Vikushak raised Hazahnahkah high, then swung low into a crescent sweep ending at his boots. The ceremonial form was flawless, and the functionality of it, loosely familiar.

  Nothing happened.

  For one, Hazahnahkah had no idea what the man wanted from him. What vague statement was this? A world without life and death? A world with no divide? These were vague demands, not that Hazahnahkah felt like fulfilling them. Ysan was now his wielder, even if she was not currently holding him. What Vikushak really ought to do is return the sword to her so he could remedy Bankanzaku’s poison.

  “HELLO?” Vikushak shook and screamed into his own reflection as he hunched over Hazahnahkah. “Do something! Creator Blade! Create a better world!”

  One of the men who had fallen battling Bankanzaku earlier had been crawling up as Vikushak raged. Hazahnahkah had wondered what he was trying to accomplish until he ran right up to Vikushak, stabbing his stomach with a dirk. Vikushak’s eyes bulged. He arched his back, the scream was silent as his breath was drawn out from his throat.

  It was Imra. He dropped his dirk, clearly shaken from what he had done, backtrotting as he picked up Hazahnahkah, eyes unable to tear themself away from the fallen Vikushak as if he’d caused a ferry crash.

  Then, strangely, Imra ran back to Bankanzaku, handing him the sword. “Dad. Let’s just go. Do we really need to kill Uncle Vikushak? Is The Sword worth that?”

  Ul blinked with disbelief. “Dad?”

  Bankanzaku took the sword and threw it towards Ysan. She touched it and gasped.

  It took seconds for Hazahnahkah to completely restore her, but it would take longer for her to restore her wits. “Why?” she gasped, choking on the word. The scarlet on her face faded. She breathed.

  “The sword only works for some. Why else would it work for you and not Vikushak?” Bankanzaku asked.

  Several more expeditioners stood up slowly, still armed, revealing that they were perfectly fine. They had been pretending to be dead, and now encircled Vikushak’s wounded survivors. They smelled just like Bankanzaku.

  Vikushak tiredly rolled in his own pool of dark red. “How can this be? You tricked me? You slid your children into my ranks?”

  “No tricks, brother,” Bankanzaku grunted, crawling up. “Imra was the first child I ever had here. He has always been by my side since his birth 19 years ago.”

  Vikushak cursed. “My merry gods man! How many children do you have?”

  “Not sure, but surely enough for an army. When we first arrived some 30 years ago I knew what was required of us, to return home with more resources, more power. But… after your betrayal… I think we best find other worlds… Seeing your face and remembering what you’ve done to me breaks my heart.”

  “Do you even have a heart after all the women you’ve shared it with?” Ysan asked.

  “I’ve shared my heart with no woman. My heart is for my brother. I hate women. I hate them because they couldn’t love him.”

  Ul grunted. “If you hate women so much, why not just kill them?”

  “What do you take me for, some kind of psychopath? Besides, I like seeing how miserable you look now. You deserve it for my brother’s scorn. You deserve not too much, not too little, but just enough to learn.”

  The man’s reason had been eclipsed by hatred caused by the love his brother lacked. A little bit of this man existed in every person in Serpent’s Ramble, and more than they’d like to admit. Hazahnahkah recognized at least that much, and it seemed Ysan did as well. She accepted Hazahnahkah back, still meeting Imra’s eyes with disbelief of all that she had learned.

  “I want to offer a trade,” Ysan said. “My help in using this… “Creator Blade” to have you travel to… wherever world that you came from… and your help in discovering for me a kind one where I can live.”

  Ul began pressing Ysan for explanation, whispering cautions and worries. They went back and forth until Ul was assured. Ysan and Ul were set on traveling together.

  Bankanzaku nodded. “I will humbly accept.”

  This. This was what Hazahnahkah had been waiting for. A wielder that would traverse lands with him. A master of his powers. A partner in search of his secrets—of his maker.

  “Then what should we search for?” Ul asked.

  Ysan went deep into her thoughts as if they lay beyond the cavern ceiling. “A world without people.”

  Before anyone could cry out, Ul’s voice was taken by a dagger’s point. Nearly a dozen of the unwounded expeditioners Bankanzaku called his children had sprung up in resonant rebellion. They began fighting. Bankanzaku was so startled by the betrayal that a man swept him from his feet. Five swift seconds passed, of screaming and fighting, which ended in Bankanzaku missing his other arm and leg, held up by his captors, his own kids. Of course they would best him.

  After all, they had guns.

  They were all clearly from somewhere far away. Hazahnahkah couldn’t recall their faces, for they all wore bandages around their mouths and massive goggles across their eyes. All besides Imra. The man was not a part of this. At the sight of his maimed father he had urinated himself and fallen back into it. Ysan was the only one who fought. She had kicked one man off the edge of the earth, only to send him into the waterrise’s mercy—which carried him all the way back up, up into a stalactite. He was impaled like a fish on a spear. The other she had struck down with Hazahnahkah. This, somehow, seemed more humane.

  But now she was frozen, unable to move at the threat on Ul’s life.

  The explorer who held her was still, yet tense, speaking slowly and precisely. “I remember you, Ysan… I liked you… You had gall. A tiny girl in our tiny tower, her sight, clothes, and life restored. Make the right decision. Kill Bankanzaku and spare your friend’s life. We’ll let you keep the sword. Why, we’d even let you join us.” He held out his hand. “You are Orphanspawn not by Bankanzaku, but most certainly by right.”

  Ysan’s eyes widened. Hazahnahkah was also surprised. This was the same man that had shot Ysan when she was a child. Now it all made sense, Bankanzaku had chased Hazahnahkah all the way to here, The Fawn Cities along Serpent’s Ramble. His children had been playing the long game—a trap on their no good father’s life. Hazahnahkah had only been bait.

  But Hazahnahkah did not remember any of these people until he’d crossed Ysan. He did not understand how they knew of him, how they found him, or why they would need him to get home.

  “I won’t do it,” Ysan said. “Bankanzaku and I have a deal. I need him to travel Serpent’s Ramble—to find Ul and I a new home.”

  “We can provide that,” the man said. “Now turn on the lights.”

  In the distance of the chasm there was a faint glow, like a titan’s lantern arising from a swampland crevice—and suddenly—it was there.

  The Tower.

  “You can call me December 11th, Father of the Abandoned Ones. I would love to tell you more, but the matter is urgent—you must take my father’s life. We have been binding ourselves overlong for our Uncle to betray him.”

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Bankanzaku sputtered blood. “No child who attacks me is a child of mine.”

  “Oh… I am your child… and by right what’s yours is mine—your life.” December 11th brandished a gun, hidden in his other hand. “Your life for Ysan’s.”

  Ysan kept the blade aimed at December 11th. “And you’ll let Ul free?”

  December 11th hesitated. “Ul, yes.”

  Ysan looked at Ul’s stomach, then back to December 11th.

  “Ul’s child is ours. Bankanzaku’s. Orphanspawn,” December 11th continued. “We’ve been tracking our father for quite some time. We know the whereabouts of all his children. When Bankanzaku’s heart stops for good, our bloodline must come to an end.”

  Ul whispered to herself in horror, a sheet of sweat glistened in the brightness of The Tower as she tried to stand straight.

  Ysan’s knuckles whitened. “In our village we don’t blame a child for the sins of their father.”

  “It takes a village to raise a child,” the man said back.

  Any man willing to kill someone who had not yet taken a breath for themselves in the world was evil. Bankanzaku would face judgement in The Fawn Cities, but his son—December 11th—needed to be stopped now.

  Hazahnahkah activated his First Terror, and his final one. This was truly an insidious power, and one he often tried to dismiss, for even he did not know the mechanisms which allowed it to function. It was unlike his Third Terror which was very much about manipulation and precision, nor was it similar to his Second Terror which formed anything. No—Hazahnahkah’s First Terror was very simple.

  Possession.

  Hazahnahkah possessed Ysan. His stats superimposing hers entirely:

  Health (source of vitality and abilities): 900,000,000,000

  Energy (source of stamina and abilities): 900,000,000,000

  Agility (speed of actions): 50,000

  Regeneration (rate of recovery per hour for Health and Energy): 100,000,000,000

  Tenacity (resistance to unwanted effects): 100,000,000,000,000

  Strength (physical or mental reality manipulation potency): 1,000,000,000

  [Hazahnahkah’s Abilities]

  Incarnate: A living object. Conventional methods of damage don’t apply.

  Masterful Listener: Anything physical can be analyzed and understood through focusing on an electromagnetic song that they emit.

  First Terror: Hazahnahkah fully possesses whoever holds him, overlaying his stats over theirs. He assumes full control of the physical organism. Killing the wielder is not possible in this state unless Hazahnahkah is slain or incapacitated first.

  Second Terror: Physically creates anything he fully understands. He cannot create things with Attributes higher than his own.

  Third Terror: Physically controls anything he fully understands. He cannot control things with Attributes higher than his own.

  Heal: Heals a visible target. Costs 10% of Energy for every 1% of Health healed.

  Raise: Revives a living organism within reach with 10% of their Health. Casting this on a living organism grants them [Reraise]. Costs Energy equal to 1000% of target’s Health.

  Attune: Grant [Attuned] to a wielder touching Hazahnahkah.

  Cherish: Grant [Cherished] to a wielder touching Hazahnahkah.

  [Hazahnahkah’s Conditions]

  Attuned: Has a reciprocal relationship with Ysan where one may be particularly sensitive to the other’s feelings and thoughts.

  Cherished: Both Hazahnahkah and his wielder have improved capacity to improve attributes, develop powers, and ideate new abilities via symbiosis.

  ???: A mysterious ability based on Ysan is developing through [Cherished]. Fully developed when the relationship reaches 100.

  (Debuff) Maimed: +50% damage from all sources. Source: Unknown.

  (Debuff) Libeled: Regeneration slowed by 50%. Source: Unknown.

  (Debuff) Pilfered: Effect unknown due to [Disassociation]. Source: Unknown.

  (Debuff) Disassociation: Hazahnahkah cannot maintain consciousness without a wielder, and has no recollection of events preceding Ysan picking him up. Source: Unknown.

  [Hazahnahkah’s Relationships]

  Ysan: Seen 90/100 → Devoted 99/100

  Hazahnahkah: Revered → Terrified 100/100 (an unknown ability has developed)

  Ysan’s mind was still hers, but her body moved to Hazahnahkah’s will. It was taboo to his own morality and ethics to do even this however. He had to make this fast, despite the fact that Ysan did not seem to mind at all—the grin on her face was her own. She had blinked and it was over. Or at least it should have been. She had flashed halfway across the chamber, plowing the man all the way across the other half. He had, amazingly, managed to parry the blow. This was no normal man. December 11th somehow kept pace with Hazahnahkah’s strikes, despite the fact that every strike was also a form of his Second and Third Terrors combined—strikes that never missed. Whatever was happening, Hazahnahkah himself did not understand.

  A roar tore through the cavern, deep and guttural, shaking dust loose from the ceiling. The ground lurched sideways as something massive struck it — hard. Stones cracked. The air shifted. Everything tilted.

  Bankanzaku was on his feet.

  His body twisted unnaturally as his ruined limbs regenerated. Flesh bubbled and hissed, swelling outward in uneven pulses. Torn muscle knotted itself back together. New skin pushed through the old in wet, blistering layers. Scales burst out along his arms and chest, hard and jagged like stained glass. His fingers stretched, splitting open as yellow knife claws pushed through nail beds.

  His jaw clenched as his spine popped into a new alignment. What was left of his wounds steamed in the cold air, sealing shut with patches of armored hide. He parted the battlefield utterly. His children fled into The Tower at the sight of him, but December 11th dove toward his father in rage. What Bankanzaku then did next, shocked everyone.

  One, two, three, four, five great cliffs he leapt, his fleshy raw and wounded form still bubbling. His eyes darted to the collapsing stone, then to the swarm of armed children he'd once made. For the first time ever, his grin disappeared. He turned without a word, and vanished.

  The last Hazazhnahkah saw of him was a tail.

  Bankanzaku was running.

  “Coward!” December 11th bellowed. “You’ll die here!”

  “Fool!” Vikushak cried. “The Serpent’s Tail is collapsing! Come back! You’ve doomed us all!”

  “Coward!” Hazahnahkah also yelled, but only to himself. “Ysan and you had an agreement! You must at least take Ul!”

  Absolute chaos broke out. Everyone was running—except December 11th. He turned his gaze to Ul. Ysan slid in his way, still pressuring him with resounding clashes which ripped apart the innards of the tunnels and filled the black with white. Hazahnahkah-Ysan manipulated the spatial reality of the chamber to kick December 11th into an endless fall while also protecting everyone else from the earth now caving, but even that wasn’t enough. She raised her arm, tickled the air with her fingers, and at that—more slashes came. Debris turned to mere dust, but December 11th remained. They crashed into the bottom of the chamber, Hazahnahkah impaled the man. He gasped, then three shots rang out.

  It happened so eerily similar to how Hazahnahkah first remembered Ysan being shot. Each one hit its mark, and Ysan collapsed—convulsing. Hazahnahkah revived Ysan, teleported her near Ul, shielding them and anyone else who had been warped here by his powers, and was immediately let go.

  Hazahnahkah, for the first time in his life, blanked in panic.

  What happened?

  Ysan’s arm was twirling through the collapse. The sword clattered to the cavern floor within it. His wielder was bleeding profusely.

  One of the Orphanspawn scowled at Hazahnahkah as she picked up the arm. It was still tight with white knuckles. Hazahnahkah was still possessing it with the powers of his First Terror.

  “Ferrytown taught you better, Ysan,” the Orphanspawn woman said.

  But it wasn’t Ysan’s failure that did this—it was Hazahnahkah’s. His consciousness was flickering. The blade realized in his horror that this was his only weakness. Wounds to even the much praised heart and brain were no greater than a cut from parchment, but a wound that severed his wielder’s touch from his brought ruin to the connection between them.

  “Ysan!” Hazahnahkah screamed. “Ysan!”

  Nobody could hear him. Nobody cared.

  Ul was quickly addressing Ysan who was now unconscious. Hazahnahkah gave one last attempt to protect them—he used his First Terror to swing him at the Orphanspawn woman. It cut open her face and she snarled, dropping him.

  “Grab me, Ul!” Hazahnahkah cried. “Grab me and save Ysan!”

  But Ul did not reach out, for nobody could hear him. She could have grabbed him and she didn’t. She could have grabbed him and been saved. Was she overwhelmed? Was she confused? Was she somehow unable? Hazahnahkah did not know.

  Hazahnahkah had no mouth, and Ul had made her choice.

  Humans always wanted to choose so much. They knew so little, and yet choosing was so important to them.

  So, Hazahnahkah rested halfway through a gateway between worlds in contemplation, wrestling with what he could have done to change what wanted no change at all.