That’ll go away. Take a seat before we do the second one.”

With Max sighing deeply, the two took their seats. Everything looked especially dark in comparison to how brightly lit up the sky was just a few minutes earlier with all the fireworks. A few lightning bugs danced around the pine trunks, and an entire opera of crickets sang all around them.

“So, why the hell are you thinking of trying out?”

“Because, you know exactly why. I’m tired of being nothing to my dad.”

“Yeah, but… I mean look at us, Max. Kids like you and me don’t play football. Our role is to get drunk before the games and support the team. And a team ain’t nothing without its fans!”

“Well, my dad doesn’t think support’s good enough. He’d rather I play.”

“Who cares about what your dad thinks?”

“I do! You know how much it sucks to feel like you’re constantly disappointing someone? That’s what it’s like with my dad.”

Dalton shifted in his chair uncomfortably, thinking. “I mean… No offense, but you’re no Justin.”

“Exactly. You’d think already having one child superstar would be enough, but no.” Max shrugged.

“…I’m sorry, man.”

“Whatever, it’s fine… Hand me that second beer.”
[hr]7:00 came around fast and smacked Max upside the head. Each blaring tone of his alarm clock sent shockwaves of searing pain across his scalp. He scrunched up his face and let out an agonized groan as his trembling hand slipped out from the covers and switched off the horrible sound.

Very faint sunlight filtered into the room from the unclosed blinds, illuminating some stray motes of dust that drifted lazily in the air. A small television with an Xbox hooked up to it was set up on the opposite end of the room from Max’s bed, in front of a beanbag chair. On the other wall was a desk, which, despite it being the middle of summer, was littered with opened books, papers, his laptop, and some useless knickknacks. 

He had ended up chugging all three of his Blue Moons with Dalton the night before, and successfully gave himself a decent buzz before they returned inside and Max passed out in his bed. He had no idea what time that was, but it certainly felt like he had barely slept at all.

As Max willed himself to stand up, he was thankful to note that there wasn’t any nausea waiting to greet him, though that didn’t alleviate his headache by any degree. Feeling much like a zombie, he shuffled out of his room and into the neighboring guest bedroom where Dalton was asleep on top of the bed covers.

“Dalton! I’m heading out.”

He squirmed slightly and moaned an incomprehensible response.

“Just go on back to your place when you get up.” 

Dalton murmured back a faint, “Okay,” before Max returned to his room to get dressed. He had no idea what to wear. Max’s sense of fashion was rudimentary at best, his daily wardrobe consisting of a t-shirt, shorts, ankle socks and sneakers, despite however cold it may be outside. However, he assumed dressing for workouts shouldn’t be too much of a challenge; in fact, he chose to put on what he normally used. After lacing up his sneakers, he bounded down the stairs, grabbed a water bottle and an apple from the pantry and headed for the front door.

“Where you off to so early, son?”

Max came to an abrupt stop just as his hand was reaching for the knob. Turning around, he saw his father appear in the doorway leading to the living room. The man was tall, well over six feet, muscular but not exactly toned, and his face was covered in stubble. His stern expression had become a common sight for Max.

“I-I’m going for a jog, sir.” He swallowed hard.

“A jog?”

“Yes sir, just for a couple miles. Maybe downtown and back.”

The burly man stared at his youngest son for a good five seconds before scoffing.

“Why?”

“Uh… Never too late to get in shape, sir.”

He shook his head and crossed his arms. “Your friend still here?”

“Yes sir, he’s asleep. I told him to head home when he wakes up.”

“A’right.” He turned and headed back into the living room. “Good luck with your jog,” he chuckled sarcastically. Max was tempted to roll his eyes behind his father’s back. Typical of him to have the last laugh, leaving him feeling like shit. But Max shook off the pain. It wouldn’t be too long before, hopefully, he’d be proud of Max.
[hr]It was a thirty minutes’ walk to Our Lady of the Gulf Catholic High School. Justin would’ve driven Max there (and attended workouts too) but he was away at some sports camp for gifted athletes, so walking was the only option, and he was alone without any kind of brotherly guidance. In fact, Justin didn’t even know Max was planning on doing what he was doing. Maybe it was better that way; he wanted to do it on his own.

Upon arriving at the front doors of the somewhat larger-than-average private high school, Max found no indication of the football workouts or where they were being held. Thankfully, he had been inside the school plenty of times before, so he knew where the weight room was. He went in through the unlocked doors, headed downstairs, and found the double doors leading into the weight room… closed and locked. The lights were on inside, but it looked to be vacant.

Max stared through the small window on one of the doors and frowned at his reflection in the wide mirror on the far side of the room inside. He was [i]positive[/i] that workouts started on the fifth… Where in the hell was everyone?

“Is that J.P.’s little bro?”

Max turned around to see that the doors leading into the boys’ locker room had been pushed open, out of which sauntered an upperclassman that Max recognized as one of Justin’s friends on the varsity team. He was shouldering a gym bag and holding one of those big 32 oz. water bottles, which sweated a decent amount of condensation. The boy himself was also covered in a thin layer of perspiration. His white shirt read in gold letters, “Gulf HS Football.” 

“What are you doing here?” asked the athlete.

“I’m, uh… trying to find where the workouts are.”

The upperclassman stopped mid-sip from his bottle, his eyes widening in surprise.

“You’re going to workouts?” he asked, wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand. He sounded more shocked than pessimistic or sarcastic. “Well, you’re in the wrong place, dude. You better hurry out to the field. They already started.”

Max’s heart skipped a beat.

“Oh, shit! What are [i]you[/i] doing here then?”

“I gotta head home early for a family breakfast.” He laughed. “Coach wasn’t so happy about that. It probably won’t help his mood to have someone showing up late.”

Max rubbed his face tiredly with the palms of his hands. His headache was still lingering somewhat, which only intensified his anxiety.

“Oh, god… Alright, I better get my ass out there, then.” He turned and started to jog down the hall.

“Good luck, little J!” shouted Justin’s friend as Max burst through the doors leading outside. “God knows that kid’ll need it…”
[hr]A piercing whistle cut through the air.

“Holden! Keep that chest up! I don’t wanna see you slumpin’!”

“Yes, Coach Robinson!”

A total of seventy or so high schoolers were on the school’s four hundred meter track that encircled the football field. They weren’t running though; they were lunging, snaking their way slowly around the circumference. A man, younger than Max’s own dad by perhaps only a few years, stood on the inside edge of the track, whistle hanging from his neck—must’ve been the coach. He was tall and looked to be pretty strong. His biceps bulged as if trying to free themselves from the confining sleeves of his t-shirt, and his calves looked like they could support a thousand pounds.

Max appeared in the distance, jogging past a chainlink metal fence that separated the field from the school parking lot it was adjacent to. His eyes quickly picked out the biggest and oldest person around and decided that would be the best person to approach.

“E-Excuse me?” Max’s voice felt small compared to the man’s previous barking commands.

“Huh?” The coach, whose back had been to Max, turned his head and looked at the newcomer out of the corner of his left eye for a second, before completely turning around to face him. “Yeah? What do you want?” His speaking was quick, as he could be using this precious time to sharpen up his players’ form even more.

“I’m, uh, here for the football workouts, sir…”

“Jackson! No straggling! You better catch your ass up. I don’t care if it makes you puke!” The sudden outburst of bellowing caused Max to flinch; the coach’s eyes had not remained on him for longer than a moment. “What were you saying?” He continued to survey the others.

“I’m here for the workouts, sir,” Max stated in a firmer voice.

“You’re late.” Coach Robinson’s response was almost automatic, though this finally merited some unwavering attention from him. He scrutinized the boy, his skinny appearance an obvious signal that he was a rising freshman. Though he looked vaguely familiar…

“Wait just a second. Those freckles, your terrible timeliness… You ain’t related to Palmer, are you?”

“Justin is my older brother, sir,” came Max’s reply as he rubbed his arm nervously.

Coach Robinson eyed the boy up and down, sizing him up.

“A younger brother of Palmer, eh? What’s your name?”

“Max, sir.”

“Max, huh?” He continued to study the boy, estimating his limits, his weaknesses, and any possible strength he might have. He grumbled something incomprehensible and shrugged. “I’ve seen worse in my days… Plus, any Palmer kid should have some promise in him. But you’ve already committed your first mistake: arriving late. You’ll have to pay for that.”

Max shot the man a look of dread that he had seen more times than he could count. It almost made him smile with delight, but he took pity on the boy, only because he was one of his best player’s kin.

“I’ll cut you a break, though. You can wait until after workouts to knock out your penalty.”

Max would hardly call that a “break,” but he decided he’d take all he could get. At just about that moment, the other trainees were beginning to fall in, one by one, the majority of them groaning from exertion. The coach continued to shout either encouraging comments or degrading criticisms until they had all finished. As they all looked largely out of breath, the coach allowed them a minute to break and drink some water.

“You’re in for the next drill,” Coach told Max from the sideline. “Just… try to keep up, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Call me Coach.”

“Uh, yes. Coach.”

He blew the whistle again, causing every boy to snap to attention.

“That’s enough! Everyone line up on the goal line on the far side of the field!”

Max had been to countless football games in the past. He understood the gist of the game—each team tries to move the ball ten yards in four downs or less, and if they eventually make it to the other team’s side they score six points, followed by a chance to score one or two extra points. But that was the extent of his familiarity with the sport, which is why he made himself binge-read a slew of online articles on how to play the sport and understand the lingo. He wasn’t sure he had everything under lock, but “goal line” was thankfully something he knew.

He jogged over with the others and found a spot somewhere in the middle of the line, sandwiched between two kids he didn’t recognize but appeared to be around his age. The one on his right, about as tall as him but much more athletic and of African descent, looked over at him curiously.

“Hey, wow. Coach didn’t run you into the ground for coming late? You must be somethin’ special.” He was whispering, taking advantage of the small window of time as the coach walked over to where they were lined up.

“He said I have to stay after,” Max explained.

“Dude, this is J.P.’s little brother,” said the boy to the left of Max, a tad shorter and with windblown dirty blond hair. He had leaned forward to look at the other freshman. Max smiled shyly at both of them; he was usually introduced in this way, as Justin’s little brother.

“Oh, shit! Now I see the resemblance. Didn’t know he had a sibling. Nice to meet you, man. I’m Darryl.”

“And I’m Colin,” replied the other one.

“I’m Max. It’s—Oh.”

He was cut off by the coach beginning to speak: “Okay, we’re doing suicides at ten yard intervals until you cover the length of the entire field. Got it?”

Max tensed up. What the hell was a suicide? It certainly didn’t [i]sound[/i] like something he wanted to start off doing. Were they… sprints? Why didn’t he just say sprints then? Were they some special kind of sprint? Max had no idea. He resolved to just follow the lead of Darryl and Colin and everyone else.

[i]Fweeeeeeeet![/i]

The entire line of boys surged forward, Max with them. At first he unknowingly sped up ahead of the group because he wasn’t nearly as fatigued as them, so he forced himself to slow down just a bit, until he crossed the ten yard line, where he continued to run forward.

“Huh?”

He spun around and saw everyone started running back to the beginning when arriving at the ten. Grumbling and trying not to attract too much attention to himself, he started back off in that direction, only to see that everyone turned back around at the goal line. Then, they advanced to the twenty yard line and went back to the start. Slowly, Max caught on to the exercise and followed the pattern. By the time he was running to the fifty yard line, he was already beginning to perspire and feel out of breath.

“Faster!” Coach Robinson howled.

Max’s legs were juicing. He could only wonder in horror how this would’ve gone if he had lunged around the track. Stifling a whimper, he kept his head down and pushed through the last five rounds, each much harder than the last. At long last, he crossed the goal line on the opposite side of the field, chest heaving, face glossy from sweat, and thigh muscles slightly shivering. He nearly dropped to the ground to catch his breath. By some miracle, he wasn’t the last one to complete the suicides, but he knew that was only because the others have been exercising before this.

“You good?” asked Darryl, who wiped off a bead of sweat from his forehead.

“I don’t know,” replied Max. He ran his fingers through his now dampened hair.

“We still got a long way to go yet…”

Coach Robinson worked them like prison inmates. Luckily, since they were working out in the morning, the harsh sun didn’t play much of a role in wearing them out any more than necessary. After the suicides, Coach had them do agility ladders, after which they did sprints, then hills, then they did a variety of running drills involving cones, whose purpose Max assumed was more relevant to on-field maneuvers.

He was utterly miserable. The suicides were the only drill where he finished somewhere in the middle. The rest of them, he made embarrassing mistakes or he finished near dead last. Not to mention the soreness that lingered from his hangover the night before. He thought he was about to puke many times throughout. Coach yelled at him occasionally, not really kindling much motivation in him, and when it seemed like all was over, they were instructed to head into the weight room for conditioning. Max had forgotten all about that part of training.

There were multiple cages in the weight room where about 90% of commons lifts could be executed, and a small group was to work at each. Max was paired with Darryl, Colin, and two other freshman who introduced themselves as Jayden and Grant. Much to Max’s surprise, they didn’t ridicule him for being a newbie. Maybe it was because they didn’t want to get asses kicked by Justin, maybe because they were genuinely nice. Max didn’t really care either way, though. While it was nice to make friends, he was there to succeed.

The lifts included bench and shoulder presses, deadlift and power-cleans, and pull ups. It was nice to have more experienced people in his group to explain some of the unfamiliar lifts to him. Also, the lifting wasn’t nearly as exhausting as the running in the sense that it didn’t wind you and didn’t make you want to vomit. Max managed to keep up, but by using lighter weights. With only a quick sweep of the room, Max could easily deduce he was the weakest of the bunch. But Max kept his frustration in check. His weakness was the exact reason for his coming to the workouts in the first place. 

Then, after a gut-wrenching couple minutes of planking on and off, Coach Robinson finally dismissed them. Groaning with pain and relief, Max stood up from the grimy weight room floor and snatched up his water bottle, which he had ended up refilling three times over the course of the day, and took a hearty sip from it. When he was done, he closed the top and was about to take a step for the door out, when he felt a strong hand clamp over his shoulder.

“Where do you think you’re going?” boomed Coach’s voice.

A swarm of butterflies took to air in his stomach. He had forgotten about his penalty for being late. Max looked back at the coach and tried not to frown.

“You’d better have been heading back out to the field,” he said.

Max nodded reluctantly. “Yes, Coach.”

He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. It felt like every muscle fiber in his body had been numbed and was completely incapable of exerting itself, which only meant one thing. He would be sore as shit the next morning. But he had to follow through with this…

Max headed out the doors of the weight room and turned down the hall leading to the field.

“Hey. Max, was it?”

Stopping yet again, Max discovered Colin standing a few feet back, holding his own water bottle.

“Yeah, what’s up?” 

The boy walked up to him and with what Max could only assume was a smirk. “How you feeling? Bet it sucks ass.”

“I feel terrible.”

“Yeah, Coach Robinson’s workouts tend to do that to you. But, you know, every day it gets a little bit easier. You’re coming again tomorrow right?”

Max wanted to whine, and Colin must’ve noticed this flicker across his face.

“Hey, don’t chicken out now, dude. Besides, Day 2 is just assessments and measurements. Height, weight, mile time, some lift maxes. You know, the easy stuff.”

“Doesn’t sound easy to me.”

Colin laughed. “You’ll survive if you survived Day 1.”

Max pondered that.

“Huh, I guess you’re right,” he said. “But I gotta head back out to the field because I came late today.”

“Ah, true. Good luck with that.” Colin gave him a playful punch on the shoulder, effecting a small “ow” from Max. “See you tomorrow.” They both turned from each other and Max jogged out to the field and waited. After a few minutes, Coach Robinson arrived sauntering down the path.

“So, you’re here,” he observed.

“You, uh, told me to come here, Coach,” replied Max.

“Well, I was afraid you wouldn’t show.”

Max shrugged his shoulders.

“Listen to me, Palmer.” The coach leaned down a bit to get on face-level with the freshman. Max did as he was told and listened. “I don’t know how to tell you this, ‘cause I don’t want you getting an inflated head, but I’m glad you showed up today.”

“What?”

“Look, you’re obviously not a very sporty kid, but you came, and you at least kept up with all the workouts. Now I don’t know how tryouts will go, but if you keep showing up to these, you’ll have a better chance than you would if you never came at all.”

That brought a small smile to Max’s face. He had never been encouraged by a figure of authority like this before.

Coach straightened back up  and crossed his arms.

“Alright, go take a lap. I’m letting you off easy, now, you hear? Don’t want to see you late again.”

“Yes, Coach.” Max headed off to the track and began his lap. The smile never left his lips for a moment. Maybe there was a glimmer of hope for him after all.
[hr]For the rest of July, Max continued to go to football workouts every morning, Monday through Friday, and he wasn’t late again. Each of those days, Max told his father he was going for a jog, or getting breakfast, or seeing a friend; he was actually pretty proud of the fact his father never caught on to what he was up to.

The workouts were backbreaking, but like Colin had suggested, it got a little bit easier each day. Sometimes, Max had to stop and catch his breath, sometimes he couldn’t finish and gave up, sometimes he’d trip and fall on the field. He even ended up having to throw up on two occasions from overworking himself. But he noticed improvement. The first time he became aware of this was when he completed the full-field suicides in the middle in the pack, albeit toward the back end of it, but this happened [i]after[/i] he had done all the previous drills with everyone else. He gradually became able to lift more and more weight, increasing his bench max from eighty-five to one hundred pounds. He was even able to finally get a pull up!

Darryl explained he was improving so quick because this was Max’s first time lifting weights and training. But Colin cut in saying that it could be his “Palmer genes” hard at work, too. Max didn’t know which it was, probably both. But even though he was getting stronger, and he could feel it, his body looked more or less the same; his arms still lanky, his legs still skinny, his chest and shoulders still largely undefined. Max supposed, however, that appearance wasn’t as important as actual improvement was.

Toward the beginning of August, with football tryouts only a few weeks away, His brother Justin finally came home from camp. There was no big “welcome back” party or anything; he simply arrived in a cab and that was that. Max’s father, of course, greeted his oldest son warmly and asked him to share all the stories about the sports camp.

“Sure thing, Dad,” he replied. “But I gotta unpack first… Max? You wanna help me?”

Max had been laying on the couch in the living room, waiting for the Advil he had popped earlier to take effect to soothe his screaming calves. He groaned as a reply, not wanting to move.

“Max, help your brother.”

“Yes, sir.” Masking a wince, Max sighed and got up from the couch. He grabbed one of Justin’s duffel bags without a word and headed upstairs to his room, which had been empty for most of the summer. Max dropped the bag on the bed and unzipped it; Justin came in soon after.

“How has your summer been, little bro?” he asked. Justin looked a lot like Max, sharing his freckles, a trait inherited from their mother, and his smile. Justin’s hair was a much lighter shade of brown than Max’s and was styled better, however, and stood a good three inches over him, with a typical football player’s build.

“Pretty uneventful, I guess,” replied Max. “I got drunk for the first time with Dalton on the Fourth of July.” The two of them hadn’t had a lot of time to hang out since Max started workouts, but they always made an effort to see each other at least once a week.

Justin snickered. “Well, look who’s the new cool kid.”

Max rolled his eyes but chuckled too. “Yeah, whatever. How was camp?”

“Pretty fun. Met some cool guys and recruiters and all that. The workouts were hard as hell, though.”

Max could relate.

“Oh, hey, speaking of which…” Justin spoke up again. Max stopped moving, thankfully with his back to his brother so Justin wouldn’t see the anxiety painted all over his face. “Chris sent me a text… He said you were at the football workouts.” Chris was the one who had been leaving when Max arrived on the first day. Damn it, of course he spilled to Justin.

“Oh…” Max pulled away the flap of the now open duffel bag. “Yup…”

“So, you’re trying out?”

Max shrugged and finally looked back at his brother. “Yeah. Don’t tell Dad though, okay?”

“Why not?”

“I… want it to be a surprise.”

There was a pause.

“Max…”

“Justin, I’m doing this. I’ve already been going to the workouts since July, and I’m getting [i]better[/i] too. I’m going to keep going until tryouts start, and no one is gonna stop me.”

Justin stared at his younger brother intently. It was hard to tell what was going on through either of their heads right then, but Justin finally nodded.

“Okay. I get it.”

“Thank you,” Max said, relieved. “Are you gonna go to workouts now?”

“Nah, I’ll just go to the gym to stay in shape for tryouts. Do you need rides?”

“I’m good. I’ve been walking there. Actually, I’ve started jogging there now. Well, halfway there.”

Justin smiled. His brother was not a little kid anymore, even though he himself wasn’t much older. He had to keep reminding himself of that.

“You’re doing good, Max. Keep working at it.”
[hr]The final three weeks of workouts became much harder. Coach Robinson pushed everyone to their personal limits (which, for Max, wasn’t much but it still took its toll on him). Max returned home every day needing to take a nap to replenish his energy. He was eating and drinking a lot more, and got into the habit of going to bed earlier. He felt the healthiest he had ever been.

A few days before tryouts, Max, Justin, and their parents sat around the dinner table, eating a meal of steak and asparagus. Mr. and Mrs. Palmer were having a discussion about upgrading the kitchen, while Max was looking down at his plate quietly. He hadn’t touched his food; he was too nervous to eat. For the past few days, he had been thinking of a way to tell his father he was going to football tryouts because he did not want him finding out that very day.

Justin looked over at Max and seemed to understand his silence. He spoke up, somewhat interrupting the conversation between his parents.

“So, tryouts are in a couple days,” he said. 

Max looked up from his plate and over at his brother.

“That’s right. The Hammerheads are gonna have another great season,” boasted Mr. Palmer.

“You’re coming to watch right?”

“Of course I’m coming to watch my son kick ass at tryouts!”

“You think… We could bring Max along?”

A moment of silence arose.

“Why’s that? He never comes along.”

“Well, Dad… He was thinking of maybe trying out for the team.”

A longer, even more tense silence arose at the dinner table. Joe Palmer’s eyes turned to his youngest son. Max could only stare back, feeling like defenseless.

“Is this true, Max?”

“…Yes, sir.”

“Is that why you been going on all those jogs lately?”

“Actually, sir, I haven’t been entirely honest with you. I’ve been going to football workouts since July.”

Mr. Palmer was quiet but Justin was smiling, trying to convince his father that this was a good thing.

“You survived with Coach Robinson?”

“Barely, sir.”

Mr. Palmer snickered, which slowly morphed into a deep, rumbling laugh.

“Son, I’m not sure if you’re quite Gulf football material!”

Max’s gaze returned to his plate. He should’ve guessed, even when he’s trying out for the team, his father didn’t give a damn. Was this all a waste? Was it all for nothing? Should he even bother trying out now?

“Dad, he’s been training like hell for the past two months…”

“Honey, don’t discourage him,” Mrs. Palmer told him in a soft voice, placing a hand on her husband’s arm.

“Okay, okay,” said Mr. Palmer after he finished his chuckling. “We’ll see how he does.”

Justin sighed, pushing his plate in. “C’mon, Max. Let’s go pass around out back.”

With a small grumble, Max stood up and they headed out to the porch and down to the yard where a football rested in the grass. Meanwhile, Mrs. Palmer stood up to gather the dishes.

“Max hardly ate anything tonight,” she observed, noticing his nearly full plate. “He must be pretty nervous.”

“He better be. I’d be nervous if I were him too,” replied Mr. Palmer.

“Do you think he’ll do well?”

“Christine, Max is… He isn’t a boy who plays sports.”

“It sounds like he’s really been trying, though.” She cleared her throat. “I wonder what would get him to want to try out for the team.”

“Hell if I know,” he scoffed. “Sixth grade, he told me, ‘Daddy, I don’t wanna play sports anymore.’ That’s what he said. Now he’s doing this? Kid’s gonna get himself killed out there!”
[hr]“Okay, so there’s good news and there’s bad news,” Justin was telling Max as he caught the incoming pass in the backyard. “The good news is, pretty much everyone makes the team. Now I’m not saying you’ll make [i]varsity[/i] but you’ll definitely be on some team.” He grunted as he threw the ball back to Max, a perfect spiral.

Max scrambled but managed to catch the ball before it hit his face.

“The bad news is that after the first week of practice,” Justin continued, “come the cuts. They’ll post a list of names, and if you’re on it, then…”

“Then you’re done.” Max finished, throwing the ball back.

Justin caught it effortlessly. “Exactly. But hey, if you get cut, so what? You can try out again next year, or do another sport.”

“Well, I don’t wanna get cut.”

“Nobody does, but shit happens.”

Max nodded grimly. Shit did indeed happen, but he hoped it wouldn’t just this once.
[hr]Saturday morning, the day of the fall sports tryouts. The kitchen of the Palmer household was filled with the mouthwatering aroma of sausage, eggs, and toast. It was Mrs. Palmer’s special “tryout breakfast” she cooked every year, except today she was cooking for two. Max and Justin sat the at table, scarfing down their food ravenously.

“Look at my two hungry little football stars,” Mrs. Palmer giggled as she scrubbed a pan clean. “When do y’all head out?”

“A few minutes,” answered Justin. He downed his class of orange juice in one go. “You ready, Max?”

Max took a couple hearty sips from his juice as well before giving a small nod toward Justin as he wiped his mouth.

“I think so.” They both stood up.

“Good luck, you too!” Mrs. Palmer called to them as they grabbed their belongings and headed out the door. Mr. Palmer was waiting outside for them, and they piled into his truck, Justin taking shotgun and Max, the backseat. It was a short but uncomfortably quiet ride over Gulf High School, not even charismatic Justin spoke up. Max wondered if he was feeling nervous, but he sincerely doubted it. He was too good.

When they arrived in the decently crowded parking lot, Max and Justin jumped out and grabbed their bags before they jogged off together to the field where students were already beginning to gather. A few of the older kids whooped and greeted Justin upon their arrival. In the meantime, Mr. Palmer found a seat in the bleachers with a few other parents. 

Justin gathered with his friends, and Max found Darryl, Colin, Jayden, and Grant. They all talked casually before the varsity and junior-varsity coaches came onto the field and made them all line up. Coach Robinson was head varsity coach; Max doubted he’d be impressing him today. The JV head coach, new this year, was his best bet. He was introduced as Coach Blaine.

They were first separated into groups based on which position they would play. Max wasn’t sure which he was best suited for, but the JV coach seemed to know just fine.

“Huh. Not very big. You quick on your feet?”

“I-I guess.”

“Let’s see how you do as a punt returner, then… What’s that?” he turned as Coach Robinson whispered something into his ear. He squinted for a moment and shook his head, but Coach Robinson appeared to insist on whatever it is he had said.

“Actually, kid, we’re gonna put you with the defensive backs, see how you do there. Who’s next?”

Max looked at Coach Robinson, but he had already moved down the line. He wondered why he had convinced Coach Blaine to change his position, but he supposed he wasn’t going to argue it. None of his four acquaintances were classified as defensive backs, so Max was by himself with a group of a few other freshman and a decent amount of upperclassmen.

Coach Blaine walked over to them, his hands on his hips. He was younger, with combed black hair a little facial hair, and he sounded like he was from the North. After asking for everyone’s names, he turned and looked intently at Max. A scowl formed on his lips.

“I hear you’re the son the Joe Palmer. I expect a lot out of you.”

Max swallowed hard. “Yes, Coach,” was all that escaped from his trembling lips.

Coach Blaine blew his whistle and explained their first drill: tackling. Max had been expecting speed assessments or something, but Coach knew best, he supposed. As he began his explanation, Max’s racing thoughts began to drown out his speech… This was it. This was his chance to prove himself, to show everyone, to show his father, that he wasn’t worthless as an athlete, that he could do anything he put his mind to. He’d put everything he acquired in the past two months of grueling training to work. He pictured success in his head over and over again. 

Inhale, exhale. He was ready. He’d make his father proud.

The tackling drill was simple in essence. One person ran, the other had to stop the runner by any means. Then they switched. Max didn’t really know how to tackle someone, but how hard could it be to knock a guy to the ground? Plus they weren’t wearing any pads or gear, so increased weight shouldn’t be a problem.

The first pair got ready, two freshmen. The runner lined up halfway down the field and was to keep inside a decently wide lane bounded by cones. The tackler stood in the middle. The whistle blared, and the runner dashed forward. Max watched with his heart going a mile a minute, already perspiring from the anticipation. He was excited, much too excited to notice there was an odd number of freshmen.

Two more pairs of kids his age went, and Max noticed it’d be his turn next since he was the last first-year left. But, who would be his partner? 

Once the last pair finished, Coach Blaine called Max and Reid to line up. Reid was an upperclassman Max recognized from workouts, and what was unnerving about all this was that he was pretty big. Max’s heart jumped into his throat.

“Don’t go easy on him now,” Coach Blaine told Reid, who nodded. 

Max was to tackle first. Trying to control his trembling, he lined up in the middle of the lane and waited for the whistle to signal Reid to run. He crouched slightly when Reid began to charge toward him, and he quickly analyzed the situation in his head. It would be a fool’s move to try to take him down head-on. He saw Reid was heading off toward his left, and Max stepped accordingly. He had to get him from the side or knock him over another way… Reid was getting close, only a few yards away now. Max took a step forward, and as he had somewhat anticipated, Reid juked to the right in an amazing showcase of agility. But Max saw it coming. He sidestepped to the right and charged straight toward Reid from the side. As he reached for runner’s shoulders, trying to grab and pull him to the ground, Reid changed his direction in a way that sent the brunt of his right shoulder straight into Max.

Justin had stopped what he was doing to look over and see how Max was doing with his drills, and saw what was about to happen.

“Max, look out!” But it was too late.

For the brief moment that Max was airborne, time seemed to slow down immensely. 

He relived every moment of his relentless training, of his willing himself to continue, to go on, to keep fighting, all the encouragement he received from everyone. 

He relived the countless hours of running, lifting, of crying and frustration, of self-doubt.

Tears stung at his eyes, even before the shooting pain rocketed up through his left leg as he landed awkwardly on his ankle and rolled over multiple times on the turf. The little pellets of shredded tire stuck to his face and clothes, and his cries of anger and hurt filled the field. Everyone ran over to his writhing body, Justin the first to get there.

“God damn it! God damn it!” Max was screaming.

His vision was cloudy, his hearing was hazy.

“Max! Max, are you alright? Max!” he heard Justin yell.

“Holy shit, look at his ankle!” someone gasped.

Justin begged Max to calm down, and reached underneath one of his armpits, Darryl grabbed him by the other, and together they hoisted him up, letting Max’s weight rest on his good leg. Max’s screaming had stopped by then, but his was face red and tears streamed down his face.

“He’d be out for the whole season even if he did make the cut,” someone whispered behind him.

“Everyone, out of the way! Give him some space!” Justin commanded the other players, causing them to disperse a bit.

“Dad…” Max whimpered, his eyes glued to the ground. Justin frowned, cleared his throat, and kept quiet, readjusting his grip on his brother.

Max forced himself to lift up his head. Through the haziness of his vision, he picked out the spot where his father said he’d be sitting, but the spot was empty.

“Someone call an ambulance!” barked Coach Robinson. 

[b][u]Terminal's Note:[/u][/b] This entry was submitted by [@Blitz], who requested that I only name them at the bottom.[/hider][hider=Snatcher][b][u]Terminal's Note:[/u][/b] This entry was submitted by [@Dedonus].

NOTICE: The majority of this entry is designed as a summary of what I wanted to happen in the story and [b]many[/b] things could be fleshed out, which were not due to time restrains.  The transitions between paragraphs might seem choppy, mainly because of the 'brevity' that was inherent in using a summary as part of the piece.  This might also explain why the tense switches back and forth between past and present tense.  Sorry about that if that is still there (I tried to exterminate as many of those as I could before the submission deadline).  However, the ending is complete (sort of), along with a few other sections.
[hr]
The first period bell rung and all the students took their seats in the Pre-Calculus class.  When their teacher asked for everyone's homework assignment that was due on that day, Matt used his reality altering powers to materialize his homework that he had failed to do the previous night, much to chagrin of his friend, Will. Once the homework had been passed in, the Pre-Calculus teacher told everyone to get into groups to complete the day's lesson.

"Have you ever seen the movie [i]Total Recall[/i]?"  Matt asked his friend.  However, Will just gave him a puzzled look.

"It is one of Schwarzenegger's movies.  It isn't the greatest movies of all time, but there is this one scene that might interest you."  Will still gave Matt a confused look, not quite sure whether he thought that Matt would be making a good recommendation.  However, Will was saved by their teacher.

"Matt, this is Pre-Calculus class, not the gossip corner."

Matt just rolled his eyes while not looking at her, of course.  "You'll see a preview soon." Will did not think this sounded like something good was going to happen, especially when Matt flashed him a quick smirk.

"Don't do anything stupid."  Matt just gave his friend the 'okay' hand gesture.  This did not look good at all.

After first period, Matt told Will that he would see him at lunch.  Meanwhile, Will waited outside the door of his last class for his girlfriend, Kyra, who also happened to be in the same class.  He looked down at his clock periodically, worried that she might make him late for his next class.

“I don’t suppose that you’re waiting for someone.”  Kyra said smugly after she sneaked up behind Will, making him jump a little.

“Maybe I like standing out in the hall…”  However, Will stopped in his tracks when he realized something was off about her.  It was not something that she said, but something about her appearance.

“What?”  She asked her boyfriend, puzzled by his expression, “Do I have something on my shirt?”

“No, no, that’s not it.  Actually, it’s, well.”  Will struggled to find the words, due to the awkward nature of the situation.  “Haven’t you noticed that you have a third…”  He was too embarrassed to even finish his statement, resulting in him running his index finger up and down his sternum.

“You just noticed that?  We’ve been dating for what, almost a year?  You’re weird.”  She reached over and pinched Will’s cheek, much to his dismay, “But at least you’re cute while doing so.  Well, see you at lunch.”  She turned away and hurried toward her next class, oblivious to what Matt had done to her.  Her boyfriend, however, was only able to see the changes that Matt had caused because two years ago, during their Freshmen year of high school, when Matt was ‘acting up’, to put it mildly, Will’s neighbor, Kelly, cooked up a little device that would nullify the effects of his powers on them so that they could get him to change stuff back.  He had been relatively good last year that they did not even bother to give Kyra one.  Will made a mental reminder to talk to Kelly about getting his girlfriend one.  At least everyone else in the school was obvious, too.

While finishing up a quiz in one of his next classes, Matt could not quite remember the answer to one question.  Although at first he was just going to use his powers to answer it for him, Matt decided to give himself a hint.  That was not totally cheating.  Or at least that is what he told himself when he used his powers.  After he turned the quiz in, he felt generous and place that same hint on everyone's quiz, even if some people had already turned in their quizzes.  Those people probably did not need the help.  However, even though he had only used his powers for a few tasks, it was obvious that Matt was starting to be fatigued by using his powers too much over a short period of time.  But Matt  nevertheless ignored it.

At lunch, Will urged Matt to return Kyra back to normal.  Matt at first drug his feet, claiming that Will was ‘turned on’ by his girlfriend's new ‘asset’, despite Will’s objections to that accusation.  However, he relented and reverted her back to normal after Will made such a fuss about it.  After lunch, Matt saw Will talking with his neighbor, Kelly.  At first, he wondered what was up?  However, he finally just ignored it, thinking nothing of it.

Later that evening, Matt asked Will what he was doing that weekend.  Will mentioned that he was going to a Halloween party on Friday with his girlfriend.  Matt wondered why he was not invited.  Did Will not see him as a [b]friend[/b]?  Did he not trust him enough to allow him to come along?

On that Friday, Matt decided he was going to help Will out to prove to his "friend" that he was actually valuable to him.  First, in Pre-Calc, during which they had a test that day, Matt changed the test so that Will would get a one hundred percent, in spite of him actually getting a few questions wrong.  When he saw that Will did not realize what was going on, since he could not see the final results of Matt’s ‘gift’, Matt thought his plans were going smoothly.

Then, Matt decided to do a second "favor" for Will.  His ‘friend’ was in the marching band.  While they were now upperclassmen now, Will still was not top-dog yet in his section.  De facto, maybe, but definitely not de iure.  So Matt decided to fashion a solo section for him in the middle of their marching routine, despite the fact that it would probably interrupt the flow of the performance.  Matt did not really think about these consequences, but that was far from his mind.  He was doing his friend a service, right?
 
Finally, Matt decided to play matchmaker.  Even though Will already had a girlfriend, Matt thought that that relationship materialized out of nowhere, especially since Matt knew Will had the largest crush on a certain Aubrey Adkins, a blonde cheerleader who was definitely out of Will’s league.  In Matt's English class, he tried to use his powers on her.  What would he say if Matt got his friend’s dream girl not only to go out with him, but actually reciprocate his feelings?  However, he for some strange reason could not get his powers to affect her at all, which seemed quite peculiar to him.  Only Will and Kelly were unaffected by his powers.  He did not know how they did it, but he knew they were immune.  When class got out, Matt noticed that Aubrey was talking with Kelly. Then he saw Kyra walk by.  A second idea popped into Matt’s mind.  If Aubrey could not be affected by his powers, he knew someone else who could!

Will was preparing for the pre-game practice that the marching band was accustomed to holding before every high school football game.  He got a text from Kyra that she wanted to quickly talk about any arrangements needed prior to the party that night.  But when she swung by the band room, Will immediately realized that her physique had been tampered with.  And he knew who the culprit was.  While she now was probably the most attractive girl in the entire school due to Matt’s shenanigans, Will knew that this was not right.  After they made plans while Will tried to ignore the "changes", before he hustled off to practice, he sent a text to Matt, saying that they needed to talk.

That night, Matt planned on hanging out in his room, since he did not have any interest in his school's football game.  Then he heard a knock on his window.  Will was there, dressed up like Spider-Man.  Of course Matt was not the only superhuman in town.  And what would a Spider-Man fanboy do if he woke up and discovered he had powers like Spider-Man?  Dress up like Spider-Man, of course.  Once he had been welcomed in by Matt and entered through the window, Will told Matt that by the time he has gotten back to Kyra's house, Matt had better changed everything back to normal.  Matt tried to explain that he did all these things for him as a friend.  Despite Matt trying to explain himself, Will left, telling him that he did not need his " help".

After reversing the changes that he had made, Matt was now brooding, angry that his "friend" had blown off his attempts to help him.  While at first Matt was about ready to allow his anger get the best of him, but eventually he cooled down.  While thinking about what he could do to prove Will wrong, Matt discovered a grand idea.  Matt was the ‘class-clown’ type personality.  Why not cause some ruckus at the party.  He even thought that his idea of creating a manifestation of 

At the party, Will, Kyra, and Kelly arrive dressed as Spider-Man and his Amazing Friends, with Kelly dressing as a genderbent Iceman.  They mingled a bit until "Matt" crashes the party.  Will was uneasy about the situation because Matt's appearance had changed.  Approaching the three ‘Amazing Friends’, Matt gave Kyra a gift, claiming that it was an almost month late birthday present.  She respectfully accepted the gift and opens it, confused that there was a [url=http://img3.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20100327032504/yugioh/images/8/83/HarpieLady1-EE3-JP-C.jpg]single card[/url] inside the box.  Then, Kyra dropped to the floor in pains.  Matt called her a harpy, noting how that word means snatcher, as she snatched his friend away from him.  Eventually, Kyra morphed into the creature on the card and flew off away from the party.

Then Chaos ensued.  Back at his house, where Matt has been watching everything, Matt felt himself weakening due to the excessive usage of his powers via the manifestation.  Since Matt (and therefore the manifestation) could not use his powers on Will or Kelly, he had to act in a roundabout fashion by causing the floor to surround these two.  They tried to plead with Matt.  While it did not seem like it to everyone at the party, Matt was just toying with them for fun, believing it was all just a joke.  They would laugh about it after everything was said and done.

However, when Matt finally realized that he was overextending his endurance while using his powers, he decided that enough was enough.  Matt was a prankster, but he would not want to leave everything as is.  Therefore, in using the last of his strength, he returned everything around the party back to normal and made the entire incidence seem like a fuzzy dream to all those who attended that party.  As a result of his excessive usage of his powers, Matt slipped into a coma.

At the party, everyone wondered where to did Kyra disappear.  Finally, Will received a text message from her, asking him to come get her.  However, the message was rather discreet about her location, which seemed odd to him.

Will pulled up his car next to the curb of the street that Kyra had texted him where she would be.  The dark shroud of the night made the visibility extremely low except where the headlights of Will's car shined.  Will called out for his girlfriend, wondering where she was.

"I'm over here," Will heard a voice whisper, trying to not attract anyone's attention except for her boyfriend.  Will wandered over towards the original of the voice that he had heard, towards the nearby woods.  Even though the dark shroud of the night made it difficult for anyone to discern anything within the forest, Will could barely see a dark silhouette peaking out from behind a tree.

"Is that you?" Will asked.

"Could you not come any closer?" Will heard his girlfriend pleading.  "I'll follow you back to your car." Obeying his girlfriend's suggestion, Will turned around and headed back to  his running car.  However before Kyra entered into the area which was illuminated by the car's headlights, Will received a second peculiar request.

"Could you turn the car off while I get in?" And yet again Will did not question his girlfriend.  Obviously something was bothering her.  But he thought that Matt had reverted everything.

Once they were both inside the motor vehicle, Will turned to Kyra before he started the car's ignition." Is everything alright?" He reached over to place his hand on her shoulder in order to comfort her; however, his girlfriend jerked away from his stretched out hand.  After they sat there in silence for a moment, Will decided that they needed to be heading out now.  He turned the car key and started the car.  As a result, the interior lights flashed on, revealing to Will what was bothering his girlfriend.

"You didn't have to hide this from me," Will commented as he saw that the effects of Matt's powers had not been completely reversed in Kyra's case.  While most of her body had reverted back to its natural form, any part that was was unique to the harpie, such as the wings and talons, remained.  "I don't think you look bad with pointed ears."  He tried to divert her attention away from the more obvious changes, but it still did not change her mood.

"Why would anyone wear this costume?" Kyra pondered aloud, aghast at what she had discovered herself wearing.

"Blame the Japanese."  Will tried to make his girlfriend feel better, "They're the ones who created the character that Matt transformed you into."  Will made sure to avoid saying 'monster' or 'creature', believing that making such a slip of the tongue would be detrimental to calming down his girlfriend.

However, even with Will's conscious effort to cheer her up, Kyra still glared at him, her now elongated arms crossed over her torso.  "Fine, blame Matt.  I was just suggesting that if the Japanese did not make that..."  Will cut himself off when he realized that the woman sitting next to him was still glaring at him.

"You want me to drive over to Matt's place and get him to change you back to your normal self?" He still did not get a response from Kyra.  Then, Will turned and looked in the back seat, finding his letterman jacket lying there.  He grabbed the jacket and draped it over his girlfriend.

" Finally." She snarkily remarked to her boyfriend, "Why do you think I mentioned how ridiculous this costume was?"

"So, does that mean I can take you straight home?" Will joked, knowing well that her answer would be a big NO.

"If you can live with having a girlfriend with feathers and talons."

"I think I can live." Will gave Kyra a coy grin, knowing that his response was not the one his girlfriend wanted to hear.

"Well, I cannot, so go with your first suggestion."

Will rolled his eyes, shifting the car into drive and pressing his foot against the gas pedal.  After a short drive, the two teenagers arrived at their destination, Matt's house.  Will parked his car in the driveway and pushed open the driver side door.  After he stepped out of the vehicle, Will turned back around and leaned back into the car.

"Sure you don't want to come in?" However, he realized that that was a stupid question." On second thought, that might not be a good idea.  I'll leave the car running so that you don't freeze out here."

After closing the door on his side of the car, Will turned towards the house and began to approach it via the driveway.  Since he did not want to wake up Matt's folks, Will decided to use his own powers to scale the house's wall and climb into Matt's room.  Once he was next to the window, Will tapped on the window, trying to project enough sound to garner Matt's attention without alerting anyone else who was inside the house at that time.  However, even though Be could see Matt lying down on his bed, Matt did not move at all.

Since his "friend" was not responding to his quiet knocking, Will slid open the window and jumped right into the bedroom.  When he walked over to Matt's side, Will could already tell that his friend's breathing had almost slowed down to nothing.  Every attempt that Will used to wake him up failed.  Therefore, Will conclude that Matt fell into the coma because of excessive usage of his powers.

"I know that you were only trying to prove your worth as my friend, but powers do not make a man.  Rather, it is his character.  It matters not how flashy your powers are or how many tons you can lift.  If you wanted to be our friend, all you need to do is act like any normal person would.  No bizarre practical jokes.  No causing havoc just for kicks.  People have been able to forge friendships for ages before anyone knew about these superpowers.  There is no reason why you couldn't try it too."

Will turned away and edited out the window through which he had entered the bedroom in the first place.  Once he was seated back in the car where his girlfriend had been patiently waiting for Will to return.  He wore a dreary expression on his face as he turned to give Kyra the bad news.

"What?" She asked, wondering what had caused Will to look so sad,"Did he refuse to change me back?  I think I can change his mind."

Will paused for moment before he gathered together the right words in his head.  "It's not he won't.  He just can't."

"What do you mean he can't?  I can go on living looking like a freak!"

"He's in a coma.  I think he used too much of his powers in a too short of a time frame."  Will did not even look his girlfriend in the eyes, knowing what he just said meant about her condition.

Kyra sat in her seat in silence, absorbing the information that she just heard.  Suddenly, she broke out in tears, burying her face into her large, talon-like hands.  Small flames began to erupt on the surface  of her skin, growing more intense by the second.  Will knew that they were in a peculiar situation.  If he allowed her to become fully enveloped by these flames, like the Human Torch, he knew that remaining in a motor vehicle filled with gasoline would not be very smart.

Recognizing that he did not have much time left, Will reached over and kisses Kyra.  After they parted lips, Will rubbed her back, hoping to calm her down.  Once a few seconds had past, it was obvious to him that the flames were beginning to extinguish.

"Don't worry.  We'll think of something."  Will planted another kiss on her cheek.  "We always do."[/hider]
Due to the character limit, the final entry will be subsequently posted.