The wind screamed like a wounded deer across the Longnecker farm, hurling fists of snow against the barn, the home, and everyone and anything unlucky enough to be caught out in it. The farm was battered by an unusually strong ström which had already dropped a foot of snow on a place used to a quarter of that at a time and it showed no sign of slowing down. Forest slammed the heavy door shut behind him. He leaned against the wood of the door and groaned. His fingers, stiff and red inside his gloves, throbbed and complained. He’d fed the animals, broken ice in every trough, checked the generators which were the brutal, necessary steps against a winter that he had to do to ensure the survival of a family farm in a world of corporations. Outside, the world was shrinking, buried under white, the temperature plunging far below zero.

The land Demeter cherished was locked in iron-hard sleep that sapped the energy of her demigod son.

The warmth of the farmhouse kitchen hit him like a physical embrace as he shoved the mudroom door open. The smell of woodsmoke, baking bread, and something richer, honeyed and delicious, filled the air. He shrugged off his frozen coat, boots leaving damp prints on the clean tile.

And there he was. Dad. He was dressed in his tried and tested blue jeans, red flannel, and suspenders that followed the curvature of his body. His hair had long since retreated from his forehead, and the wrinkles alongside his mouth suggested that he had a lifetime of smiles and laughs.

Jonathan Longnecker sat at the sturdy oak table, bathed in the soft glow of the overhead lamp. The kitchen was modern, with all stainless steel appliances, marble countertops, and warm lighting. Two glasses sat on the table. One, half-full of a deep amber liquid, rested near Jonathan’s calloused hand. The other, untouched, waited before the empty chair opposite him. In between the two glasses was a bottle of mead that Forest had made. It was from his magical crop and Forest knew it was just what he needed at this moment.

"Sit down, Forest," Jonathan said, his voice calm but carrying an uncharacteristic weight. Forest scanned his face for any signs of what was the matter. His eyes, usually crinkled with laughter lines, held a quiet intensity as they tracked his son’s exhaustion. Forest’s eyes saw that whatever this conversation was for, it was important and this caused Forest to hesitate. He only ever heard that tone from his father if someone died, if he was in trouble, or if he was about to be lectured. He pulled out the chair, the scrape loud in the stillness, and sank down into it with a thud. The warmth of the room couldn’t quite penetrate the deep chill that had settled in his bones so Forest shivered just a little.

Jonathan pulled the untouched glass towards him, poured some drink into it, before sliding it across the table towards Forest, it stopping just before the edge of the table. "Mead. Warms the soul. I can see why you enjoy making it so much. If I had half the talent you do I’d have turned this whole place into a meadery when I was young. Could’ve saved my back." He took a slow sip of his own. "Been watching you, son. You okay?"

Forest wrapped his hands around the cool glass, not drinking. He stared at the swirling liquid, avoiding his father’s gaze. “Just tired, it was a long day. Storm’s a bad one and I might’ve been out too long."

"You know as well as I do it’s not the storm, Forest," Jonathan said gently, firmly. "Not just the storm. You’re,” he paused, considering the words “fading. Like a plant starved for sun. You do the work, you smile for the boys, but there’s a light missing behind your eyes. Something’s hollowing you out." He leaned forward slightly. "It’s been building since harvest ended. Longer, maybe."

Forest flinched. Winter had always been a prison for him. A restless place that made the familiar fields feel like walls. He’d felt the earth itself pulling at him differently lately, not just for planting or harvest, but with a yearning he couldn’t name, a dormant power itching beneath his skin, feeling useless in the frozen ground. "I’m fine," he insisted, the words brittle. "Just feeling them winter blues. Everyone gets it. You do, Uncle John does."

"Don’t say his name. And like this," Jonathan countered softly. "Your mother, Demeter, she told me this might happen. When the world feels too small. When the roots feel more like chains." He tapped the table lightly. "She suggested Camp Athens, Forest. Strongly suggested it when she came to visit last. Said that it was a place where you could put down roots that might last a lifetime. Meet people like you, hell you have a half sister there Forest. Don’t ya want to meet her at least?"

Camp Athens. The name hit Forest like a physical blow. His mother’s visits in hindsight were rare and filled with cryptic words about the world of the gods and their children. She wanted Forest to join the camp. A place for people like him. A place far away, filled with things he only half-understood and mostly feared. Panic, cold and sharp, cut through his fatigue. "Camp? Dad, no. I can’t just, I can’t just leave. Not now. Look at this,” he gestured erratically up and down towards the window, where snow lashed against the pane. "The generators, the livestock, the boys and you. Who’d handle everything? If an animal got into the barn trying to get at one of the livestock, who could get there fast enough to save them?"

"Your brothers," Jonathan said, his voice unwavering. "Ben and Sam. They’re sixteen now. They may not have godly mothers but they’re strong, and capable. You’ve trained them well, Forest. Better than I ever could have. They know the land, the machines, the rhythm of this place. They know how to treat the land with respect, and they’ll even do the little offering you learned to your mother. They’ll manage the summer chores."

"They’re kids, Dad!" Forest pushed back, his voice rising with concern that grew from his own memories of his own childhood on the farm. A potted spider plant on the windowsill seemed to tremble slightly at the increased volume of his vice. "What if something happens? What if they want to leave? Or one of them gets hurt? Or,” he stammered, “or you?" He couldn’t finish the sentence. The thought of his father alone, facing the farm's relentless demands, was a terror deeper than any monster his mother’s world might hold. He was getting old, his health was not good, and Forest knew all too well that he wasn’t going to change a damn thing.

Jonathan’s gaze didn’t waver. "I’m tougher than I look, son. And this farm has weathered worse storms than a summer without you." He paused, his voice softening.

"It doesn’t matter," he mumbled, the fight draining out of him, replaced by a suffocating dread. "This is home. This is where I belong. Where I’m able to help you so," he paused as his hands shot up and his fingers spread out, “I’m staying. End of story.” His hands fell down back to the table and landed with a thud. His eyes followed them a second later, forcing tears back where they came from with sheer willpower.

Jonathan reached across the table, his large, work-roughened hand covering Forest’s cold one. The warmth was startling. "Forest," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Look at me."

Forest reluctantly raised his head. His father’s eyes were bright, not with anger, but with profound understanding and love.

"You belong here, yes," Jonathan said fiercely. "You’re my son. This land is in your bones as much as mine. But you also belong to something else. Something bigger. Something your mother gave you. Ignoring it," He squeezed Forest’s hand. "Ignoring it is killing you from the inside out. That emptiness? That’s not them winter blues. That’s a part of you starving. And you don’t have enough space, enough training here to fully spread your roots. Listen, Forest, listen,” he paused as he downed the rest of the bottle, “you need to learn more about these gods, these goddesses, your mother. You need to get stronger. The world ain’t what it used to be when I was your age, and it’s only getting worse. Don’t you think it’s strange that your mother just started to show up as the world burns around us?”

A tremor ran through Forest. “What do you mean?"

“Something is coming, I can feel it in my bones like I felt this storm coming,” he paused, “you were being called to action, and I think your body is telling you to listen.”

Forest thought for a second, pulling his hand away and placing one on his chin. Something was always coming their way with Dad. His bones were always telling him this and usually after the fact. ‘I knew the economy was going to shit, I could feel it in my bones,’ or the ‘old Betsy was always gonna die, kid, I could feel it in my bones’ and now the latest ‘the world is in danger, I can feel it in my bones’. He was right, though, it was strange that his mother showed up when she did. Right at the start of the harvest, she tested his skills first, and then she offered him training. The training was intense, but Forest grew so much within his power as a result of it. Once he had gotten to a certain level it seemed like a different version of his mother came out. She was colder, more direct, and always seemed to be calculating something in her mind. She talked about this camp and how she wanted him there to help represent her, and to grow in skill and power. She never answered why, though. Why was it so important all of a sudden? Why couldn’t she just train him more? Half answers were all he got. Forest really wanted to know why.

Why did his mother suddenly appear? What could have caused her to suddenly seek out one of her lost children? She didn’t care to seek him out when he graduated, when his grandparents died, nor during any other monumental event in his life. So why now? And why was there something pulling him to that camp even now as he protested? The obvious answer was God fuckery but Forest was too cold to even consider it. Forest knew that his father was too stubborn to let this go. If not tonight, it would be brought up at every meal during every day until his father finally broke him down enough to get him to go. He knew the longer he fought the worse it would be on Dad, and his health. He thought he could simply wait out the offer his mother gave him, and last the six months before it expired, but his father would not allow that. Instead, he hid a smile as he figured this was a way for him to kill two birds with a single stone. Or rather, four.

“If I go I have conditions,” Forest relented with four fingers up.

“Oh, conditions? You have conditions, should I wake your step mom to hear them too,” his father chuckled, “let’s hear ‘em then.”.

“One,” he lowered the first finger, “you gotta make up with your brothers and bring them back to the farm.”

His father crossed his arms and shook his head no. Forest nodded up and down and the two continued like this for several seconds before both were nodding up and down. “Yeah you gotta do that dad, you know you were wrong, they know you were wrong. It’s gotta happen.”

“Okay.”

“Two,” he lowered the second finger, “you can’t work the field at all this harvest season otherwise I’ll be right back. I’ll tell the boys to tell on you, and you know they will.”

His father scoffed and went to shake his head no but saw Forests big blue eyes and realized he lost.

“I’ll just put parental locks on the internet,” his father protested.

[color=228B22]“You don’t know how and you’re too stubborn to learn, anyway, where was I,”[/color he paused as he pondered for a second, looking away before returning with a silent ‘oh yeah’ and looked at his father with a smirk, “three. I get to take ‘Susan’ to drive myself to the airport.”

“Boy have you lost your gotdamn mind,” his father spit in anger.

“No, but you will drive me to the airport, yes?”

“Well why didn’t you ask me that instead of asking to drive my beautiful truck and taking her from me?”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Forest paused as he held his hands up, “I don’t know what I was thinking I.. when the iron is hot, you now? Strike when the, forget it. Forget I even asked,” Forest paused as he shook his head and looked away. Suddenly, a single finger shot up. “Lastly, you need to go to the doctor as often as they tell you without me being here to force you to go. Once again, the boys will tell me if you don’t and, as we’ve established, you’re too lazy and stubborn to stop them.”

His father shook his head before he sighed, “I guess.”

“Good,” Forest said with a squint and a grin. “I guess it’s settled. I will fly halfway around the world to some godly camp and you’ll enjoy your retirement in peace. I hope you have a great birthday in a couple weeks. Without me..” The smile faltered for a second, flickering back in as he looked away, before it faltered completely. “I wanted to bake you a really nice cake.” He stood up and wiped nothing from his mouth as tears began to well once again. Reality began to weigh down his body and mind. He was about to leave everything he knew, loved, and honored for something completely different. His father, ready for a moment like this, rose with a speed missing since he was younger and quickly moved to Forest’s side.

“As a poor rednecks from Kentucky I didn’t expect much from my life,” he paused as he pulled him tight, “but with boys like you and your brothers I did alright. And I know you’ll make us proud over there, okay?”

Forest could only nod, and allow himself to be pulled deeper into the hug. The trip to Greece wouldn’t happen for a couple days so he’d have to enjoy his family time.

“Wait,” Forrest paused, “How am I going to get to Greece if I don't have a passport.”

“Yes you do, I packed it in your carry on with the mumbo jumbo for the fight in a couple days,” his dad sighed at the attempt.

“Oh. Right. That’s right. I got one three mon- hey, hey wait a minute, you already bought me a fight? What t-“

---

-he flight across the world was not as bad as he thought it would be. While the turbulence was a little annoying at times, it was rather calming throughout most of the fight. Even getting through customs was easier than he thought it would be, even though he apparently brought too many bottles of Mead. Despite the loss of half the mead he brought, he found his way to the other side of border control. While it took a little longer than he would have liked he was able to make his way to the taxi stand, mead included.

The drive to the location his mother gave him was another story. The taxi driver drove fast, spoke only Greek, for some reason thought Forest could as well so the two would have many conversations where the taxi driver would tell an apparently funny story and Forest could only laugh along when the driver did, usually with raised eyebrows. Eventually they made it to the location shortly before noon, and Forest exited the cab with a better understanding of that driver's exciting life than he had any right to have gotten. The man gave him his number and said ‘call me’ in his broken English. What a nice taxi driver to offer to drive all this way up the mountains if he needed a ride back to the airport. He walked through the gate without worry, his fingerprint already in the system. He found the kiosk for the cabins, picked his out, and made his way there waving awkwardly at anyone he came across. Once he got to the cabin he went inside and unloaded his stuff. In his mind he was finally ready. Ready to meet his half sibling, ready to make a mark on this godly world, and ready to finally learn what was important about him being here. As he sat down on the bed he wanted to get out there, finally, and meet everyone he could.

Seven hours later he woke up from the unexpected nap as the sounds of a party, of music and laughter filled his ears. Forest shot up and tried to wipe the saliva that soaked his cheek and stretched at the same time but somehow he could only fall back down to the bed in response. He slowly stood back up and stretched out as he tried to get his bearings straight. A party? Tonight? On his first night here? Why? It took thirty seconds for him to remember the date.

It was New Year’s Eve.

He needed to get ready.

The shower was finished within fifteen minutes. The outfit was picked out in five. And all the bottles of mead he brought were collected into a box and he was out the door a minute later still trying his best to wake up. He had brought some coffee seeds, and a pot filled with dirt with him just in case he needed the pickup later on. He followed the sounds of the party until he found his way to the activity field. With a wide smile on his face he slowed his pace as he walked through the festivities, eyes wide with wonder and awe. Were they all demigods? He wondered if they all had abilities like his. It would make sense if they did but the thought lingered all the same.

He eventually made his way to the bar where Jrsaw a bunch of people taking shots. They were much braver than Forest, he knew that much. Shots, and a party like this, would only end in forgetting its end. Suddenly, and without warning, he spotted a badass looking woman moving behind the bar. She was beauty, she was grace, but most importantly she was a [color=228B22]“Bartender,” he thought to himself. Someone who would know where he could put his Mead so that anyone who wanted some could enjoy it. The plan wasn’t a bad one, he knew no one here but he did know parties. Eventually someone might want to drink some of it and that’s when he would strike up a conversation, and maybe get acquainted with the others. He watched her for just a second before he realized that she was not in fact a bartender and was, in fact, another demigod like him.

Forest simply shrugged and placed his box of mead on the top of the bar top and pulled the bottles out and placed them within reach of the others. He had nine bottles, five traditional meads and five melomel meads. He twisted each bottle until each one had their labels facing out so everyone could see what was in each. He smiled gently at the little work he was doing all the while he was doing his best to ignore the craziness of the party. He grabbed the pot, and sprinkled in the coffee seeds, and turned back to the bottles. Eventually, he grabbed a traditional mead and turned around and watched another woman approach the bartender, remark about the unseasonable warmth, and sit down. She had a glass, yet it was empty. Forest looked at his bottle, back at the girls, back to the empty glass, and back down to the bottle. He smiled a warm smile as he looked back up at the girl. He reached behind the bar with his free hand and grabbed two glasses and walked over to the table. Forest hoped he could make a pair of friends on his first day.

“Hi I’m,” he paused as he used his eyes to point to his mead and the glasses in the other hand, “Forest,” he again paused as the words rolled off his tongue in an awkward way, he placed the glasses down and pulled up a stool, sat down, and held up the bottle with a warm smile and kind eyes.

“Drink?”

"GOOD MORNING CITZENS OF THE EMPIRE, FRONTIER PEOPLE OF DESOLARA RIFT."

A group of people gathered around the holo-projectors, eyes struggling to catch the illuminated image of the admiral through the dust storm that swept through their colony. The people bore the weight of their harsh existence, as did the buildings that formed the town square where they stood. The cheap paint used in the pre-fab buildings has long since eroded, leaving only a few flakes on top of the dull grey color of the building itself. Yet despite their harsh existence, and the many wants their hearts desired, their eyes held the faintest flicker of hope.

"I HAVE NEWS TO BRING. THE EMPIRE HAS HEARD OF YOUR PLIGHT, AND IT WILL GO UNNOTICED NO MORE."

A collective gasp cut through the howling winds. The people of Desolara Rift have grown accustomed to their lack of attention, the lack of assistance, and the abandonment from their sponsors. To them, the admiral speaking to them directly like this was already a miracle in and of itself. To them, the admiral telling them that he has noticed their struggle will be spoken of for decades to come.

"TODAY I ANNOUNCE THE FORMATION OF A NEW TASK FORCE, DESIGNED TO BRING YOU YOUR MOST CRITICAL NEEDS. THE USS TRAVELER, A HYPERDRIVE CAPABLE FRIGATE, WILL BE DISPATCHED WITH YOUR MUCH REQUESTED MEDICAL SUPPL-- REE DAYS FROM THIS TRANSMISSION THE TRAVELLER WILL ARRIVE AN-- EAR NOT, THIS WILL NOT BE THE ONLY TRIP. PLEASE VISIT YOUR LOCAL MILITIA STATION TO REQUEST FU-- PP---"

Even as the transmission was lost, the message contained within was not. Help was on the way. Help that was desperately needed to save the lives of hundreds, if not, thousands of workers and children who had fallen ill with a mysterious illness. The people of Desolara Rift wait with bated breath for the arrival of the Traveler. The people in need are not the only ones who await their arrival. Desolara Rift has, unbeknownst to the Empire, become a small hub for a local pirate faction that calls itself the Shadows Fist. They await the Traveler for a much different reason, revenge.

Lore of the universe:

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The Engines That Advanced Us:

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The Ship Based Weapon And Defense Systems:

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Shuttles And Fighters:

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Other Tech:

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Factions:

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The Premise Of Our Story:

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The Ship That Fights Above Its Weight Class:

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In the solar system there is no greater power in space than the Empire. Even with a single frigate, and Space Station, they are along in their command of the stars. Even as the local pirates have the number and size advantage any attempt made on either The Traveller or the Station would be a death sentence. From the longer range capabilities of both, to the sheer number of of STRIKE and Fighter crafts launched from the station, there is a multitude of ways for the Empire to win in the stars.

The Bringer Of Nightmares:

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The ORLC are masters of combat on the ground and inside the hulls of ships. Most of their soldiers are augmented with cybernetics, and as such they often wield massive guns and can fire them with precision. Durability is a big factor for these soldiers and they will be much harder to take down than most others. If that was not bad enough, they also have the largest ground army that will allow them to simply throw bodies at a problem. Sadly, this is not the case for their air and space navies. While they have a cruiser, and numerous gunships, they are outclassed at this time as their primary fleet is out of the system engaging in conflict with Empire forces elsewhere. Thus, these forces must find a way to engage in hit-and-run tactics and force the empire into a battle on land.

The Indomitable Human Spirits:

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The Rift Defense Force is the militia formed by the planetary governor. They are a small, poorly equipped, but manage to maintain a balanced military that is not strong in any particular area but are also not weak in any. Their ground forces, like all Empire soldiers, do have training and are equipped with sufficient weapons even if they are energy based weapons that struggle to damage the enhanced pirates. The RDF has seven airfields spread around the colony, with two at Rift Station. They have an ample supply of Fighters, BAT craft, and even a few STRIKE crafts as well. Thus, when the pirates are spotted by the Empire Station above they are often able to scramble a response that limits the threat on the ground. And when the raid approaches a settlement they are often able to keep dropping munitions on them until victory is achieved. The RDF may be small, but each soldier fights with the Indomitable Human Spirit and will pursue victory at whatever cost.

Notable Places:

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FACTIONAL CODE OF CONDUCT:

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Each faction has different goals and purposes in this story. As such, each faction imposes different code of conducts on its members. If the code is broken it could be an execution on the spot, exile into the mines, or a quick trip through the airlock. Make sure you always remember how your faction will perceive your actions.

To help, I have provided you with each factions code of conduct with a message from your commanding officers. Let's listen to what they have to say!

*knock

*knock

*knock

The rasping sound came knocking on the door of the Adel Coven. Near the door, a thrall stood ready to receive, yet it did not move towards the door. The coven was punctual, structured, and ordered. There was nary a knock at the door that was not scheduled, especially not at this hour.

*knock

*knock

*knock

The scratching sound came next. It sounded as if massive claws were digging through the solid oak door with ease. The thrall remained frozen in place. A singular word flashed through its mind, “danger,” as it backed up towards a silent alarm on the far end of the entryway. It went to press it but was suddenly stopped by the sound of a guitar riff outside. Almost immediately, its arms fell to its side as its head began to twitch as the music continued. It was a low and slow song, and after a few seconds, it turned around and began to convulse as it walked towards the door. To an outside observe,r it would be clear that this creature was trying to fight whatever had fallen over it, yet, as it continued, it was clear that it was incable of doing so. As it reached the door, it began to unlock every lock until there was one left. As it reached for the final one a second thrall appeared in the room and saw what was happening. The silent alarm was pressed at the same time as the last lock was undone, and the door flew open as a monster entered the room. Resembling a cross between an armored knight and something out of a monster versus machine movi,e the monster before the thralls was a sleek, mechanical, and lightly armored unit with two reversed blades attached to each arm and knives for fingers. The first thrall was cut from the tip of their head through their groin in an instant, splitting apart and falling to the ground with a sickening plop. The second thrall reached for a gun, but the mechanical monster flew across the room in an instant, plunging its hands deep into the chest cavity of the thrall. The hands were pulled out and stabbed back in all across the body, even well after it went limp.

Behind the monster entered a large group. Each person was decked out with a battle jacket, and a mask that had LED lights attached haphazardly across the face plate. The one who led the group into the building had a massive warhammer resting on their shoulders and chuckled at the sight before him.

"Shall we,", the leader asked as he pointed the hammer towards the rest of the house. Shouted orders could be heard from the many rooms of the mansion, and the sound of guns racking and summonings happening. This group was in for a fight.

A smaller figure stepped out from behind the leader, jacket covered in embroidered mushrooms with spiralling mycalae formed of white thread down the haphazardly shortened sleeves. It blended in with the white threads wriggling under the person's skin as it peeled back to allow dark spikes to grow through. ”Don't start gearing up for a fucking speech. Let's get on with it.”

As they spoke, another Thrall ran into the room, gun blazing. Bullets bounced off the metal monster, some embedding in the spiky arm that was stretching out to an inhuman length to grab it. But right before clawed fingers ripped out the Thrall's throat, a knife embedded in its head.

”That was mine.” The tiny, stretchy figure spun around to glare at a smaller person behind them- though it wasn't visible through the mask.

The other just held up their hands in a shrug. "Snooze you lose, Myki."

“Their are plenty of blood sucking mother fuckers here so don’t worry,” another man added, his beard and longer hair spilling out of the mask. In his hands was an ethereal guitar, and a pulsating pick that hummed with energy. The man strummed a quick note and it played as if it was attached to speakers. An energy wave quickly auras spread outward and surged through the house. “At least three dozen.”

A portal opened up next to the man and two feminine figures walked through a second later. “Awww man, their taste is so boring.

“I’m surprised you can count that high, Björn,” the second figure said as she walked over to the guitar player and ran a hand across his chest. “perimeter is looping so no prying eyes tonight.”

The conversation was cut short by the sound of a dozen footsteps approaching. A big horde of vampires would soon be upon them. The lead man started to chuckle as he did a few test swings of his axe, and sent an order to the metal monster who readied its blades in response “Let’s kill then all,” Wrath responded.

”Only thirty?” The short, mushroom jacket man- Mykitas- pouted. He wasn't bothered at all by the footsteps, rather casually walking further down the hallway. It was rather grand… of course it was. Rich blood suckers would love in places like this. ”That’s too easy. I could just throw a bomb in and call it a day. Do we even need to be here?”

"Do you do anything but complain?" the knife wielder rolled her eyes. As she did, she stepped up to their leader, switchblade twirling between her fingers. "You want boosted now or-"

But the vampire thralls were already upon them, and they came out blasting. Knife wielder quickly pressed themselves against the wall, a whole array of knives shooting up to block bullets in front of them. But they quickly cast on the bullets themselves, freezing them in front of them… But only them. The others could handle themselves.

Mushroom man wasn't so lucky. Moved ahead as he was, he took a whole round worth of bullets right on the chest. Immediately, he crumpled to the floor.

“Bjorn,” Wrath ordered as he took cover behind a wall. The black on his jacket began to vibrate as if getting ready for an action. The metal monster raised it’s blades up but the bullets quickly tore through the light armor and the monster also fell to one knee. Bjorn raised up the pick and began to strum their guitar, and began to play Master of Puppets. As he played the rest of the instrumentals of the song, quickly filled the air as if played by an unseen presence. As the song carried on, several of the thralls started to convulse as black tendrils began to spread inward from their ears. A few groaned and tried to plug their ears with their fingers, but it was too late. The spell had already taken hold. These thralls raised their weapons up against their family and friends and began to fire. The sudden betrayal caught the rest off guard, yet the puppeted thralls were sluggish and not precise with their aim and only clipped the vampires. The uncorrupted ones quickly dispatched the thralls with single-fire, aimed shots to the hearts. In this confusion, the teleporter, Night, walked up next to Wrath and placed their hand on his shoulder. The pair quickly disappeared into a cloud of purple smoke. A second later, they reappeared well behind the dozen vampire thralls. As Wrath appeared, the black of his jacket surged to his hand like water flowing over a rock and quickly it formed into a large oval shield that covered Wrath from his neck down to his knees. The warhammer seemingly melted down until it resembled a lightning-infused one-handed crossbow. Wrath unleashed the first bolt, and it cut through the thrall like a hot knife through butter. The thrall crumpled to the floor. Night disappeared into another cloud of purple smoke and appeared back with their group.

As Night came back, the bullets hanging in front of Razor spun around. With a light orange glow they shot back towards the thrall without much aim, destroying limbs and disabling others. Some bounced off Wrath's shield harmlessly. Their knives spun around Razor's head as they considered what to do. Kill them all efficiently or…

"Wrath, take this." Pink and orange magic flared from Razor's fingertips, coating the switchblade in their hand. It surrounded Wrath as it super boosted him magically and mentally. "Try take them all out one shot-"

Their knives moved out to the defensive, forming a wall to block bullets that the Thralls aimed at Night. They were a bit smarter than at least Razor had expected… probably directly controlled by someone deeper within.

Wrath kept walking towards the vampire’s minions, shield rejecting each bullet sent its way. As he walked he fired off bolt after bolt of electric energy that burrowed through the chest of the targets. Seven…six…five he counted out after each one fell. His crew was strong, and they were making short work of this wave.

Multiple knives flew out, taking out three Thralls at once. Quick and efficient. It was easy enough to stop the bullets and kill at the same time for Razor. Unless that had Orange Lux themselves how could they stop it?

Until there was just one left. The thrall was panicking, preparing to flee deeper into the house- when something curled around its ankle and tripped it over. Tiny white threads pinned it to the ground before tearing out it's throat.

”Ugh… bullets are always a pain.” Mykitas pushed himself back to his feet, metal casings falling to the floor as they were pushed out of his pallid skin. There was no blood from any of the wounds- not when he didn't need to fake it. The same mycelae he'd used to kill the last thrall filled up all of the gaps, until it was like nothing had happened. ”It’d be easier if they cut off a limb.”

“You take them like a champ though,” Bjorn chuckled as he began to play the same song again. He squatted down a little as he continued to shred.

“Maybe the next wave will have better tactics,”

“Cuter vampires as well.

“Night you’re not gonna find an Edward here I’m sorry to say”

Razor leaned forward to dramatically gag. "Gross. If you try hook up with a vampire, I'm killing all of us. And if any of ‘em sparkle? Fuck, they're going first."

Mykitas let out a short laugh, moving towards Wrath. ”At least we don't have to look for any cute vampires, huh?”

“None would come close to your cuteness.” . Even though the mask obscured it Wrath winked.

He giggled in response, the mycelium poking out of his arms wriggling a little bit. Not quite the murderous mushroom he'd been moment before… but there wasn't anything to murder, was there?

"Gross, quit it, lovebirds." Razor gagged again. "Where the fuck is our eyes?"

Enjoying the show! The voice filtered into all of their heads. Just checking all my pictures… right… If you keep going down the hall, you'll find stairs down. Most of the shit above ground is just for show. Down there's where it gets real fun!

“That’s where the rest of the thralls and big shots are”

“Well,” Wrath walked over to his fallen mech and placed his hand on it. The form turned to a liquid like shape and soon more liquid was added from the material of the jacket. The walker stood back up, and was ready for combat again.

“Let’s go get them.”

"Don't need to tell me twice." Razor recalled all of their daggers from the Thralls they'd killed, bloodied blades clicking in as they fell back into their pockets.

Mykitas didn't push ahead like the last time- or at least, he walked at the front with Wrath. It wasn't difficult to find a stairway down. The upper levels were practically abandoned. Clearly they'd pulled in all the security, hoping to overwhelm them down there or some shit. As they went downwards, he tilted his head back and sniffed the air.

”Ooo… they got some real nice growth down here. Bet it's in all've the bodies.”

”Makes sense.

”Heads up, Magic said as she followed the group, ”solid door ahead.”

”Oh no… Not a door!” Mykitas gasped, before laughing.

It didn't take long for them to reach said door. It was a bit more of a pain than Mykitas had expected- who fucking made doors out of stone nowadays? But… nothing was really that much of a problem. He shrugged. ”Any arguments against me destroying it?”

Not that he waited before punching a hole straight through the stone.

The door crumbled under the relentless assault. As the last stone fell Bjorn began to once again play Master Of Puppets. The tendrils of the musical spell began to assault the guards inside.

“Who wants to kill the first rich fuck?”

"C’mon, like you ain’t got a favourite," Razor groaned, knives coming back to float around them magically. They stared at Mykitas.

Mykitas pointed to himself, head tilted as he gave his best, innocent ‘who, me?’ look. It wasn’t necessarily true. The more murderous side of him wasn’t the part Wrath was besotted with. ”I don’t need to kill the first. I’d rather drag it out, anyway. Make them suffer.”

“Then make them suffer”

”Oh, I plan to.” Mykitas smirked. It would be oh so easy…

"We gotta get to them first.” Razor pointed out, trying to listen for where the next group of guards actually was.
"We could be going into full fucking catacombs down here.”

It’s not that bad. Keep going down the long corridor you’re on! It’ll widen out eventually into like… a crypt? There’s loads of guys there. But their safe room is off it! That doors gonna be more of a pain, though.

Wrath pulled all his energy back to him, and with it all his constructs and weapons crumbled with it. He quickly channeled his magic and reformed The Wolf and looked to the rest of the crew. He took a deep breath and gave them a quick nod of his head. “Follow the hound in, it should distract them long enough to get us to where we’re going.”

A moment later the construct was through the wall on a blinding speed, slamming into the wall opposite the hole in an explosive impact that sent concrete and dust flying into the tunnel. As the shrapnel moved in slow motion around, it watched as the nearly three dozen armed guards began to move their guns ever so slowly towards its position. Before the first bullet was even fired it engaged it’s systems and launched from its perch, peppering the nearby guards in the ruined concrete and dust. It landed a quarter of the distance down the tunnel. As it flew, it grabbed one of the guards and carried him by his chest into the wall causing the man to explode outward in a torrent of blood that joined the new dust cloud. Several shots rang out only it was fired towards where the construct was. The guns all began to turn towards it once again. The construct adjusted its position, dropping the guard which was embedded in the concrete. It launched again, blades raised, towards two guards bisecting them in an instant. It landed three quarters of the way down the hall and continued to build up the smoke cloud inside. All guns now faced away from the makeshift hole, an opening was created for the rest to follow.

"Making shit real easy for us, huh?" Razor intoned as she stepped through the hole created, looking around to locate the safe room door.

It was easy to find… A massive metal door in the wall, halfway down the room.

"How the fuck do we get through that? We ain't punching through metal."

”The wall beside it… no way that whole thing is metal.” Mykitas intoned, crouching down and touching the ground. Wriggling white tendrils spiralled out from his fingers, slipping up and burrowing into the skin of each guard the construct hadn't already killed. It was easy to poison them all when his mycelium had wriggled into their veins. Toxic liquid pumped in as they started dropping with painful groans.

Wrath simply pulled back his magic from his construct, causing it to melt onto the ground and move as a liquid back to his form. He held out his hand, summoning a weapon capable of breaking through the only obstacle in their way. A four-tubed launcher quickly materialized from Wrath’s magic, and without saying a word pulled down all four triggers at once, sending the rockets flying through the air and into the vault door. The shaped charges impacted, and instantly blew a hole through the door sending the molten core through the metal of the door and shards of sharp, hot, metal as shrapnel. While the door was still standing, Wrath suspected that whoever was on the other side was no longer having a good time. He pulled the magic back from the launcher, and immediately used it to create another weapon, this time a six round grenade launcher.

Wrath took slow, deliberate steps as he appeared to approach the metal vault with a particular spring in each step. As he stood in front, he leaned over and looked through the holes left by his magical launcher and saw movement inside. He pressed the barrel to the hole and fired the first grenade, with a meaty *thum* filling the air before it was drowned out by the explosive sound inside the vault and the subsequent screams and cries of pain. *thum* A second grenade was launched, and then a third, and then a fourth, and then a fifth, and finally the last grenade was spent and Wrath pulled back his magic causing the weapon to melt in his hands. He leaned forward once again and looked through the holes, and smiled.

“Search the rest of the premises, and get ready for a bonfire.”

"On it, boss." Razor didn't stick around, stepping over corpses towards another exit.

Mykitas looked up at Wrath from a corpse his mycelium had started to slowly devour, pout covered by his mask. But his big, brown eyes showed it enough.

”You said I could make them suffer! You killed them way too quickly!” He whined slightly, like a child whose favourite toy had been taken away.

“Well that just won’t do.” Wrath paused as he placed his hands on his hips, “I think there’s a CEO who lives nearby. If you want we can stop by in the next night or two and you can have them all to yourself.”

”Really?” Mykitas' eyes lit up, white tendrils wriggling across the dark brown in excitement.
”I’m holding you to that. We can have a nice date night torturing a CEO.”

Underneath the mask he grinned. He didn't move to search the premises like the others, stuck in the spot by the mycelium he had burrowing through the ground and into the corpses. He had to make the most of the sustenance while it was still fresh and unburnt. It beat rotting fruit.

”Ahhh… Nothing tastes quite as good as flesh. Shame, though, there's a taint from the vampires.”

“Eat up my love,” Wrath paused as he began to pull his magic into his hand, creating three round explosive devices with a beeping red light. He began to push as much of his raw, destructive lux into these devices. “Once you’re finished, we’ll burn this place down only after you’ve had your fill.”

---

Fire stations all across the city sprung into action as the alarms blared. Men and women alike threw on their gear and ran for their trucks and blasted their way onto the streets. As the fire trucks arrived on the scene, those assembled could only look on in horror as the fire that had just started had burned the building to near complete ash. It will be clear that this was no ordinary fire as it burned far too quick to explain through mundane means. Nary a trace of those who called this place home remained, nor did any of the structure by the time it was done.

Wraith watched on with glee as that stain on the city was washed away under the purifying fire of his magic. No more covens, no more corruption, and mercy no more. Death would come to those who abused the people of this world, and this fire was just the start. As their skyline filled with ash, and the blinding lights of fire engines, the North Side would begin to feel what the South has long suffered through. They will know pain.

---

---

Freya could not believe what she was seeing. Her hand trembled as she scrolled through her phone, post by post, video by video, reaction by reaction, and comment by comment. She saw that the common theme was one of anger. How could this person, who the community had built up, turn out to be a monster? Where did they get the nerve to think the way they thought? And the calls to boycott grew louder by the second. There was a proverbial mob out for blood and they would not stop until the source of their ire was torn from proverbial limb to limb.

And their anger was directed at Freya

She did not know how, she did not know why, but for some reason some wack job reporter down in the slums of the Lower District, got access to her private, confidential, messages between her friends. In these messages Freya only said the quiet parts out loud because in the safety of a text thread it was still quiet. Her comments about how those ’lazy fucks did not know the difference between a hard days work and oppression’ or how ’we should, like, rent a bulldozer and push their homes away from the river. What are they going to do, stop us,’ and even her message that ’if they just listened to what the police were saying this could have all been avoided.’ These jokes were taken out of context, spread across the internet, and were being parroted by the very same low life assholes who made their city so bad.

And there was nothing Freya could do to stop it.

Despite the best effort to kill the story, spin it with her PR firm, and deflect with a barrage of good news from the bakery, it was spreading like wildfire across the city. There were already people protesting outside her bakery, which was still closed, mind you, after that fucking monster had the gall to attack her at work. What did they hope to accomplish by protesting today? It was only growing larger, and soon she would need to look at hiring a security firm to protect her assets from harm. Freya wanted to be out there, in front of the people, but instead she remained tucked in the corner of her bed pressed between the two walls that supported her.

A phone call flashed across her screen, forcing her face to recoil backwards. It was her dad. She let the call go to voicemail. She tossed her phone next to her and pulled her blanket around her tighter. The phone vibrated and rang again, the light of her screen casting shadows all across the room. She once again let it go to voicemail. Eventually, a text message flashed across the screen Answer the phone, honey, and a few seconds later the phone rang again. Freya answered it this time.

“Hey.”

“Hey Kiddo. Saw the news this morning.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not mad or anything, but what the fuck were you thinking saying that,” he paused as she could hear his blood pressure rising, “on an unsecure app? For fuck sakes Ray. Thankfully my business is not being hit, but this. This is not going to go away on its own.”

“Yeah.”

“So here’s the deal. I will help you out with this. You spend a couple weeks doing what I tell you, and what the PR people tell you. There will be a film crew coming your way in an hour, and they will help you film your apology. That will be enough for most of your clients to keep coming, even if it’s through the delivery apps. People will forget before long, but it couldn’t hurt to find some opportunities to soften your image. We’ll discuss strategy after you post your video, come to the tower and I will meet you there.”

“Okay.”

“This is why I told you to not fucking open that bakery. What do I know, though? It’s not like I don’t know who my daughter is, and how fucking spoiled rotten I allowed her to get. It’s why you should just enjoy your life with that trust fund I set up for you. Like why the fuck did you even consider a life of labor. Still, still, we will get through this. I got you.”

“Thank you, Dad, I lov-.”

“Gotta drop, another call coming through. See you at the tower.”

Freya let the phone drop from her ear as she leaned back into the corner even further and cursed the ancients for her luck. A buzz forced her eyes back to the screen. Apparently, Gideon Cross had planned a Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow night. It might be crazy, but she figured she could at least bring up the idea at the late night meeting with her father.

---

---

It was finally Thanksgiving.

All across Cloverfield families gathered together to share in the tradition of giving. In the north the generations gathered. The fancy brick laid streets were packed with the latest models of fancy cars, the orange brick townhouses and modern condos were filled with the scents of perfectly browned turkeys and well prepared sides, and there was nary a worry about the cold outside of three occasional ‘sure is cold this year’, ‘could use some of that global warming,’ and ‘wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t for that wind’ comments that were repeated numerous times throughout the day. The homes were packed, spirits were high, and all were looking forward to that first bite of dinner.

In the lower districts, however, the cold seemingly took a more sinister twist. Its icy talons cut through layers, insulation, and even the walls of the home. Normally, reheated turkey slices or a rotisserie chicken from a Costco would be the main attraction for the dinner with instant mashed potatoes, canned vegetables, and stale pies complementing it. Some families would save for months for a better Thanksgiving and Christmas but many were not afforded that luxury. That was why the Hollow was packed, and shuttle buses kept pulling up to drop off even more people. The sudden change overnight with the weather caught many off guard, but Gideon knew he had to be ready for anything and had planned for just this occasion. Inside the Hollow a sweet blend of roasted turkey, endless deserts, and sides replaced the normal scents of spilled beer and cigarettes. Long, folding tables covered with plastic tablecloths filled the normally open floor, allowing dozens of families to eat at once. The kitchen was loud, filled with too many cooks for the small size. Outside the back door, several deep fry stations were set up to help prepare the mass of food needed to feed the masses. Most families of the lower districts were arriving, had arrived, or were planning to come tonight.

All of this was organized, and paid for, by Gideon. He stood by the front door, with a warm smile and a warm cup of coffee ready to hand out to the next guests. That next guest was Ms. Thorn. She was a well known elementary school teacher who used to teach at the most prestigious schools North of the river. When she was five years away from retirement with a full pension payment she was fired on a made up charge of “misappropriating funds”. Her students, and their parents, knew this was bullshit, and was only done because the schools in the North had a habit of not wanting to pay full pension benefits to their workers. That was twenty years ago and she has had to work at the elementary schools on the South Side to try and save for a retirement that was promised to her decades prior. Gideon made sure she was taken care of, to the best of his ability. She never wanted food, company, or repairs to her old home.

Right behind Ms. Thorn was her two young grandchildren. They were twins, and were fourteen years of age. Their parents were both out of the picture, and they had been living with their grandmother for the last five years. Their father was a steel worker who had advanced up the ranks at the mill, only to be laid off when the North Side owners shut it down and moved production overseas. To cope with the financial burden unexpectedly thrust on him he turned to drugs, and was eventually arrested and thrown into a prison designed to keep him locked up. Their mother grew sick and could not afford to get better. Thus, instead of a lifetime of trauma, Ms. Thorn took the grandkids in and has been raising them ever since. Gideon has put away enough for the two kids to have a full ride to whatever school their grades carry them in, and the tutoring sessions he’s paid for have ensured that it will be good.

This is what this city should be about. Hard work being rewarded, and everyone helping each other out. Instead, he could only see the selfish desire of a corrupt government and their lies about how everyone was on a level field when it came to survival. Gideon knew better than most that this lie, this great lie, had wormed its way into the hearts of so many. There were still too many people in this city, even in the Lower Districts, who viewed themselves as these temporarily financially embarrassed rich people who will never see the fruit of their labor rewarded. Instead, they vote against their own interests, electing people who bleed the Lower District dry, and allocate funds to the North side repairs. Most of them called the North their home and Gideon knew that they had more in common with the Lower District than the North, yet they fell for the propaganda that directed their anger to the side instead of upwards. Eventually, Gideon and his message would reach their ears and they could heed the call, or get the fuck out of his way.

Eventually, one of those ‘out-of-touch’ Northerns walked through the door and Gideon could only laugh at who he saw before him.

“Oh. Oh ho ha, my. My, my, my,” Gideon paused as he placed his hands on his hips, crooking his head as a sly grin crossed his face, “Ms. Freya fucking Collins,” Gideon paused as he heard the sound drop from behind him. Everyone had stopped what they were doing and started to stare right at the door

Freya sunk down into herself. She did not like the eyes on her. Especially after someone leaked her group chat and drove the internet into her business, and began to boycott her business. [color= 8A2BE2]“I was wondering if there was anything I could do to he-.”[/color]

“Freya fucking Collins, my, my,” Gideon interuppted as he crossed his arms, “what the fuck are you doing here? I thought you liked to call us dirty fucking leeches from the anonymity of your phone,” Gideon paused as he leaned forward, shit eating grin spreading. “Did something,” Gideon paused once again as he closed the gap even further, standing well within her own personal space, “happen?” Gideon knew all too well what happened. Someone had gotten into Freya’s personal business, and approached Gideon with the dirt. Once Gideon saw the kind of stuff she was posting behind closed doors he knew he had to knock her down a peg or two. Thus, he made sure the chats were sent to the right tabloids, and media outlets, and may have paid a bot farm or two to make the story go viral. He knew that her business was likely finished. What he didn't expect was her coming to him. This would be fun.

“I want to help.”

“Help,” Gideon almost could not contain his glee, “you, help,” Gideon pointed at Freya before he paused, his grin dropped from his face in an instant as he leaned back up and straightened his back. “Why the fuck would I want your help?”

Freya winced at the sudden shift. While she still did not believe she did anything wrong, she did know she needed to do something to stop the bleeding. Social media was abuzz about this thanksgiving dinner, and she knew there would be people who would recognize her here. Thus, she hoped she could get behind the counter and have some rando snap a photo of her helping the people she despised. “I may have said some things that I-.”

“Fuck,” Gideon paused as he shook his head, “off. Let me guess,” he didn't need to, “you’re hoping you can do some work with us here today to counter what the press is saying about ‘cha, maybe get some cash flowing back through your doors? And I bet you hoped I wouldn’t know who you were and would let you win some points online. Fuck you. You selfish, entitled, cunt,” Gideon paused as he turned to the side.

“I ain’t going to turn you away. It’s Thanksgiving. But if anyone catches you trying to make yourself look to be anything other than what you are I will make you disappear to a place your daddy can’t find, and then I will do the same to him,” Gideon paused as he put his arm behind Freya’s back and pushed her inside. “Am I understood.” Gideon asked as he looked back towards the door.

“Yes I…yes.” Freya quickly moved inside and away from the door.

Gideon shook his head, even if internally he was enjoying the chaos he had created. He knew his people well. No one would help her. She would get the worst portions, the least amount of sauce, and lukewarm conversation in place of a hearty and heartfelt exchange of opinions and ideas. This was going to be hell for the young socialite. Gideon smiled.

“Oh, my, god,” a voice called out from the doorway, “you’re so cruel,” Gideon turned his head and spotted Seren, “I love it.”

“And what the fuck are you doing here. Ain’t you got a thing to get to back home.” Gideon asked as he shook his head. He was far too old to deal with Seren on the best of days, and especially not this day.

“Relax,” Seren paused as she threw a quick wrist flick Gideons way, “I’m just here to film a ticktok with you and then-”

“Not gonna happen.”

“A ticktok about the dinner and then-”

“That’s not it.”

“It’ll piss off my parents ghost knowing I picked you over the family.”

“Was that so hard,” Gideon asked as he shook his head, “I swear. Your generation and getting to the fucking point.” Gideon had seen Seren come around more and more frequently recently. He knew there was a lot going on in their head, but never wanted to pry. He knew they first started coming about a month after the cataclysm took their parents, and have been a steady fixture in the bar ever since even if they were too young to drink. They never did anything weird, and seemed to actually enjoy the company of the locals. Gideon has grown a soft spot for the little person, even if they could never admit it. “Listen, it ain’t my place to say. I know that. I recognize that. But you got people who care for you,” he paused as he turned his body to let Seren in, “you can stay for an hour, then one of my guys will drive you up the mountain in one of our trucks. Understand?”

Seren simply flashed a peace sign as they walked past Gideon, pausing as they looked back. “Thank you.”

More and more people would arrive for the party. Some from the lower wards, some from the northern ones, and many more from the surrounding towns. Every single one Gideon ensured he was at the door to greet. Tonight was a night where everyone could sit back and relax, enjoy their food, and converse free of worry. As long as Gideon was here, nothing would happen.

[/hider]

---

---

From a corner table, a man hid within the luxury of shadows. A chipped mug cooled beneath his fingers as his eyes scanned the room. His chair angled just enough that no one questioned why his attention drifted from one spot to another. He could see everything in this inn. Corners are such an honest place for one gifted at seeing through the lies shared there. People forgot that someone could be just around it from where they shared their juicy information. Doors and corners were how they got you, as it were. From here, he had heard Kel before he really saw her, and what he heard and saw told him that the woman was intoxicated and in a tough place. She was drunk, yes, but normally a woman like this was not careless. To the man, it suggested that something had worn thin within her. To Benni, this woman was in trouble, and trouble had found her. He watched as Random randomly picked the most vulnerable woman in the bar to soothe his fragile ego.

Benni listened as Ransom announced himself the way men like that always do. Not too loud, nor aggressive, but with a confidence crass enough to pass itself off as genuine. Benni watched him as he began to work. He approached the lone woman who was also far too drunk to be able to defend herself from the creep's advances. Normally, Benni would have stood up right then and there, marched his way across the crowd, and begin professing the sinful display he was witnessing to the crowd at large, but Benni allowed a smile to cross his face because someone else had rushed to the defense of that poor, defenseless woman. It was Cali. Beni leaned back as the two began a game of cat and mouse. The man took up the cadence of a person touched by the divine powers. He promised salvation, yet Benni knew that there were only two things a man like that wanted. The warmth found between the legs of an attractive person, and money. While Benni did not know who Ransom was beneath all the masks he wore, he knew there was a hunger lurking. A hunger that demanded that Ransom push his way towards something that he thought he was owed. And that hunger was lashing out at the world through the quoted scripture of a faithless heathen.

Cali, on the other hand, was sharper. Benni always knew her to be clever. The way her flirtation had teeth under the sweetness of the words brought an even wider grin to his face. She baited him, tested him, and while Ransom would sometimes show signs of playing the same game, Benni knew the two were leagues apart as if he were but a child trying to show up a professional. Cali peeled him apart, only to reel him back in for another easy blow. For his part, Ransom was taking the insults on the chin. A highborn was taught to be cool and collected, and Benni honed his thoughts with that assumption in mind. He watched their back and forth for a moment longer before he realized that, despite not being as astute as one would expect, Ransom was not doing bad in the battle of barbs. Was there a clever man hidden somewhere underneath the thick layers of asshole, or was this the luck of a beginner confusing the master at a few random turns? It seemed that Ransom never retreated from the thrashing he was on the other end of; it felt like he was just repositioning for another round.

Suddenly, Benni smirked even wider as Kel vomited. Benni took a sip of his drink as he crossed his legs. Tonight’s entertainment was already delivering on the promise that each night out offered. There were signs that the woman was heading to this conclusion, but Ransom couldn’t see them through the rose tinted glass that occluded his vision. Benni’s eyes gauged the reflexes of Ransom, the flash of real rage before the mask snapped back on forced a hand into his coat, ready to draw a knife. “I see you now..”

The rest of their conversation passed by in a blur. By the time Lucky barreled through like a half-lit fuse, Cali had already claimed victory. The only thing Cali had to do was stick a knife in the pig and watch the blood bleed dry, yet the cat had ruined what was surely going to be an easy end to this terrible attempt by Ransom. Benni shifted his eyes over to Kel, and he knew, deep down, that she was not going to be taken anywhere tonight against her will. Ransom had already run outside, ready to defend his honor, and Cali was quick behind. Still, the night had settled into something truly ugly and awful, and Benni did not like the way it leaned towards inevitability. He drained his mug, pushed his chair back under the table with a soft scrape, and stood up.

---

---

Kel absolutely did not follow the commotion outside. The very idea of standing, of coordinating, and finding a way to balance on her wobbly legs felt like an impossible challenge. Did she want to watch the fluufywuffy cat manhandle the prick? Yes. Did she think she could actually watch the fight in full? No. The bar swayed beneath her elbows, a slow pendulum motion that threatened to tip her clean off the stool if she leaned too far in either direction. Sound bled in from the doorway anyway and she tried to listen to what was being said. She thought she heard someone shout, someone sing, and all this talk about some guy named Unda Tekker. Her head turned towards the door. She watched it through half-lidded eyes, the doorway stretching and compressing like a lung drawing breath, and wondered vaguely when it had started doing that.

Her chin dipped, shot upwards, before it dipped again. The darkness kept tugging the edges of her vision, yet she tried to resist the advances of a sleepless, sleep filled night. She was losing the fight badly when a new weight appeared beside her. It wasn’t a sudden or shocking sensation really; it was just present enough to register once her awareness bobbed back towards the surface. A voice followed, low and conversational, like it had been there the whole time.
“Hey,” Benni said gently. “You’re still with us, yeah?”

Kel squinted at him, eyes glassy and unfocused, pupils struggling to agree on a single version of his face. “M’tryin’,” she muttered, words slurring together at the edges. Her tail twitched, then went slack again. She studied him with the seriousness of someone trying very hard to remember why suspicion was important. “Do *hic* do I know you?” The question sounded genuine. The poor thing.

“Not really,” Benni replied in a long drawn out drawl. “But I know you.” He let that sit, as he placed his hands on the counter, before he quickly lifted them off and shook them violently, “or at least, I know enough to think you should hear this before you pass out on this very sticky bar.” His eyes flicked briefly toward the door, then back to her. “That guy. Ransom. He means you harm.”

That cut through the haze as effectively as cold water across her face, and Kel straightened too fast, yet she held her head up high as she tried to stare down this new man. “What,” she slurred, though there was less conviction in it than she would’ve liked. Her eyes narrowed, trying to focus on him properly. “How do you figure?”

Benni smiled. He leaned back slightly in the chair and kept his hands in clear view for Kel's comfort. “For starters, what I am about to say is the conjecture of an old man sitting in the corner, and is based on what I have observed since the lot of you came into town, but that man Ransom means to hold you, Kali, and probably anyone vulnerable for a ransom. I have observed that the man carries himself with a certain confidence that reeks of a high birth, born into luxury and privilege, yet you don’t see that standard on his armor,” Benni paused as a grin crossed his face, “That guy. Ransom, if wherever he came from was still in any standing, would probably have preferred a life where he could settle for an arranged marriage and drink wine until his belly was large. Instead, he wants to find an easy way to that goal. A bounty hunter in a town filled to the brim with bounties, it's almost poetic.”

Kel, even in her state, knew that was a dangerous claim to make in a place like this. For starters, people here liked the anonymity that this place offered. Everyone came here for a reason. This was the town of second chances, and the town where the outlaws found refuge. If someone was here to collect, then it wouldn’t be long before they wound up dead. Yet, at the same time, Kel couldn’t break fully free from the alcoholic fog that fell over her. She did not know if she was at the point where she wouldn’t remember this conversation or not. “Why hic* why tell me? Some..someome shoe do something.”

"Because you’d know for the rest of the night tonight, and be unable to act on it, and you will likely forget before the sun rises tomorrow,” Benni smirked, “I hate the idea of a poor defenseless woman like yourself being completely defenseless after all.”

---

---

Edwina shifted her weight near the edge of the gathering, fingers loosely clasped at her waist. The tavern door stood open behind them, spilling warmth that dissolved into the night air. Her gaze settled on Latrom, her posture straight but unassuming.

“You mentioned visions,” she said gently, “do they come as dreams, or when you’re awake?” She tilted her head slightly, the question offered with sincere curiosity. “Are they clear images, or more like impressions?” She paused briefly as she exhaled. This could be any number of things, but it would be unbecoming of her to refuse a call for help. “And do they leave you once they’ve passed?”

The sound of a fight about to start pulled her attention away from Latrom. She stepped closer to Latrom’s side and turned in a smooth motion to face the commotion. Ah. The pretty boy of town wanted to fight the menace cat who had sent more than his fair share of broken bodies her way. Edwina knew just how a fight like that would end, and it would require a lot of her healing magic to repair that pretty face and body. Edwina said nothing, however, and she would not interrupt the cycle as it turned. She stood there, steady and watchful, a calm silhouette beside him while the moment threatened to fracture.

Yet the promised fight never came to pass. The gorgeous face’s gorgeous voice soothed the tension between the pretty man and the cat, who promptly went inside, and the pretty man groveled for attention. Pathetic. It looked like Ransom had bitten off more than he could chew with Cali, and she and her fox gave him a verbal beatdown, which was enough entertainment in and of itself. Edwina preferred this kind of drunken fight. The creative insults, the verbal blows, and the lack of blood on the pavement below. They were more entertaining, and she did not need to exhaust herself or her magic tending to the aftermath of a drunken brawl. As long as tonight stayed like this, it would be a good night. “Thank you for calling pause, Ransom,” Edwina added with a faint smile, “I would hate for bloodshed to ruin such a promising nigh-”

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Gulda’s thick fingers tightened around the human’s hand, her knuckles pale, her forearm as rigid as the forged iron that she made. The table between them creaked in protest. Gulda engaged her arm muscles even more, causing the veins on her arm to bulge. Across from her, the man gritted his teeth, face reddening, boots scraping uselessly against the tavern floor. The fucker had bet her five gold coins he could beat her at an arm wrestling contest. He had said that no matter how strong she was, there was not a chance that he was losing to a woman as desperate for coin as she was. Gulda took that personally. The surrounding patrons leaned in, the air buzzing with wagers and drunken encouragement. His friends egged him on, confident he was on the cusp of victory.

With a sharp exhale through her nose, Gulda drove his hand down. The impact rattled tankards and sent a ripple of cheers through the Wayside Inn, and caused the audible snapping of an arm bone to cause the cheers to be replaced with ”Oooooh”. The human groaned; his pride may be bruised, but his arm was broken, and he was thankful that was all he had to remember this night by. Gulda didn’t even smile. She released him with a dismissive flick and rose from her chair, shoulders rolling once beneath the weight of her armor.

“Told you,” she muttered, voice rough as gravel dragged over steel. “You don’t out-wrestle an armorer. And you ain’t tough enough to be sayin' shit like that.”

"Uggghhhhhh, You see that shit, Gulda? Gods, I fucking hate knights. And that bard? I've heard better singing from vultures. Completely ruined my smoke, those two. I need a drink......."

Gulda looked down at the table and saw that her own stein was running low. It was Lucky’s lucky day. “Guess who just got us another couple rounds for free,” Gulda paused as she picked up the gold and flashed them to Lucky, “I’ll be back with my drinks. If you find someone for me to beat at something, I can give you one, you freeloading, furball hacking, son of a bitch.” With that, Gulda made off towards the bar, and spotted a familiar face behind it.

Behind the counter, Rosa moved like a well-oiled machine all by herself. She balanced a plate effortlessly, setting rabbit and grouse down before Grask without ceremony. “Eat,” Rosa rumbled, “and don’t complain unless you want to complain to the cooks themself. They take pride in their work, and handle all complaints themselves.” Her eyes shifted towards the approaching Gulda. “You broke another one?”

Gulda leaned an elbow on the counter.

“Only his ego,” an audible cough was heard somewhere behind her, “and his arm.”

Rosa huffed softly, already reaching for a mug. “What poison tonight?”

Gulda opened her mouth to answer, yet the floor trembled beneath her feet. It was faint at first, subtle enough that one might be able to explain it away as a trick of the mind, but present enough that the steins betrayed it. Gulda and Rosa looked up and watched as a lantern swayed with the rumble, light sloshing across both beams and faces alike. Gulda raised an eyebrow. An earthquake? it wasn’t unheard of in these parts, and if that was the first rumble, then they may need to get outside into the street. A second tremor rolled through and it was deeper and heavier. The wood groaned like an old man doing a menial task. A bottle tipped behind the bar, and Rosa’s hand snapped out, catching it without looking.

The tavern noise faltered, conversations stuttering into uneasy silence. Gulda straightened her back up slowly. The tavern had fallen deathly silent, with eyes scanning all around, trying to figure out if more were coming.

“What was that?”

Suddenly, it hit. Dust sifted from the rafters as a man was thrown off his feet. Kel fell from her stool into the waiting arms of Benni, who quickly used his body to shield hers. Gulda grabbed the bartop and her knuckles went white as she strained to hold herself upright. A distant rumble followed the strongest quake yet, and this one was big. Gulda’s jaw tightened. Rosa’s eyes had narrowed, her massive frame going still strong yet she too was thrown towards the bartop and she had to use both hands to hold on.

Outside, the sound of crashing and crumbling filled the air as a wave of destruction sounded like it was coming their way.

---

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---

Edwina’s faint smile had only just formed when the words died on her lips.

The tremor was subtle at first, nothing more than the delicate shiver of the town itself drawing a sharp, uneasy breath beneath their very feet. Her eyes lifted instinctively, gaze cutting past the bodies clustered near the tavern entrance, past the lantern glow, past the drifting snow. This shake did not feel like the earthquake that she was used to in these parts. This felt close, and localized, and something told her that she might spot the cause if she just looked hard enough. She scanned for something amiss, something out of place, and she scanned until something caught her eye, and up her gaze rose, ever up towards The Arcane Tower itself, and she gasped.

High above, the top half of the spire stirred. It did not dance back in forth in the wind, it did not vibrate in the night sky, instead it began to rotate. The topmost section began to rotate with slow, dreadful grace, stone sliding against stone in a silent, impossible motion. How in the heavens did a tower spin like that? Edwina could not think of a single, logical explanation for what her eyes witnessed. Edwina’s breath hitched, and she did not speak. She simply stared as the circular band traced its first full revolution against the sky.

Then the sound came.

A low, cavernous groan rolled through the streets, deep enough to rattle bones. The ground lurched violently. Tankards toppled inside the tavern, and snow cascaded from rooftops in avalanches. Edwina staggered, catching herself against the doorframe as the world bucked beneath her.
The spinning top of the tower accelerated.

Far beyond the center, along the outermost ring road, the town began to die. Edwina watched in horror as entire rows of homes collapsed, walls falling flat at an instant. Chimneys snapped, timber frames twisted, a bakery folded inward, and a large plume of smoke, dust, and debris was sent skyward from every angle around the center ring of the town. Screams tore across the distance, yet as the ground beneath them spun faster and faster, the screams subsided as quickly as they started.

“No.” The whisper slipped out from Edwina, and it would be lost in the choir of death that sung out all across the town.

Above, the second segment of the tower awakened, just beneath the first. Another thunderous jolt slammed through the center ring. The pavement split in jagged veins. Lantern posts toppled. Somewhere behind her, glass exploded outward in a crystalline shriek. Inside the tavern, people were pulled from their feet by the shaking. Kel was braced against the bar by the body of the strange old man who had warned her, Gulda was trying to force themself back onto their feet as the shaking subsided once again. There were various people in various stages of injury, and more were being added with every quake.

A massive band beneath the top of the tower rotated, grinding into motion. In response, the fourth ring road of the town began to rise out of the ground, carried upward by an unseen force. The street itself tilted on its side as it ascended. Buildings that had stood for decades, some for centuries, leaned to the side, then catastrophically collapsed downward. An inn slid sideways, its foundation shearing loose. A row of shops pitched as one, facades crumbling as gravity claimed them. Masonry cascaded into the lower streets like a landslide of earth. Edwina’s eyes widened as figures tumbled with the debris. Nameless faces. Panicked silhouettes. People. She nearly fell back as a massive, circular object rose through the rising plume of smoke and dust. It was as tall as three of the ring roads were wide, and appeared to be made of some golden and silver alloy. There were still parts of the road, and even houses, attached to the structure. The houses were now on their side, and as it locked into place, completely vertical above the tower itself. The structure began to rotate around the tower, moving clockwise, and as it did, the remaining structures and remnants of the roads began to crumble completely, and the debris mixed with bodies began to fall downwards towards the tavern and the group. A man, who had just stepped outside his house, fell first as the stone archway of a home buried him in an instant with a sickening crunch. A man, further down the road, tried to jump out of the way of a falling body, and their two screams became one before the two collided, and their screams fell silent together. All across the road, debris and bodies impacted all around. Seven people were within range of the assembled group outside. Seven people who might be saved yet.

A clarity fell over Edwina’s mind at the sight. She could not comprehend what was happening all around them; she did not know why this was happening, or what had awoken this Arcane tower, but she did know that for as long as her cycle was turning, she could save these people. She looked over to her construct. The creature was already aware that something was amiss; its eyes scanned the structure with awe, but it also watched as everything fell around them. Edwina has had no success with being able to command this creature all the time, however, in times of peril, it seems to be able to act on its own accord. Like the bandits on the road, Edwina knew that this thing would not sit idly for long. Still, she could provide the push to get it moving.
“Go!” she commanded, voice suddenly fierce.

Across the chaos, a mother stumbled, clutching a small child as stone rained around them. The ground pitched again. She fell, and Edwina ran. Boots skidding over shaking cobblestones, cloak snapping behind her, she reached them just as a chunk of collapsing masonry plummeted from above. Her construct moved faster, hurling itself over the fallen woman. Impact. The stone shattered against its armored back in an eruption of dust and debris.

Edwina dropped to her knees, arms scooping the crying child from the rubble-streaked street. Tiny fingers clung to her sleeve with desperate strength. The mother, stunned and gasping, stared up through the haze.

“You’re safe,” Edwina said, breathless but steady. “Stay under it!” The construct remained braced over the woman, its broad frame forming a shield as debris clattered and exploded on its sturdy frame. Edwina rose, cradling the child tightly, eyes blazing as she turned back toward the others near the tavern.

“Don’t just stand there!” she shouted, voice cutting through the screams and raining debris. Help.”