Page 4015

When he finally reached his destination, there was still plenty of time remaining. He decided to do a sweep around the small fort, more out of boredom than necessity. There was no reason to think that this location was in any way compromised--which was why he liked it so much--but it never hurt to be thorough.

Plus, it made for a nice trip down memory lane.

This was where that insufferable nest of parasites had once ruled, after all. Out of every nest to have been established over the Ages, that one had to have been his most hated.

And Ettol was only too pleased to have played a part in its destruction.

Sure, Rakko ended up with all the credit--or the blame, as the man had chosen to play it off--but Ettol had been living here for decades, sowing the seeds of its eventual demise.

It was a shame that the whole city had to go along with it, but that was probably for the best, too. Those parasites were crafty. If he and Rakko had been any less thorough, then the nest likely would have survived and recovered.

And the revenge would have been absolutely horrific. The parasites did not suffer attacks against them lightly. Not in those days, anyway. They always took disproportionate retribution against their enemies.

Even a few of his own incarnations had been ended by them. Which was to say nothing of the collateral damage done around him.

Ah. That spot over there. The Grand Tower of Karnith had once stood there, yes?

Ettol smiled to himself as he summoned an illusory vision of it into reality. A tall, pale thing, covered in protruding balconies and hanging banners. And his smile only widened as he summoned the image of it on fire and crumbling under the moonlight.

Beautiful.

The long-standing dungeon of Arnel the Terror. How many heads of state visited that place without ever realizing the monstrous acts being committed within it?

And how many did realize?

Arnel was sick beyond words. The man had taken immense pleasure in his secrets--but even more in surprising people with them. The inner circle that he fostered for himself was unlike any other that Ettol had witnessed before.

But in retrospect, perhaps it had been a good experience for him in those relatively early days. It gave him his first real glimpse at the depths to which these mortals could sink when they were granted too much power.

It was certainly a lesson he’d never forgotten.

Page 4014

It was a dangerous game, this. Ettol knew that only too well. Jonah, for all his obnoxious rhetoric, had not been wrong about that.

The Beast of Ardora would almost certainly break loose again, one day. Comfortable as this current arrangement might have been, Ettol couldn’t expect it to last forever. He had to plan for the eventuality of Koh’s release.

But the wolf’s programming was so strong. So deeply ingrained. Ettol hoped that he might be able to overwrite it fully, but even now, in a vessel this powerful, he was not yet strong enough. Maybe he never would be.

Could he eventually amass enough strength to rewrite or otherwise undo the brainwashing of the nameless one? The so-called Void?

Their supposed progenitor?

In eons past, Ettol would have said no. It was hopeless. Their “father” was simply too powerful.

But they’d wounded him, hadn’t they? Lastingly so. All the evidence seemed to point to that explanation.

Ettol’s mind often wandered back to when, exactly, it might have happened. He must not have been present for it, himself. Surely, such an encounter would have been exceptionally vivid in his memory.

So who had done it?

Hada? Or perhaps Avar? Ettol had asked them, of course, but neither had been particularly forthcoming. One might imagine that anyone would be eager to talk about such an accomplishment, but those two were their own brands of exceptional, weren’t they? Hada hated talking period--especially to Ettol. And Avar would probably feel some type of absurd shame.

Out of all of them, Avar revered the nameless one the most as their “father.”

Ettol, though, could never do that. Not genuinely, at least.

He had spent too long bending to the will of others. Making nice. Pretending to be something he wasn’t.

In his heart, he could not allow himself to revere anyone over himself. His kin could only ever be his equals. Less than that, perhaps, but not more.

No. Never that.

For the longest time, he’d thought that all the others shared that view. He’d thought that was why they had such trouble getting along. But gradually, he’d come to realize that, no, they weren’t like him in that regard.

His mindset was, in so many ways, actually quite singular. They were not all some cherished communion of like-minded souls, as he’d once believed.

But that was fine. They were his kin. They were entitled to their flaws. Just as he was entitled to his.

Next page tomorrow

Thanks for reading, everybody.

Page 4013

Jonah was determined to fight him. That much was painfully obvious. No matter what arguments Germal tried, no matter how much knowledge he shared--how much wisdom--Jonah just became more and more convinced that “Ettol” had fully consumed his soul.

Why? It was so senseless. Was it because he hadn’t internalized a new name for himself like his kin often did? Didn’t become reborn as a new “Gerttal” or “Emol” or some other hybrid?

That meant nothing. Ettol’s vessels simply never needed that, nor did Ettol himself. His vessels always had some kind of irregularity in their identity which made such a process pointless.

Jonah couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that Germal genuinely, with full understanding, agreed to the merging of their two souls. There was no need for a new name, because their new, singular soul was perfectly comfortable with both. Ettol, Germal. He didn’t mind swapping between them.

In fact, he enjoyed it. Did it for fun, if he was being honest.

Germal had always been like that. Didn’t Jonah remember? The games they played when they were children? Even the name Germal had not been original. It was the name they found in an old book.

The name of the hero that Jonah had fantasized about one day becoming.

Had all that been forgotten? Or maybe Jonah thought that, too, was a lie. An implanted memory, meant to trick him. Yet another of Ettol’s endless deceptions.

Ever that excuse.

Ettol didn’t know how to argue against that. How could he possibly reason with someone who’d become so entrenched in their distrust of him?

Agh. Was there truly no way? He was this so-called ‘God of Deceit,’ wasn’t he? And yet he couldn’t even deceive the stray voice in his head.

Hmph. Prodding him again, Jonah? At least you were getting subtler about it.

By the time he finally reached the little fortress atop the highest hill, it was nearing sunset. He could’ve moved faster, of course, but there was no rush. He’d have to wait for the others to arrive, regardless.

Koh followed behind him, silent as a shadow, if not for the occasional puff on his cigar.

It was interesting how much of a liking the old fellow had taken to tobacco. Germal hadn’t expected that experiment to work at all, much less that effectively. Perhaps the wolf’s mind was more malleable than he’d realized. Or perhaps his powers had grown.

Or perhaps Koh just would’ve liked cigars, regardless.

Page 4012

Throwing around accusations of childishness? Was that the new strategy? Ironic in the extreme.

It was already quite clear by now that there could be no peace between the two of them. Jonah had long convinced himself that Ettol was the great enemy--not just of himself but of all mankind. The entire mortal realm.

But it was nonsense, of course. Ettol wanted nothing more than to help the long-suffering souls of this world. And Reemergence was key to achieve that goal. Whether his “kin” returned his affections or not was irrelevant. That was simply how all families were. Especially ones as old as his.

If you could finally look past your own biases, then you might understand that, too, Jonah. Ultimately, despite all the turmoil that they had endured over the years, Ettol wanted a good life for you, as well. Just because they shared a body didn’t preclude that possibility, you know. Think about it. Why else would he ever give up control to you at all? Why would he allow you to pursue a family? Have children of your own? Enjoy fine foods and the natural, wondrous beauty of the world? Fight against the oppressive monsters of Abolish in your own secretive ways?

To continue feeding information to Parson and Damian?

What, you thought he didn’t know about that? Of course he did. And it was a noble goal. One worth continuing. In that, clearly, they were of one mind.

Look past your hatred, Jonah. See the truth for what it was. Even if you hated him, Ettol was on your side, too.

The wind howled across the grassy hills as his mind fell quiet again.

He stopped for a moment, awaiting another angry response. When one didn’t arrive, he kept walking.

Tiresome. He hated having to suppress Jonah like that, but it could hardly be helped, these days.

There’d been a time when he’d hoped that the two of them could fully accept one another. To integrate, even. Become whole.

But that was long gone. Now, he wasn’t even sure that they could coexist for much longer. Jonah’s rejection of him had only further ossified over the years.

He’d tried everything. Using different names. Giving Jonah more control. More freedom. Even letting him partake more deeply of the Windlight. To see the vast stores of knowledge that he had accumulated across all of his incarnations.

But it only ever made things worse.

Next page on the 27th

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Page 4011

Jonah was fascinated to no end by the Beast of Ardora. The ultimate enemy of all these false gods. Did that make the wolf a true god? Kehe. No. Jonah didn’t think so. Moreover, Koh would probably despise the very notion.

Strange to think that Koh and Ettol had both arrived in his life at the same time, due to the same event. Some forty-five years ago in Bellvine.

Though, perhaps there was some contention about that, too. With the benefit of hindsight, Jonah could now see whispers of Ettol’s influence from even before that time--from when it had been attempting to make contact with him.

Reaching out from beyond the Veil.

In so many subtle, quiet ways, Ettol had been there, probably since the very moment his and Germal’s power of mutation manifested. And even then, it had still taken Ettol another eighty years before it finally managed to connect to them.

Jonah understood why. For Ettol, suitable vessels were preciously rare. Throughout the entire world, there were only a handful of viable candidates at any given time; and since the incarnation process took so long, the difficulty was heightened even further, as suitable vessels expired naturally on their own. Or simply refused the offer. Or suddenly became unsuitable.

Kehe. Poor Ettol. Always wrestling with the world. With its own kin, even. It loved them all dearly, but they did not reciprocate those feelings, did they? Perhaps because it was such an incessantly lying snake.

Not that Jonah had much room to judge, of course. In that way, at least, they were alike. Hell, perhaps that was even a prerequisite for becoming a suitable vessel.

But still. It was no coincidence that Ettol had ended up trapped in that prison realm alongside Koh. That had been the work of Ettol’s own kin. At the last moment, they had betrayed it.

Thrown it to the wolf, quite literally.

And yet, Ettol did not hold that against them? Where was the sense in that? Where was your pride, Ettol?

Why continue on with this plan of Reemergence?

That was, perhaps, the single most baffling thing about Ettol, still. The thing that Jonah was struggling to find an answer for.

Because perhaps there simply wasn’t one. Perhaps Ettol didn’t have a good reason for continuing on, in spite of all the hatred and betrayal. The unreturned love and affection.

Perhaps, ultimately, Ettol was just a pathetic, crying child who was scared of being alone.

Enough, Jonah.

Page 4010

He was already well over a hundred years old, and yet he still felt like a child in many ways. Sheltered within the confines of his own mind.

He wasn’t a child, though. He had to remember that. It was just more of Ettol’s subtle manipulations. Poking at his subconscious. Trying to prevent him from growing wise to the truth of things.

Jonah had been paying attention. He’d been learning. At first, Ettol had been able to hide all its secrets from him, but there was a clear trade-off that was being made as Ettol gained influence over this body. Awful as it was to accept, Jonah had to take his victories wherever he could get them.

Sharing a body meant sharing a conduit for Ettol’s powers. It meant sharing knowledge. It meant sharing plans.

Those were the things that Ettol was trying its hardest to hide from him. It wanted to keep him in the dark for as long as possible about that.

But Jonah would discover everything, eventually. It was just a matter of time.

The real problem was figuring out what to do with that knowledge once he found it? With Ettol having such control now, what could possibly be done? How could he get any of this knowledge out there?

Ah. Heh.

Kehe.

Why was he asking himself that?

They were playing again, weren’t they? Him and Ettol. Looking for his plans, eh? Well, he didn’t have any.

Kehe.

Worried, was it? Why? What was there to be concerned about? He was powerless, after all. Just a dormant part of the psyche, now.

Relax, Ettol. Stop worrying so much. You won.

Look at Koh over there. Even he had been brought to heel. A truly remarkable feat, that. Jonah understood. He’d seen the memories. The knowledge of antiquity--when countless other “gods” were getting absolutely stomped by the Great Pale Wolf.

It was impressive that they’d managed to subdue him for as long as they did. Smothering him and throwing him into that prison realm.

How hard they’d worked. Schemed for years and years. Organized and collaborated. Forsaken their pride and hatred for one another. All to lay low their most feared enemy.

And yet in the end, he was still here, wasn’t he? Enthralled, sure, but for how much longer, Ettol? How long, hmm?

Compared to that ticking clock, Jonah was nothing at all to be worried about, surely.

Next page on the 22nd

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Page 4009

It had taken him so many years to realize what was happening. For the longest time, he’d simply feared the typical worst: that he was slowly going mad. And that there was nothing to be done about it.

That was the ever-present worry that permeated the entire servant world, after all. It seemed the most likely explanation.

And it had served Ettol well as a cover for the bastard’s growing influence within his mind.

Nor had it helped that there had already been two people in there to begin with.

But Germal was gone now. Devoured by Ettol.

Only Jonah remained.

And he knew why, too. Because, ultimately, despite all his terrifying powers, Ettol required his vessel’s permission in order to conduct his so-called “merge,” wherein their two souls would supposedly become one, new entity.

But that was only partially true, by Jonah’s estimation. Sure, the two souls would become one. But Ettol’s soul had merged with others before. It had so much more experience and influence in such things. If any part of Germal’s personality remained, Jonah couldn’t see it.

To Jonah’s mind, it was akin to a pinch of salt “merging” with an entire glass of water.

Not exactly an equal sacrifice being made.

Which was why Ettol would never gain his permission, no matter how many tricks he tried.

No matter how weakened he might feel. No matter how tired or sick or sad or whatever else--Jonah would never give in. And he wanted Ettol to know it, too. For as long as they both shared one body, he would forever remain a thorn in the bastard’s side.

Unfortunately, it seemed clear to him now that he couldn’t hope for much more than that. Even when he was in control, he found himself limited, these days. He couldn’t even utter Ettol’s name aloud. The bastard had already found a way to block it.

If only he hadn’t been so timid for so long. Maybe he shouldn’t have relied on Germal to be the aggressive one between the two of them. Only now was it clear to him how much he’d relied on his other self to take care of things for him. To do what he never could--or, rather, what he never believed that he could.

That was the real problem, wasn’t it? When things got difficult, he would always just run or hide. When dogs barked at him. When thunderstorms arrived. When his mother got that look in her eyes.

He would just leave. Let Germal deal with it.

But there was no running, now.

Page 4008 -- CCCXXI.

Parson looked at Damian, only to the find the other man already staring back at him. The features were more weathered, but that surly expression truly did belong to him. Despite how familiar it was, it still seemed so unnatural on him now, after all this time.

After a brief silence, Germal’s voice continued. ‘But... I suppose another part of me is also excited at the prospect of you hearing this. Because not only can I finally share everything with you both, but it would also mean that... despite having currently lost my battle against Ettol, I have ultimately won the war, somehow. If only through dumb luck, perhaps. The Void knows I’m in need of that, right now.’

Parson was lost for words. All he could do was listen.

‘However, I must first apologize. To both of you, of course, but to Damian, most of all. In my primitive attempts to prevent you from becoming enslaved by Ettol, I may have only turned you into a slave of a different sort. A slave to chaos. To madness. I’m sorry.

‘I don’t know if it can ever be undone. I suspect so, at least partially, but it is unfortunately too late for me to try. Because I am already lost to madness myself, you might say.

‘All I can do now is craft this message for you. I’m seeding it into as many locations around the world as I can. Points of geographic resonance, they’re called. I don’t know if you’ve ever managed to learn about those or if Ettol has kept that information from you, too. But I’m planting the guidance into both Feromas and Overra. Forgive me for tampering with their minds. I never wanted to, but I have no other recourse. This is the only weapon in my arsenal.

‘So now, please listen carefully. Let me tell you everything that I have learned about Ettol. About the so-called “Primordials.” And about the existential threat they pose to all humankind.’


Chapter Three Hundred Twenty-One: ‘The Gentleman and the Liar...’
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...Forty-three years ago...


When he awoke, his body was already moving again. Of course it was. It was happening so often now that he wasn’t surprised, anymore. Not angry. Not even disturbed.

Just tired.

Sleep was never rejuvenating. Never welcome or comfortable. Just the opposite, in fact. It was sapping more and more of his strength.

That was the point, wasn’t it? To weaken him until he no longer had the will to fight back. No longer cared. So that it could take over fully.

Bastard.

Page 4007

Parson was beginning to feel sick to his stomach. Which was particularly strange, considering he’d lost all feeling in his body.

Damian kept trying to get the reapers to talk, but it was to no avail, apparently. They remained totally silent for the remainder of the journey, which took several more hours. The final climb up the hill was particularly miserable. Their barely functional bodies did not need the extra resistance.

But eventually, they did indeed make it.

And before the small fort, they first found a cluster of large boulders scattered all around the entrance. Not blocking the path, curiously enough. Just flanking the road and lining the walls.

Parson didn’t remember them being there the last time. It made him wonder where they’d come from, because otherwise, this place looked identical.

A ghostly, abandoned construct. Absolutely ancient in its design, yet still largely pristine. Hardly any cracks in its stone walls and cobble footpaths. Even the tall, vibrantly green trees looked as though they were still being well cared for.

But that wasn’t the case, of course. Parson had come to learn quite a lot about this tiny castle in the lead up to their last visit.

This entire region was where the Pharaonic City of Arkotesh once stood. The center of the civilized world, at one point in time.

And this building was one of its last remnants. Only a few others dotted the landscape in the distance, nestled between hills or concealed behind rocks.

From what he understood, this modest little structure used to be the inner sanctum of a grand palace, the likes of which had rivaled anything in the modern day.

Strange that such a sanctum should look so unimpressive, he’d always thought. But he supposed the architect never intended for it to be seen this way.

There were only a handful of chambers in the entire thing, but they didn’t have to venture any further than the main one that connected to the entrance. It was just a barren hall with large, empty windows, but as soon as their shuffling footsteps neared the center of the room, a voice rang out.

A very familiar one.

‘Hello, my friends.’

It didn’t touch his ears and had no physical traits that he could recognize. No pitch or cadence or timber.

And yet still, Parson at once knew that it belonged to Germal.

‘I don’t know when or how this message will find you. And part of me is hoping that it never does, because it will most likely mean that I am dead.’

Page 4006

But somehow, Germal always had some placating answer. Or some evading one. Or some means of distracting him. For years and years. And, naturally, since they were already working separately as a trio, it wasn’t terribly abnormal for them to go huge spans of time with zero communication.

Because they had that trust. That hundred-year-old bond. Forged in the fiery death of Trintol. Of their innocence.

When, exactly, had that trust expired? And what was the true cause?

Parson couldn’t stop dwelling on it. Couldn’t stop comparing what he now knew of the creature called Koh with what he’d thought to be the case for so many decades.

If such a powerful secret about the Man-Eater could have been maintained for so long, then Parson could only imagine what terrible truth there must have also been behind Germal himself.

Most of all, his mind kept returning to that fateful incident forty years prior.

The one that had torn the three of them apart.

Especially because this slow march across the landscape had begun to look increasingly familiar. These rolling hills of yellow grass. Waving gently in the wind.

And at length, he saw it there in the distance. That little castle on the tallest hill in the region. Nothing terribly impressive or intimidating by appearance alone.

But he stopped walking, nonetheless, suddenly uncertain if he wanted to take even a single step nearer to that place.

He noticed Damian stop, too.

“You reaper fucks,” said the other man. “This is where you’ve been leading us this whole time? Are you both out of your minds?”

But neither of them defended themselves. They merely kept floating forward silently.

“Hey!” tried Damian again. “Say something, assholes! What were you thinking?”

Still, they said nothing. Nor did they slow their pace.

Damian and Parson exchanged looks.

A terrible sense of dread came over him. A familiar feeling but one that he’d not had in a very long time.

Not since their last visit to this place, actually.

Damian growled and trudged forward. “Guess we’re in for some more fun.”

Parson needed a moment before following. And with each step, more old feelings bubbled up to the surface of his mind--not all of them familiar. And he found himself asking a question without even thinking about it. “How is your memory, Damian?”

“Hmph. Better than I’d like it to be.”

“What?”

“Stay close, Parson.”

Page 4005

So instead, they were hoping to reach civilization and then contact some of their allies to come pick them up. But they had washed up on quite the remote beach, it seemed. Even the reapers had yet to sense a single other soul, despite intermittently venturing off to do a bit of scouting.

They were also somewhat reluctant to leave their servants too far behind. And after that absurdity that they had all endured in the middle of the Luthic Ocean, Parson didn’t necessarily blame them.

There was a prevailing feeling that, even now, it might not yet be over. That Morgunov might be hunting them down, as retribution for going after him.

Unless, somehow, he’d been slain, too. The exact outcome of that madness remained unclear, of course, but Parson felt like that was simply too much to hope for.

When was the last time things had gone this badly?

Never, perhaps. It depended on just how terrible the Vanguard’s losses had been, and they wouldn’t have confirmation on that for a while yet.

But it wasn’t going to be nothing. Not this time. Parson had witnessed several of his fellow generals get killed right in front of his eyes. Reapers included.

Had Lamont made it out, though? And Sanko?

It was hard to parse out everything in his mind, but the days of mostly quiet shambling had been helpful in that task. At this point, he was fairly certain that he had seen both Sanko and Lamont get caught up in an enormous blast while trying to go to Sai-hee’s aid against that massive wolf.

The very same one that they’d met in Bellvine. The one that Parson had met on so many amicable occasions. The one that had always seemed to be Germal’s unswerving companion.

Until he killed him.

What sense did any of this make? Just how much had Germal been hiding from him and Damian?

Doubtless, this had to be at least part of the reason why Germal had begun to change so much after Bellvine. With the benefit of hindsight, yes, he’d never really been the same, had he? It was a slow transformation, but that was the catalyst, wasn’t it?

There’d been a time, of course, when Parson had been much more curious about that strange shift. Noticing the many subtle changes. Asking questions upon questions.

Next page on the 15th

Thanks for reading, as always.

Page 4004

“You’ve been wanting to say that to me for a long time,” said Parson.

“Sure have,” said Damian. “And maybe a part of you has been waiting to hear it, too.”

“Hah. I don’t think so. If there’s one thing about you that I haven’t missed, it’s your complete inability to choose your words tactfully.”

“Had to leave something for you to get good at, didn’t I?”

“Careful, now. That was almost a compliment.”

“Nothin’ ‘almost’ about it. Take it and be grateful.”

“Oh, I’m positively glowing. Can’t you tell?”

“And stop talking shit about Germal while you’re at it. You’ve never understood him half as well as you thought you did.”

“What? Why are you defending him like he was some angel? He was, quite literally, the biggest liar we’ve ever known. And he wronged you, more than anyone.”

“And yet he also gave his life in order to save your stupid neck. Have some respect, asshole.”

“Pah. While I do appreciate the two of you rescuing me, I only ended up in that position because of him. Because, foolishly, I decided to trust him again.”

“Don’t be such a wet blanket. Nothin’ foolish about what happened. Don’t you get it? We were finally able to take our shot. After all these years, thinkin’ the plan was dead and buried, we still found an opportunity in the end. And hell, we got close! Closer than anyone else has gotten in centuries. And we lived. So we can still take another crack at it, one day.”

“I think your mind must have gone again. This optimism is too out-of-character for you.”

“Been forty years. I’ve changed some. Just as you have.”

“I liked you better before.”

That made Damian snicker. “Feeling’s mutual, you piece of shit.”

Their slow, shambling trek across the landscape continued for quite a while longer. Having been walking for days already, they’d initially just picked a direction and hoped for the best. The reapers had been too exhausted to even speak, let alone provide actual guidance on where to go.

Unfortunately, even after Feromas and Overra had recovered, they weren’t much help in that regard.

They’d considered destroying their brains, of course, in order to let the reapers move more quickly, but with the regeneration stunted so badly, there was quite a heavy concern that even regenerating their whole bodies from scratch would prove problematic for the reapers.

Apparently, Damian had heard--via Germal, no less--that Jackson was currently suffering from a similar affliction and that a full body regrowth would not fix it.

The Mad Demon was such a menace. This felt much worse than the initial taste that Parson had gotten when he was first captured.

Page 4003

He must’ve been, right? Feromas wouldn’t still be Damian’s reaper if he thought the man was completely gone.

Agh. Or would he? Feromas was something of a special case. He was directly related to his servant by blood. Feromas’ great grandson. And while the reaper may not have demonstrated much genuine affection, as far as Parson could recall, perhaps there was still a deeper level of attachment that was simply never voiced.

An irrational hope.

What else could possibly explain the reaper not releasing Damian’s soul after what happened forty years ago? Parson couldn’t fathom any other justification.

It didn’t help that he’d seen other such cases, as well, even from reapers who had no blood relation.

Reapers were still human, after all. Or used to be, at least. They still retained all the same psychological vulnerabilities.

The same inability to let go, long after they knew they should.

“Stop lookin’ at Feromas like that,” said Damian. “If you’ve got somethin’ to say, then say it. Stop being a coward.”

Hmph. Maybe he had a point. It had been too long. Parson had gotten too comfortable dancing around subjects instead of addressing them directly. If he was being totally honest, that was one of the things he missed most about his friend here. Damian had been one of the very few people whom Parson could be straightforward with.

They’d simply known each other too long and too well to be anything else.

“You’re behaving surprisingly sane,” said Parson. “It’s been days now, and you still haven’t said anything completely psychotic yet.”

Damian snorted. “Maybe I’m just working up to it.”

“I bet you are.” He looked to Feromas again. “Is he normally lucid for this long?”

The reaper noticed Damian look at him, too. ‘...No,’ said Feromas. ‘This is unusual.’

God. Parson was already kicking himself. Stop hoping, idiot. It wasn’t going to end well. It never did.

But he couldn’t help himself.

“...Do you think Germal’s death might have something to do with it?” said Parson.

‘The thought has crossed my mind, yes.’

“You think the little punk was keeping me crazy all these years, huh? Hmph. Of course you’d think that. You always did see the worst in people, didn’t you?”

Parson might’ve made an expression of utter disbelief if the muscles on his withered face still worked. “I don’t see how you, of all people, have any right to tell me that. Of the three of us, you were always the most bitter and jaded.”

“No. I was just the most confrontational. You’re the one who kept quiet when things actually got to you. You let bad ideas change your mind. Your deeply held values. Instead of having a conversation and figuring things out. Which is why you’re both a dumbass AND a coward.”

This fucking prick.

Next page AT 6 pm PST

yEP.

Page 4002

The assault on Morgunov’s workshop had just led into one disaster after another. Looking back on it all now, he still couldn’t believe how bad things had gone. Each time he’d thought that the situation couldn’t get any worse, it somehow did.

Even after weeks of fighting. It still did.

And now, here he was. A barely-held-together pile of flesh.

But at least he wasn’t alone.

His oldest friend was right there behind him, shuffling along at a similarly terrible pace.

Damian Lofar.

Parson couldn’t believe that, either. He was actually alive. After forty years of thinking he and Feromas had died, the wily bastards really had managed to survive.

He’d suspected as much, of course, but he’d never been able to confirm it. And Germal had been no help at all in discerning the truth, of course.

Such a strange mixture of emotions. He was at once elated and mortified. Elated for the man Damian once was. Mortified for the one he’d turned into.

“Stop lookin’ at me like that, already.” Between how much Damian had allowed himself to age and how absolutely thrashed his body currently was, the man was virtually unrecognizable. “It’s pissing me off.”

If not for Feromas’ presence, Parson might not have believed it. “Eh, shut up, you old prick,” said Parson. His half-destroyed throat made his words sound like they’d been put through a grinder. “I’ll look wherever I want.”

“Pah! Finally grow a pair of balls, did ya?” Damian’s voice, by comparison, sounded almost normal. Most of his damaged seemed to be in his crushed leg, missing arm, and disemboweled stomach. “Only took a hundred and fifty years.” He was just as deathly pale, too.

“You seem to be forgetting about all the times I kicked your ass.”

“I’m sure I’d remember them if they’d ever happened.”

Hmph. Well, he was certainly behaving like the hard-edged, grumpy asshole that Parson had grown up with.

But how long was that going to last?

How long before the madness returned?

He dared not hope that his old friend might actually be cured. Down that road lay only heartache.

Parson was plenty old enough now. He’d seen this many times before, not just with Damian.

Good men turning into raving lunatics.

And it never got any easier to witness, either. Parson kept eyeing Feromas, too, wondering what the reaper must have been thinking about all this. Was he still harboring hopes of a recovery? After all this time?

Page 4001

He looked harder. Focused further. He wanted to pick out individual faces. That was quite the task at this distance, especially with them all moving, but he felt like he could manage it. Just a bit more. If he could follow the crowd’s flow, then he could predict where a locked-on face would be moving next. It was like trying to lock onto a distant bird through a telescope.

There. A young woman’s face. What was her expression?

Blank. Hollow. Empty-eyed.

And she was just walking. Not on her phone. Not talking to someone. Just walking.

Then she passed out of view, behind one of the buildings. He searched for another target. A middle-aged man. Bald. Business suit. Same empty expression, though. Same mindless look in his eyes.

And again. And again. And still again. Each person he singled out was the same. Just walking and nothing else.

Quite eerie. How to even explain to Darksteel and the others? He needed a moment to find his words. “Um... I don’t see any screaming,” he said, “but I do see a mass of people down there who appear to be... hypnotized? Or something to that effect.”

‘What the fuck?’ said Voreese. ‘Where’s the screaming coming from them?’

Roman, meanwhile, still seemed to be listening intently. “I think I can tell. A general direction, at least.”

Hmm. Loren was uncertain now. And coincidentally, Rezolo gave voice to his concerns.

‘It seems we have a choice, then. Should we investigate the people down there or follow the noise?’

All eyes went to Darksteel.

He didn’t need long to answer. “The screaming. That seems like it could be more urgent. Then we’ll check out the crowd later.”

‘Alrighty,’ said Voreese. ‘Welcome to Intar, I guess.’

-+-+-+-+-

The bleeding had stopped days ago, but not because his wounds had finally healed. Rather, it was simply because he’d run out of blood to lose. His body had already died days earlier than even that, and despite Overra’s best efforts to revive his flesh, it simply didn’t last. It would just die again, seemingly faster each time.

And now, Parson Miles was a withered husk of a man. Still on his feet. Still walking. But not with strength. Not with confidence. Not with anything, anymore.

Even if he still had all his faculties, his body was now little more than a shambling, shattered corpse as he slowly made his way across the windswept countryside.

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Page 4000

Darksteel bolted ahead, prompting everyone else to follow. They were all still wearing the full suits of armor that Darksteel had made for them earlier, so the room came urgently alive with the sound of shifting metal plates.

Darksteel himself moved so quickly that Loren thought he might be about to jump through the nearest window, but instead, he came to an abrupt stop and merely looked out. Then, after a brief pause, he turned and looked directly at Loren, who felt suddenly as if the room had closed in around him.

“What do you see out there?” said Darksteel.

Ah. Loren relaxed a little and stepped up to the window alongside him.

He took his time scanning the view, not wanting to miss anything.

The buildings were so massive that much of the view was blocked--but not all. Because they weren’t actually on the ground floor, apparently. Strange. How had they made it so high up here without noticing? Was this whole tower abandoned? Connected so deeply with the ancient undercity?

He focused on the task. Roadways were everywhere, both above and below, with cars speeding along almost all of them. A few were backed up with heavy traffic, he noticed.

And the buildings themselves. He could see in many of the windows from afar. Several of them had people gathered around, gawking at something down below. Hmm? Below? Agh, this vantage point wasn’t great, but he could see a few hints of activity down there, nestled between the buildings and beneath the roads.

He moved left along the windows, searching for a better line of sight. Something was down there alright. What was it?

A crowd. A massive one. What was happening, though?

Crowds were tough to sift through. Just a cluster of visual noise. But with concentration, he could find the abnormalities therein. There was a certain logic to it, as well. Crowds, oftentimes, behaved like schools of fish. They were organized. Moving in unison. Creating a discernible flow. The key was to ignore all the distracting colors and focus on movement patterns. Then find the ones that stuck out. Disturbances in the flow. That was usually where the trouble was found.

But as he searched, he didn’t see anything like that. No disturbances. The flows were pristine. Extremely organized.

In fact... that, in itself, was abnormal. Humans were not literally supposed to move like schools of fish, which were able to maintain their harmony with pinpoint precision. Humans were still supposed to have imperfections here and there. People tripping or walking too slowly or bumping into one another.

But there was none of that.

That enormous crowd down there was moving with an almost mechanical perfection.

Page 3999

A couple of nearby windows were the sources of the light that they’d first noticed, but said windows were so foggy and dirty that Loren still couldn’t make out anything on the other side, even with his eyes.

Darksteel didn’t hesitate, though. He pushed through the double doors as their small party followed.

What awaited them, however, was not the outside. Instead, they found themselves in another building. It looked decidedly less ancient than the one they’d just left behind, but it was still just as empty.

Abandoned? Hmm. Well, at the least the others didn’t need their flashlights, anymore.

The floors were a dusty stone, and thick pillars supported a low ceiling with long cracks running through it. Otherwise, however, the room had no walls, and light poured in from distant windows in all directions.

And there was something else, too. Loren noticed it right away, but he couldn’t actually tell what it was. Something almost invisible to the naked eye. It hung there in the air, covering everything like a thin veil.

What the hell was that? He felt like he’d seen such a thing before--and yet also not. Surely, he’d remember something so strange.

Certainly, his eyes had picked up on a few oddities over the years, but now, after his most recent mutation, which he instigated only a few days ago, he was beginning to worry that he might’ve messed himself up again. He’d hoped that he’d grown out of that early phase, but the fear never really went away, honestly.

The historical horror stories about mutation had been drilled into his mind, after all.

Agh. He tried to stay focused. Getting distracted might well be a death sentence in a place like this, he felt.

The group kept following Darksteel, but now it was truly dead quiet. Even the reapers had ceased their chatter--which was not typically a good sign, in Loren’s experience.

He thought he could hear something peculiar, too. Just the general background noise of a big city, he’d thought at first. But as he continued listening, he felt like there was another layer in there. Muted but not totally.

Perhaps Roman was hearing it, too, because the man was holding a cupped hand up to his ear.

Hmm. Did he have a power that aided his hearing? Loren felt compelled to inquire. “What is that noise?”

Roman took a moment before responding. “Screams.”

Next page on the 7th

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Page 3998

‘Oh god,’ said Garovel. ‘Yeah. You might be right about that. Aberrations are always difficult to notice, which would explain why I wasn’t sure what it was. Have you had many encounters with aberrations, Rezolo?’

‘You could say that,’ said the reaper. ‘And if I could help it, I’d sooner never encounter another one.’

Loren knew he wasn’t lying. They’d been a pair for almost four years now, but even in that relatively short time, they’d met several of those humanoid abominations, up close and personal.

It was never an enjoyable experience, especially with the more powerful ones. And if these reapers were already able to discern the presence of an aberration at such a seemingly large distance, then Loren was getting the feeling that this was not going to be some fledgling that they were dealing with.

On top of all that, Loren had the distinct impression that Rezolo had met many more aberrations prior to the two of them teaming up. The reaper’s mood was typically difficult to gauge, but in the presence of aberrations, there was a noticeable shift. He clearly didn’t like them very much.

‘Hold on,’ came Voreese’s voice. ‘This doesn’t make sense. How could there be an aberration--especially one that seems pretty damn powerful--right in the heart of Vanguardian territory? They would’ve hunted it down, for sure.’

‘So one would think,’ said Garovel. ‘But maybe it’s a developing situation, and they’re in the middle of hunting it down right now.’

‘Hmm.’ Voreese floated further ahead, coming up right behind Darksteel. ‘Ooh, y’know, if that’s the case, then maybe we’ll get to meet some of the Vanguard’s famous aberration hunters. Ever since I first heard about them, I thought they sounded pretty cool.’

‘Sure,’ said Garovel, ‘but they also kinda sound like a bunch of hardasses. Somehow, I feel you wouldn’t get along with them very well.’

‘Oh, c’mon. I can appreciate a hardass, every now and again. Hell, I can BE one, every now and again. The context is what matters, Garovel.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘But yeah, if they’re a gaggle of assholes, then I’ll probably talk mad shit on them. Can’t help it.’

“You absolutely can,” said Roman.

‘Shut up.’

Soon, the group pushed onward and upward, and the first glimpses of light began to arrive near the top of the staircase. It wasn’t much, though. They still needed their flashlights for a while longer--up until they finally arrived at a large pair of double stone doors.

Page 3997

He’d tried to ignore it, of course, knowing that dwelling on it was pointless. All that would accomplish was making him even more miserable than he already was. Better to concentrate on things that he could actually change. Or on things that could at least provide some sort of escape for him mentally, however fleeting.

But this situation was suddenly bringing it up again. Stronger than ever. Because it was accompanied by an actual sense of hope, for once.

Agh.

Very dangerous thinking, that. He needed get a hold of himself. At the end of the day, Rezolo was right. He shouldn’t put too much stock in that idea.

Really. When had hope ever worked for him?

Another set of winding stairs lay ahead, but Darksteel stopped, which brought the rest of them to a halt, too.

“I think we’ve passed beyond the dark fog that was blanketing everything,” said Hector, his voice tinged in metal. “Can you reapers sense the city above us, now?”

Voreese spoke up first. ‘Yep. That’s a lot of souls up there. Looks like we’re in the right place, after all.’

“Anything else?” the lord pushed. “Any... weirdness? Vito reported some sort of mass hysteria up there.”

‘Hmm, let’s see. Eh. Seems normal enough to me. What about you two chuckleheads? Sense anything strange?’

Rezolo and Garovel remained quiet a moment, perhaps concentrating, before Rezolo spoke up next. ‘Not I.’

But Garovel had a different response. ‘Actually, I do... feel something off. I can’t quite tell what it is, though.’

‘Well, think harder, then,’ said Voreese. ‘Figure it out! Right now, dammit!’

‘Very helpful, thank you.’

‘Okay, fine, where is it? Tell me the direction of this “offness” that you sense.’

‘Agh. Um. Northwest of here, I think.’

‘Great. Cool. Which way is northwest?’

‘Are you kidding me?’ And Garovel pointed with his ethereal gecko’s tail.

‘Oh, don’t give me a hard time! We’ve been wandering around in the dark after teleporting across the continent! My internal compass is busted as hell, so how can yours still be working after all that?!’

‘What can I say? I’m just the greatest.’

‘Greatest bullshitter, maybe.’

‘Ha, well, that’s definitely not true. Anyway, just help me out, will ya? What do you sense over there?’

Voreese grumbled wordlessly but seemed to start concentrating. Rezolo, too, from the look of it.

‘...Okay, yeah, you’re right. There’s definitely something fucked going on over there. Can’t tell how fucked, though. It’s weird.’

‘...I believe that may be the work of an aberration,’ said Rezolo.

Page 3996

That was certainly one thing that he knew about Rezolo. How stubborn he could be.

‘We can enter pan-wzrost any time you like,’ said Loren. ‘Then you can read my memories and emotions directly.’

‘You always try to bring that up when we talk about this. Don’t act like you can’t still hide things from in there. I know you’ve figured it out already.’

‘I truly have not.’ They’d argued about this enough times by now that he felt neither defensive nor surprised by the reaper’s response. He just held back a sigh as he knew that there was no helping the situation.

It was genuinely baffling to him, the more he’d thought about it. The only explanation he’d been able to concoct for Rezolo’s paranoia on this particular matter was that the reaper must’ve had a bad experience with a previous servant.

That might also be the reason why Loren had never been able to learn much about the reaper via the hyper-state, either. Because Rezolo had figured out how to do it, he assumed that Loren must have also.

The reaper was projecting, in other words.

And for a while, Loren had felt like he was missing out on something quite wondrous. The way other people talked about it, their merged minds were supposed to let them look through each other’s entire lives with little difficulty, but for him, at least, that had never been the case.

In fact, pan-wzrost honestly didn’t feel that different from their normal, separated connection. The telepathic communication was the same. No closer, no deeper, no more intuitive. The world around them just felt a little more intense. Heightened in sensory input.

But oh well. Loren was long past the point of agonizing over it.

He tried to get the conversation back on track. ‘Anyway, I just want you to pay attention to Darksteel,’ he told the reaper. ‘If his power and influence really do rival that of Caster, then...’

‘Then, what?’ said Rezolo.

Still being difficult, of course. ‘Then, it complicates things,’ Loren chose to say.

The reaper made no response.

Loren wanted to keep pushing, but he didn’t know how, so he decided to just let the matter drop. Perhaps it was too soon to be broaching this subject at all.

It was just that...

Agh.

That idea of actually leaving Abolish...

He couldn’t deny fantasizing about it for years now. Feeling utterly trapped.

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Page 3995

So what had changed in them? He’d gained a little bit of power? A little bit of fame? And that was all it took to fill his head with nonsense? To lose his survival instinct?

No. More than anything, he needed to remain attentive. Caster had been... fine, true, but he was also an utterly unpredictable question mark.

Which, after all this time traveling with him, was not exactly a good thing.

‘You’re probably right,’ said Loren. ‘But I also think we should be flexible. If things take a turn for the worse, it would be good if we had some sort of escape vector, no?’

‘There is no escaping Abolish, my boy.’

Loren wanted to be very careful with his words here. Ultimately, he still didn’t really know how Rezolo felt about Abolish as a whole. The reaper never talked about it or even his own past.

That was the main thing that Loren had feared ever since first being revived. While Rezolo was quieter than most Abolish reapers, that didn’t actually mean he was any less loyal. Sure, Loren occasionally got that impression from him, but were impressions enough to gamble his life on?

If deep down, Rezolo was a true believer... and if he came to the conclusion that Loren could not be trusted...

‘That is not what I’m saying,’ said Loren. ‘Escaping Caster doesn’t have to mean escaping Abolish.’

Floating alongside him, Rezolo turned and just stared at him.

Loren didn’t balk. He always kept eye contact whenever he found the opportunity. Because he wanted to see. Really see. And maybe it was just silly superstition, but Loren was increasingly coming to believe that the eyes could reveal quite a lot about a person. Yes, even reapers with their ethereal bodies.

It was about the soul. Or something even deeper, maybe.

He felt like he could almost see it. Hints of emotion. Of whole ideas turning over in their minds. If he could just... sharpen his vision a little more... then maybe...

‘Stop looking at me like that,’ said Rezolo.

It wasn’t the first time the reaper had said that to him. ‘Like what?’ It wasn’t the first time responding like that, either.

‘You know exactly what. Stop it.’

‘This is just how my eyes are, Rezo. I can’t change them back, you know.’

‘You’re trying to read my mind.’

‘I’m not psychic.’

‘So you keep claiming. But you’re working on it, aren’t you?’

‘No, I’m not. I’m still just refining my eyes.’

‘Don’t lie to me, boy.’

He wanted to scoff but restrained himself. ‘That’s the truth. Brain mutations are too dangerous for my liking.’

‘Except all your role models are psychic.’

‘Not all of them. But I wish YOU were psychic. Then maybe you’d be able to tell I’m not lying.’

‘Hmph.’

Page 3994

As everyone made their way up this dark tower, hoping to find a path to the surface, Roman finally deigned to give them some peace and quiet; and Loren decided to seize the opportunity in order to have a private conversation with Rezolo.

‘You okay, Rezo?’

‘Hmph. Why are you asking?’

‘Just checking in. Caster made me disappear from right in front of you. Then he teleported you, too. Now we’re here, involved in Void-knows-what.’

‘I’m fine.’

Agh. The reaper had always had a tendency to go quiet on him--which, in Loren’s experience, was somewhat rare for their kind. In some ways, that was a relief. Loren certainly appreciated not having to deal with a motormouth all the time like many of his contemporaries had to, but it did have its downsides, too.

He decided to keep pushing. ‘What do you make of these people so far?’

‘They’re dangerous.’

No kidding. ‘Darksteel mentioned wanting to poach us from Caster.’

‘I wouldn’t put too much stock in that, if I were you.’

A part of Loren wanted to protest. To ask why. But a stronger part of him was already in agreement with the reaper.

It felt naive in countless ways. A childish hope. And the child in him had died during the Vaelish Civil War. Just think about it. Poach them? Why would Darksteel do that? He didn’t know the first thing about them.

And besides, Caster had been a fine boss, hadn’t he? Supremely strange, but fine. Better than anyone Loren had worked under before.

Pah. ‘Poach.’ That word wasn’t even correct, was it? Darksteel didn’t want him for his skills. Darksteel just pitied him. Viewed him as a slave under Caster’s thumb.

But then... wasn’t he?

Idiot. Why was he trying to feel offended at the thought of being pitied? Some sort of pride? There was no utility in that. There never had been. That was the first and most important lesson he’d ever learned.

Pride hadn’t saved his parents from the so-called “revolutionaries.” For all the “pride” and “dignity” that his father had maintained during that break-in, trying to appear strong, what difference had it made? He’d been gunned down just the same.

And then later, pride hadn’t saved those other kids in the forest, either. It hadn’t filled their bellies when they acted like they were too good to learn how to hunt. They were fine taking the food that Loren caught and prepped for them, but no. They couldn’t learn how to do it themselves.

That was probably why they got sick and died. And why he and the others survived. Mira and Kaul. Trill and Stoker. They didn’t let pride get in the way. They did whatever it took to survive.

Page 3993 -- CCCXX.

Chapter Three Hundred Twenty: ‘Thy piercing gaze...’
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Loren Lighteyes was trying his best to simply follow the group in silence, but this hyper-talkative Roman fellow was making that task quite difficult. The man kept asking questions, doubtless wanting to build a rapport or some such thing. Gather intel, maybe.

Perfectly reasonable, given the circumstances.

But Loren just wanted to observe. That was always what he preferred to do whenever circumstances became too difficult to wrap his head around.

How the hell had he ended up on a mission to Intar? Maybe the worst place in the world for members of Abolish to go.

And with people he barely knew, to boot? What the fuck was even happening, anymore? He’d thought that throwing his lot in with Caster Egmond would make for quite the dramatic shift in his life’s trajectory--hopefully for the better--but this was even more dramatic than he’d anticipated.

Which was to say nothing of the revelation that Caster was actually some sort of... ancient entity. Or possessed by one, maybe. Loren still didn’t quite understand that development, and Caster and Kalikos hadn’t been terribly forthcoming with explanations, either.

Maybe he just needed to be more direct, though. Ask straight up about who “Zirat” really was. Rezolo’s attempts to glean new information had probably been too subtle or indirect. Easily answered with vague nonsense--which seemed to be Kalikos’ specialty.

That was easy to say, though. Just be direct. Sure. Just ask one of the most terrifying people he’d ever met to explain all his deepest, darkest secrets to him. No sweat.

Agh.

This new guy, though. Darksteel. Loren had to acknowledge that there was definitely something crazy going on with him, too. He didn’t seem scared of Caster in the slightest--in fact, sometimes, it almost seemed like the other way around.

Which Loren found truly baffling.

From everything he’d seen so far, this Hector guy seemed surprisingly... nice. Welcoming. Protective, even.

But he also couldn’t quite shake that lingering first impression he’d gotten back in Boland. The feeling of quiet danger.

Such a strange mixture. And growing stranger by the minute, Loren felt.

Madder still, he couldn’t get Darksteel’s words out of his mind. The guy had basically said, right to Caster’s face, that he intended to poach Loren from him.

Was that real? A joke? Loren had no idea. And it was bothering the hell out of him.

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Page 3992

Perhaps a bit too much, actually. The horns were starting to feel a bit painful. They needed to be tempered. Another layer of keratin? Ah, but too much might render them inert. The sensitivity was to be useful, wasn’t it?

Only for physical matters. For spiritual essence, that would not be a problem.

What? Who said that? Chergoa? No. Huh? Emiliana?

Agam?

Agh.

That pain was getting sharper. Needed a decision. Keratin coating? No, use the plant proteins. They could protect, too.

More green. More buds. Argh, this was difficult. Unfamiliar territory. They were really pushing it now, weren’t they?

Pain. Elsewhere. Not focused on the horns but along her skin. Little specks. Pellets? Seedlings? Spores.

Why did we need those? You’re going overboard.

Stop asking questions and just see for yourself. Our minds were one, weren’t they?

Sure, but it wasn’t that simple, either. We were still new this, remember?

Are still new? Were still new? When?

Agh.

Okay, that was enough. They had to ease up.

Had to separate again.

The pain heightened for one final spike, and then everything blinked. Everywhere. All of existence. Gone, then back.

And Emiliana groaned as she slowly came to the realization that she felt like herself again. Alone with her thoughts again.

She felt grass on her face. Oh no. She hadn’t tried to--that couldn’t have been what she--!

Oh. It was just because she was on the ground. The grass was from this little sanctuary. Not growing out of her face.

Phew. Yeah. Wow. Gradually, she opened her eyes and pushed herself up onto her knees.

She focused on her breathing. How steady it was. How calm she felt.

How free.

Geez.

Dopamine was still hitting, huh? That sure felt nice. Made her feel like... maybe this power of hers wasn’t the worst thing in the world, after all. Not just a curse to be endured.

Maybe.

She looked around. Ah, her slightly obscured vision hadn’t changed, apparently. Damn. She’d wanted to fix that, but after thinking about the mess that she’d just gone through, maybe it was for the best that she hadn’t thought to tackle that, too. She could always try later.

She didn’t see the reaper, though. ‘Chergoa? Where’d you go?’

No response.

A pang of worry struck her chest as she stood up and began searching through the grass.

It didn’t take long. Chergoa was right there, though barely recognizable. An ethereal, amorphous lump on the ground.

Emiliana dropped to her knees and scooped her up, pulling her close.

Shit. Chergoa had acted all calm collected through that whole thing, but truth was obvious now, wasn’t it? She’d been pushing herself incredibly hard.

Tears welled up. Uncontrollable. Gratitude and anger intertwining. Stupid reaper. Going that far for her. She struggled not to start sobbing.

Page 3991

How could that possibly be? When all around them was only death? How could there be life in the center of the Dáinnbolg?

She reached out to it.

It reacted.

Strongly.

Extremely strongly.

What in the hell was happening? The world around her felt like it was shaking. And closing in. All at once. Light flashed across the vision of her mind. Thunder crashed from the non-existent sky. And green. Sight and scent. Everywhere. Converging.

She couldn’t help but panic. Retreat. Pull back, but to where? Didn’t matter. Wherever her mind could take her?

Chergoa?

Emiliana?

Chaos. Black and roiling. It felt like she hit the ground. Fallen on her side? Or was that a wall? Did reality even exist anymore? Where was her mind, right now?

Lakefire. The mutation was still ongoing. Without her. Without either of them.

What was it doing?!

They concentrated. Had to get it under control. Figure everything out. Make sense of the world. Of this body.

The horns had changed. She could sense them. All four of them. The bottom two had stretched across her cheeks and touched her ears. More like handles now. Ugh. And the top two had grown up and out. Taller. More prominent than ever.

More noticeable.

It took all of her self-control not to utterly hate herself. Chergoa must have been helping with that.

They steadied themselves. Calm. Quiet. Ready.

Now. Was there anything else? Just the four horns changing? If so, then--

No. There were more now. Along her arms. The backs of her hands. Stubby horns had grown out at intermittent points. Just like the ones on her face had been.

God. Why?

No. It was okay. They were fine, see? In fact, they looked kind of neat, didn’t they?

Oh, shut up.

No. You shut up. And really look at ‘em, instead of just freaking out again. The horns weren’t totally brown and gray like the ones on her face had been. There was a bit of green in them, around the flat tops. What did that tell you, huh?

Green...

Hmm. What did that tell her? She could feel something more there. Life. Budding potential? Like with her vines? Could they grow leaves or flowers, too, if she wanted?

More.

Yes.

Much more.

Those horns were connected to her very bones. Of course they were. That was what horns were, anatomically speaking: protruding bones covered in a tough shell of keratin, the same protein that composed hair.

And these little horns... they were feeding into her brain, too. She could sense their form as clearly as her own fingers and toes.

There was some kind of extra sensitivity there, she realized.

Page 3990

Hmm. Maybe so. It was pretty tempting, wasn’t it? Real power at our fingertips.

But be careful.

Of course.

They moved together. Further. Deeper. Madega filled their minds.

Those teal leaves. There was something in that, wasn’t there? Some unifying force within that ancient coloration. A hallmark of the ancestors.

She wanted that. The added familiarity. The added warmth. Maybe it was nothing. Just sentimental nonsense. But she wanted. Desperately.

Fine.

From the vines, they budded out quickly. Tiny leaves. Numerous and teal. So many. Almost like a coating of feathers. They didn’t connect to her skin, though. They stayed on the vines, which also continued to grow and splay.

They were getting quite long now, weren’t they? Perhaps it was time to slow down.

No. There was new life there. Don’t you see? Mobility. Freedom. With a bit more, they would be able to control the vines like limbs.

What?

Yeah, see? Look. Look how they could move. They were prehensile, now.

Okay, okay. But this was already more than we agreed. We should ease off the gas.

Why?

These connections were beautiful. This network. All concentrated back into her brain. Hundreds of movable tendrils, covered in leaves, able to flower at a moment’s notice.

Able to touch the world around them in new ways. To feel it.

To read it.

There. The tree again, see? It was an open book now. All its pages laid bare. Not that there was much to learn. Already, she craved more. The grass here. The bushes. None of it was enough. It was all too quaint. Too modest. Too naive.

She longed to visit a real forest. Now there would be knowledge. History. It would be incredible. She knew it would.

Without even thinking, she could feel herself reaching out.

To where? Her hand was on the tree again, but that wasn’t it. That wasn’t what she wanted. What she craved.

No, she was reaching far. Far, far. Beyond herself. Beyond this room. To the next sanctuary of green. There had to be one out there. She sensed it.

Agh, so far. This stupid Library. This stupid storm. On this stupid continent. Killing all the green. Never letting anything regrow. Such hatred and cruelty. Was there truly nothing to be found? Only dead earth and rocks? Stubborn old buildings and caged misery? Unnatural souls. Wrong, all of it. Ugly. Hateful.

Really? Nothing green left?

Ah! Over there. A distant speck. A verdant glimmer. Where, exactly?

In the heart of the storm.

Next page on the 23rd

In the meantime, here's a joke for you.

The other day, I hit my funny bone, and I got really mad at it, because it kinda ruined my afternoon. I mean, can you believe that? The nerve.

Page 3989

It did. It certainly did. And there was more, wasn’t there? Now that they were looking for it, they could see it with relative clarity.

This tree’s history. How far back it went. They could even see who’d planted it.

Not Gohvis. Hah. It really was the beetle-man. Her earlier guess had been spot on. What was his name? Emiliana didn’t--

Lucanus. Ah. Chergoa had learned it, hadn’t she? Always asking around and gathering intel. Of course she knew.

Hmph. Was there a hint of disapproval in that tone? What was so wrong about asking questions, huh? Had to find some way to fill the time while they were stuck here.

Heh. Sure. We both knew it went beyond that, though, didn’t we? There was no point in playing dumb, now. Scheming was one of your favorite activities, wasn’t it?

Uppity girl. Just ‘cuz a few things are suddenly clearer, don’t think you’ve got the whole world figured out. I’ll always have my secrets.

Yeah, okay.

They were abruptly interested in talking to Lucanus, now. He seemed like a pretty intimidating guy, even by the high standards of Gohvis’ other followers. But if he had a soft spot for the natural world like this, then maybe he wasn’t so scary. Maybe she could find some common ground with him.

Right now, though, the mutation was still ongoing. Still processing in her mind. How odd. That she could multitask so easily like this.

Was it odd? Seemed pretty normal, at this point.

It wasn’t, you little freak.

Whatever.

The vines kept growing. Kept extending. Falling down to her shoulders like a new layer of hair. Tiny leaves began to sprout here and there, and yes, even a few flower buds, green and waiting.

When should they stop?

That was the question, wasn’t it? She felt like she could keep going forever. And why shouldn’t she? It felt so nice, for a change. Such comfort and control.

Easy there. These changes were permanent, remember? And you still had your whole life to experiment with new things. No reason to take things so far on this first real try.

Maybe so. But this also felt like a rare moment. She was somehow certain that it wouldn’t be so simple to get herself back into this same headspace. This state of consciousness. Lakefire, it might even require another month of meditation, right?

That was highly unlikely. Progress had been made. But you were still worrying, weren’t you? Just in a new, weirdly confident way.

She disagreed. It sounded like YOU were the worrywart, this time. C’mon. They could handle a bit more, couldn’t they?

Page 3988

The urge to panic arrived again, but it had no teeth. Everything was fine. They remained calm. This was her wish, too, wasn’t it? Her love of plants made manifest.

Did she want a sunflower in her hair?

No, that would be too much, surely. Too ambitious, don’t you think?

Why? They had so much room to work with here. Emiliana had already put this off for so long. Gained knowledge through study. Experience through meditation. Especially that last one, where she’d nearly gotten lost.

She could feel them, couldn’t she? Structurally, she understood them well enough, didn’t she? Albumins. Globulins. Prolamins. Glutelins. She was already wielding them, see? The proteins of botanic life. Merging with the keratin she already wielded. She didn’t need all of them here, unless she wanted to get crazy.

...Did she want to get crazy?

Okay, you needed to calm down. Power tripping wasn’t going to help anything, right now.

The temptation was certainly understandable, though. And what a difference it made, this feeling. Where before she’d felt afraid, now there was so much to look forward to.

Their hand had found the madega tree, they realized.

Wait. Madega tree? No, it wasn’t a madega. That hadn’t changed. She’d just gotten confused.

See? They were still confused. Don’t be so overconfident.

Fine, maybe that was a good point.

But still. The vines had so much room to grow. And she didn’t have to be afraid of them. They could be beautiful, just like she wanted.

More tiny horns emerged from within her hair, connecting with the vines, too. She could feel the link deeply. Like they were tapping directly into her brain.

Yes. That was it, wasn’t it? What she’d wanted all along? To modify her brain.

Wow.

Somehow, this whole process was feeling so satisfying. Dopamine release? Was she doing that herself? Or was it just happening as a side effect? Must’ve been a side effect, surely.

The tree again. Her mind kept going back to it. True, it wasn’t a madega, but she still felt a connection to it like never before. She could sense its full structure in her mind, even when looking the other way. Even with her eyes closed. She could sense every single leaf as if it were connected to her own body. Every hidden bud within its canopy. Ah, yes, it was indeed a birch. The catkins were not flowering, but she could sense where they would.

They had not flowered in a very long time, however. More than one season, certainly. In fact, perhaps they never had. How strange. Was it the fault of this peculiar environment? They were indoors, after all. Hardly an ideal location.

Hold on... How did she know how long it had been? Didn’t that go a bit beyond mere physical senses and botanical knowledge?

Page 3987

And indeed, the pressure on her mind seemed to lighten. The weight. The urgency. They didn’t vanish, but they felt abruptly more manageable. Like she could hold on a bit longer, perhaps.

Like the burning sun in her hand wasn’t about to reduce her to cinders.

She could feel her body again, as well. Her breath, too.

And Chergoa was there. Right there. Closer than ever before. It was so odd. Warm and welcome, but odd.

Thoughts began to stir, and she couldn’t even tell who they belonged to.

Of course she couldn’t. That was kinda the whole point, right? Silly girl. Stop being such a worrywart, already.

This pressing mutation. They could manage it. A burning sun in her hand, huh? No. That was the wrong way of perceiving it. Self-evidently problematic. Easily fixed, though. Perception was a simple enough thing to manipulate.

Not an orb, anymore. Now it was a little kid waiting in line. And not just any kid. It was Emiliana herself. A child, standing there patiently. Obedient. Calm. Not in a rush.

Familiar, eh? Being rebellious was overrated, after all. She’d always felt that way, hadn’t she? She’d learned how not to behave from Gema. And maybe Cisco, too.

Agh. Just thinking about them hurt, though. As annoying as they were, she ached to see them again. Ramira, too.

Marcos could wait a little longer. The brat deserved it.

Then again, perhaps it helped a bit that she already knew that he and Ramira were both safe with Hector and Papa. Less reason to worry about them.

Focus. It wouldn’t do to leave baby Emiliana waiting for long, now would it? Wait, she was a baby now? Not even a kid? Eh, sure, why not?

Together, they knelt down and took the child into their arms. A loving embrace. Nothing to fear. No worry to be found.

And finally, the change arrived. All at once. Still overwhelming.

The child wasn’t a child, after all. That was just a trick of perception. It had desires of its own. A will and a demand.

But they were also hers. She understood that now. Chergoa knew what to look for. When to push. When to pull. When to welcome. When to resist.

Of the four little horns that were stuck on Emiliana’s face, the two higher ones began to bud. Specks of green sprouted from them, slowly, slowly, ever slowly, turning gradually into vines and leaves, dangling down her cheeks and also splitting off to extend around her head. They reached behind her ears and attached themselves there, right into her flesh, where new horns--tinier ones--grew out as connecting points.

Page 3986

The ball of fire in her hand began to bubble. Moments from bursting. And she’d lost control.

Chergoa, please...!

‘I’m here, Em.’

She felt new life surge into her as those words found her mind. ‘Chergoa!’ Where was she? Emiliana still couldn’t see her. She couldn’t see anything.

‘Listen to me. We’re gonna merge. Right here. Right now.’

‘I--ah--but we’ve--’

‘Never done it before, yeah. But it’s okay. Pan-wzrost is way easier than the other hyper-states. There’s nothing to worry about.’

That sounded like a lie, but Emiliana appreciated the confidence in the reaper’s tone, at least. ‘What if it’s too soon for us?’

‘It’s not.’

Yeah, that was definitely a lie. ‘It’s not worth the risk, Chergoa. I’ll be fine. The mutation will only... it’ll only affect me... so... just... don’t--’

‘It’ll be fine. After we merge, I’ll take some of the mental pressure off you.’

‘But--you have even less experience than I do!’

‘Girl, I am three thousand years old. I’ve done this plenty of times.’

‘You’re lying...’

‘No, I’m not. You’re just panicking. Listen to my voice. I’m going to start the merge. Everything will be fine. Just don’t freak out when you start seeing all my memories. I’ve borne witness to some pretty fucked up shit, so just try and focus on the present, if you can.’

‘Oh, god...’

‘Here we go.’

And then Emiliana felt extremely strange. Like her mind was being stretched across her whole body. From her skull down into her feet. Nameless sensations filled her thoughts, pushing out anything logical or coherent, overwhelming her with foreign feelings.

Which was not entirely unfamiliar, oddly enough. This was, in some respect, how it felt when glimpsing Agam’s knowledge--or at least, it seemed to be. Somehow, this was putting those prior moments into a new context. A clearer view, when they’d previously been so confusing and vague.

Perhaps because this was so much more potent. There was no uncertainty about what was happening here. This was Chergoa’s mind melding with hers.

Present. She needed to stay present.

But there was so much. The reaper hadn’t been lying. Not about her history, at least. She really was three thousand years old, wasn’t she?

‘Don’t wander,’ came the reaper’s voice again, this time with much more power behind it, reverberating all around. ‘We’re together now. Stay with me.’

Emiliana listened. It took all she had, but she listened.

Page 3985

The procedure started. She felt it. Almost on its own. A transformation on the surface of her mind. She steadied it. Guided it. Traced its path along her skull.

She envisioned her desire. A new connection in her mind. A way to see more of the world. To reveal its secrets. In the trees, especially. In this tree, right in front of her. There was more it could tell. In her heart, she knew that to be true.

And Agam’s knowledge was there, too. Whispering to her. This was possible. Along with so much more.

But how, exactly? A new connection? With what materials? Proteins? Keratin? Injecting right onto the surface of her brain?

Fear was back. Doubt. Worry. And this time, they had teeth to them. Merit. Not killed so easily.

She felt herself faltering. What was she thinking? All this confidence? She was still so young. Inexperienced. Her first real attempt at using mutation was on her own brain? Had she gone mad?

Quite possibly. She and Chergoa hadn’t even utilized pan-wzrost yet. That hyper-state was supposed to be key for helping both integration and mutation users to expand their repertoire. Their material base. All she had currently was keratin.

Realistically. Logically. Reasonably. That was simply not enough.

Agam’s knowledge was the source of her confidence, but was that not still foolish? The man’s knowledge was not the man himself. Nor was it complete.

Chergoa. Where was Chergoa? Emiliana desperately wanted the reaper’s help, right now, if only to hear her voice. That always seemed to calm her.

But she felt so lost. Stuck in a labyrinth of her own mind with a burning orb in her hand. A raging star, threatening her with its plasma.

The mutation was ready. Waiting for her. She’d provoked it. Too late for cold feet now, it told her. Don’t succumb to fear. Where had all that certainty gone? Where was Agam?

He’d never been there, of course. She didn’t actually know him.

Agh. She was trembling now. Physically. She could feel it.

Chergoa. Chergoa, please...

She tried to reach out. With her thoughts. Were they getting through? She couldn’t even tell. She was stuck. In this headspace. Wherever it was.

The emotions were boiling now. She felt them all around her. Not touching her quite yet, thankfully. Not infecting her with their disorder. Their chaos. But they were right there. Ready to wash over her like a flood.

This was going bad. Of course it was. She was an overconfident child. An idiot out of her depth. And she was about to break. The mutation was going to be so bad. Worse than she could possibly imagine. A nightmare carved into her flesh for the rest of her life.

Page 3984

Nothing was making sense, anymore. She felt a deep sense of understanding; she felt like she had no idea what she was doing. She had confidence; she was more scared than ever. She wanted to accomplish something with her power for once; she knew that it could still go horribly wrong. She had all this new knowledge; she was still utterly ignorant.

What had all that meditation been for? Had she achieved anything? She still felt exhausted by it. Tired and hungry. Mentally drained. Maybe it would be better to stop worrying about this, for now. Try again later. After some more food. And sleep, maybe.

Yes.

Yes...

No...

No.

She felt like she could see what would happen to her if she did that. If she relaxed too much now.

She would lose her nerve. She would get comfortable again. Comfortable and complacent. And she would put it off. Rely on Sto to delay, delay, delay. Again and again. As much as possible.

Perhaps that was the real purpose of the meditation. To prepare her own mind. To wear down her defenses. Her mental blocks. To ready herself for precisely this decision. This moment.

This leap.

Yes. That was what it was, wasn’t it? Using her power deliberately. Strongly. With concentration and effort. The power that had gripped her with fear ever since she discovered it. She was jumping off a cliff here. She didn’t have the guts for it before, and if she let herself go back to normal, she would encounter the same story later.

She had to stop worrying so much. She had to take the leap.

Or maybe she already had? Maybe the changes had already started? She did feel a little different. But was that all it was? Just a feeling? No, she needed more. Something stronger. A greater sensation. Deeper.

In her mind. Maybe Gohvis was right. Maybe this was stupid. But caution was gone. Slain.

She could feel her own brain. In her hand. As if her forehead wasn’t even there. No skin. No skull. No blood. No flesh. Just her mind. Wrinkles and all. Physically. In her hand.

Fear reared up. She killed it. Disgust arrived. She tore it to pieces.

How?

Easiest thing in the world. They were nothing. Biologic illusions. Ghosts of the flesh, at most. They didn’t matter at all. Only she did, right now. Only her objective. Her purpose. Her knowledge. Her understanding. Herself.

Next page on the 15th

Thanks for reading, everyone.

Page 3983

History. Everyone. The Rainlords in their totality.

She could hardly believe what she was perceiving, right now. If homesickness was something that could be cured in an instant, then this might be the way it was accomplished.

She felt such familiarity and warmth. Indescribable to anyone who might’ve asked her.

But she did understand something like never before.

This was what madega trees were. What they were for. Why they’d been created.

Yes.

This was also why their physical characteristics could vary. Sure, the color of their leaves was always the same, but the shape was not. Some were long and thin, others flat and wide, while still others were small and angular.

It wasn’t just variance in the genus to which they belonged. It was because all madegas were, in fact, conversions of other dendrological subjects. Even the Great Madega Tree in the heart of Aguarey. That, too, had once been a different species.

How long ago?

Millennia.

She could see it. She could see them. The most ancient of her ancestors.

The Armans.

From so many angles. So many lives. Moments of love. Moments of strife. Families together in their homes. Battlefields ablaze. Laughter. Explosions. Was that Red Lake Castle being built?

Emiliana wanted to pause and watch it all. Sort through it in fine detail. But it was all too ephemeral. Too hard to latch onto with her mind.

Were you in there, Agam? You had to be, didn’t you? Even if your consciousness wasn’t there, your history must’ve still been visible. If she could just find it...

Agh.

Maybe if this tree was a madega. Maybe if she could transform it. Mutate it. Bend the world to her will. Her power.

It felt possible. She didn’t know why or how, but it felt that way.

She opened her eyes. She didn’t recall closing them, but it didn’t matter. The tree. She looked at the tree anew. Had it changed? Had she mutated it?

...No.

It looked entirely the same.

Same smooth, white bark. Same green leaves. Same feeling against her hand. Same presence in her mind.

Disappointment filled her head, pushing out everything else. Of course it hadn’t worked. When did anything go the way she wanted? She hadn’t even known what she was doing in the first place. All that studying she’d done, and for what? In the end, she’d just been moving according to her feelings. No reasoning. No logic.

Just wandering in the dark, trying not to bump into walls.

Her hand left the tree and found her forehead, instead.

Page 3982

Her ancestor?

Agam?

She’d been trying to learn anything and everything she could about him, but it was difficult. Even with Ibai gifting her Agam’s book, The Many Mysteries of Mutation, she hadn’t made much progress. That thing’s text was about as elucidating as a brick wall.

Or maybe she simply needed to open her mind a bit more. Being so rigid in her thinking wasn’t going to help her in the long run, even if it did have its benefits, in some ways.

She blinked.

Again, that didn’t seem like a thought that had originated with her.

Phew. She felt so strange, right now. Was Agam still alive in her mind? Or... did she simply possess knowledge from him?

She waited, but this time, no answer arose. Perhaps there was none to be found.

What she did know of Agam, at least, was that he was a brilliant mutator. It seemed to her that he could’ve been capable of some truly unprecedented things--things that she, inexperienced as she still was, couldn’t even imagine.

Maybe even some things that Gohvis didn’t know about.

What other explanation could there be for him wanting to study the anomalous link between them? If this link was somehow Agam’s doing, and Gohvis didn’t already understand it, then wasn’t that the logical conclusion?

Gohvis was trying to learn about Agam, too. Or about something he accomplished. Perhaps some sort of work or research that he left behind.

Careful, she told herself. Reading too much into Gohvis’ intentions was danger, she felt.

He was more volatile than he seemed. More emotional. More vulnerable.

More deadly.

Emiliana frowned. She didn’t need more reasons to fear Gohvis. Lakefire, she already felt like he might suddenly appear whenever her mind wandered to him, as if the very thoughts themselves could summon him.

But she wanted to stay on task here. Agam or not, the only thing that mattered at the moment was this mutation. If he was there with her, then he should focus on helping her, not distracting her.

Hmm.

She felt good for a change. In control of something for once. Even if it was only an illusion.

This birch tree. Her hand hadn’t left its bark. It was a fine thing. But it could be better. A proper conduction point. A true inheritance.

What?

Madega trees filled her mind. Images and memories. A sea. An ocean, even. Too grand, too vast, too much to perceive at once. But the feelings were there. Washing over her.

Page 3981

Yes. This was a better state of mind to be in. No fear. No turmoil. Just collected and confident.

Confident? She was confident?

Somehow, that realization surprised her. But she was. After all her training. Meditating. Studying. Learning about the nature of mutation. Obviously, she still had a long way to go, but...

Yes. She could handle it. She knew she could. Like a test that she’d spent too long preparing for. It used to scare her but not anymore. Now she just wanted to get it over and done with. To move on with her life already.

It was just a matter of deciding what to do with it.

She had ideas. She’d had them for a while now.

Perhaps she could do something about the obstruction in her vision. But the eyes were quite delicate, and oddly enough, she’d grown accustomed to it by now. It didn’t feel terribly urgent.

Madly, she was considering trying to modify her own brain. She knew she shouldn’t. Gohvis had already told her that it was the single-most difficult thing to conduct a successful mutation on, because any mistakes would be exceptionally punishing.

But it was still tempting because the rewards were, perhaps, proportional to that risk.

And of course, internal mutations were simply more appealing to her generally. She very much wanted to keep her outward appearance the same. These claws and horns were already bad enough. She dreaded the thought of making a change that couldn’t be concealed with gloves or a mask.

But no. She was being shallow and silly. Childish. The brain was too dangerous to even countenance at this point.

No, it wasn’t. She’d done it before. Quite easily, in fact.

She paused.

These thoughts. These feelings. Not hers, she realized.

And yet, she also... understood that they were. Even if they hadn’t originated with her, who else did they now belong to if not her?

Memories.

Memories of mutation. Long study. Not unlike what she’d been doing in these recent months.

There was no reason to be fearful, they told her. Gohvis was a liar. The brain wasn’t the most difficult at all.

The soul was.

He just didn’t want her pursuing that avenue of power and potentially disrupting his study. That was where their precious “link” resided, after all.

Emiliana had to stop and breathe as she processed those thoughts. Where were they coming from? How did she know these things? Why did they feel so compelling?

Next page tomorrow

Thanks for reading, as always.

Page 3980

Here. This next room. This was the one. Even before entering it, she could tell. And the moment her bare foot touched the grass, she immediately felt different. Not relief, precisely, but a sense of familiarity, at least. Belonging, even.

A calm came over her. The anger settled.

Then questions began to arise.

How were these plants even alive? There was light, but it couldn’t be from the sun, so where was it coming from?

There were lamps along the walls, just like the rest of Library, but there was one in particular--a suspended orb, brighter than all the rest combined. It was difficult even to look at, making her squint. Oddly enough, her previous mutations helped a bit, because one of them had obscured her vision slightly, adding a splotchy filter over her pupils that usually made it harder for her to see, not easier.

But here, the faint tint that it provided allowed her to see the orb’s shape despite its brightness--as well as the fact that it was hanging on a thin rod from the ceiling.

Her attention didn’t stay on that for very long, though. She could worry about it later. Right now, she only cared about the flora.

The green.

There wasn’t much. It was a modest chamber. But it was something.

And there was a tree. A real, live tree. A few shrubs. No sunflowers or roses, unfortunately. Or any flowers at all, apparently. But oh well. The tree alone was enough for her, right now. And the grass between her toes. She was abruptly glad that she’d gotten into the habit of meditating without shoes or socks on.

This tree, though. What was it? Smooth white bark. Large green leaves. Birch? Hmm. It seemed like a perfectly normal tree--which made it all the more peculiar, given where it was growing. She had a hard time imaging Gohvis planting this thing, so perhaps one of Gohvis’ followers was responsible?

She recalled seeing a beetle-man roaming around, from time to time. Even though she’d never actually spoken to him, this somehow felt like it might be his doing. That guess was probably wrong, though.

Chergoa was saying something, but Emiliana wasn’t listening. The feel of the bark on her palm was too important, right now.

Because despite everything else, despite the anger leaving her and returning to her mind, she still felt the pressing desire to harness her mutation power. Proactively. Properly.