The Grand Battle S2G1! [Round Six: Eddelin City]

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

---

She was not pleased. Still, she supposed it was to be expected; Konka Rar was a dangerous figure, or at the very least a disruptive one, and one that Packston's band would not want to walk around unexpectedly.

She should have gathered allies first, she thought. Stealthy ones. It would make her look more like Konka Rar if she could defeat four foes in front of an audience.

But instead, she was facing a muscular old man swinging a hammer at her, and a young woman with a bladed trombone. Along with Packston and a boy with floating gloves.

She had speed, but they had numbers. And she was too focused on avoiding them to mount an effective telekinetic offensive.

"Accelerando Slash!" Elimine shouted, and charged at her.

She stepped out of the way, only to find a pillar rising from the ground as she did. Packston!

The shift in terrain caught her by surprise. For a moment, she was disoriented. A moment long enough for Arkal's hammer to strike.

She was knocked to the ground. Steven's gloves quickly crafted a chain and bound her with it. She tried to toss it off her, but Arkal had already grabbed her before she could.

"Now then," Packston asked, "who exactly are you? I doubt this is how Konka Rar fights."

And then a man appeared behind Arkal. He was holding a crowbar, and struck the smith in the head with it. The crowbar bent, but the old man still fell to the ground.

"Sorry for the disturbance!" he said calmly as Arkal's grip loosened and "Konka Rar" freed herself from the chain. "But this is someone I'd very much like to talk to."

Elimine came closer. Then three more people appeared, these ones holding guns and pointing them at Packston's group. A fourth appeared at Arkal's unconscious body, holding a sword to his throat.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said the man with the crowbar. "We weren't planning on ending the round just yet, but it's not out of the question. Don't give us a reason to, hmm?"

Packston sighed.

"Stand down," he told the others.

Emily and Cole arrived soon after. The strangers, and whoever had been in the black cloak, were gone.

"Arkal's hurt," Packston said. "We need to take him back to base. And we need to discuss matters further."

***

"Why can't see the Hand of Silver?"

"As I have said," Reinhardt sighed, "the Hand of Silver is preoccupied with our struggle against the monsters which plague New Battleopolis. He would love to meet with you, but we need to eliminate the threat of the nonhumans first."

The knight looked over the assembled crowd of newcomers.

"But if you would like to assist us in our battle, you would of course be more than welcome. That would speed matters up considerably, and then of course the Hand of Silver would be free to discuss any matters you wish."

There was a low murmur among the strangers as they discussed Reinhardt's offer.

Behind his mask, Reinhardt smiled. He was certain they would accept.

***

"What do you want?" she snapped. Pleased as she was to have escaped, she didn't like being indebted to these strangers.

Crowbar, as she'd mentally named her rescuer, simply smiled.

"We'd like to talk to your brother before we leave. Unfortunately, Mr. Reinhardt hasn't been cooperative in this respect; he's made an offer, but he wants a favor from us first. We thought that perhaps you could help us sooner."

"And why should I?" she asked.

"Aside from the fact that we just rescued you? Well, as it turns out, I have another very good reason why you should help us."

He paused, and said one word.

She sighed. That was reason enough.

"Very well," she agreed, reluctantly. "But you must speak that name to no one else."

"Of course, of course. Our lips are sealed. As long as you cooperate, naturally."

A few meters away, John Smith tried to stifle his laughter at what he had just overheard. It was always nice to have a little extra leverage.

***

"A smithing contest against the King of the Dwarves?" Arkal asked, raising an eyebrow.

"That's right," the young nobleman said. "My father has been engaged in a land dispute with the dwarves for some time now. But both sides are stubborn. Finally, I convinced my father to challenge them to a contest, and the Dwarf King insisted on smithery."

"And so you want me to be your smith?"

"The King specifically said 'if you can find me a human, any human, who can best me in smithery, I'll give you that land.' And then I heard you were passing by."

Arkal considered it.

"And as payment?"

"Five thousand coin in advance. And, should you win, any material you wish on the new land. My father is primarily interested in mining the gold and silver, and has little interest in any other minerals. I know you, on the other hand, may be interested in some for your crafting projects."

"It's a deal," Arkal replied. The five thousand coin alone was a worthwile offer; indeed, it was enough that he'd have to return home for a proper celebration. And the prospect of new materials was always exciting.

One week later, the contest was arranged. Arkal sat in the Grand Hall, and lay down his anvil and forge. He bowed to the King of the Dwarves.

"I am Arkal the Smith," he said simply. "On behalf of Sir Norbert of Candrus, I have come to challenge you to a smithing contest."

The King sized him up, and spoke. He clapped his hands, and three dwarves carried a silver anvil into the room. A fourth handed the king a small hammer. Six carried in a forge, twice the size of Arkal's.

"Greetings, Arkal the Smith. I am King Lanath of the Silver Anvil. I accept your challenge."

That was it. There were no more words between them; both simply went to work, crafting the finest weapons they could, with materials provided by the dwarves at either contestant's request.

They worked for three hours, and a gong sounded. Time was up, and both had finished.

King Lanath had made a battleaxe. Its handle was long, longer even than a standard spear, but the dwarf had balanced it excellently. He handed it to Arkal for inspection. The smith gave it a few practice swings, smiled, and handed it back. Truly the king was a skilled smith.

But Arkal still had his own weapon to present. It was a large gauntlet, so large that it could fit over his entire arm. He handed it to the king.

Despite the gauntlet evidently being designed for a human-sized arm, Lanath found he could put it on comfortably. There were mechanisms inside allowing him to control it. He charged towards Arkal and threw a punch.

The smith was out cold.

When he came to, he found the young nobleman and the Dwarf King standing over him.

"Congratulations," Lanath said, smiling. "You have bested me. Apologies for the blow there."

"It's nothing," Arkal grumbled. "And thank you."

"Ah, but this weapon is amazing! I never thought anyone could craft a gauntlet which could be wielded effectively by a human or a dwarf! This is a masterpiece! In fact, I shall grant you an additional prize."

He pointed to his anvil.

"This is now yours, Arkal of the Silver Anvil."

Arkal picked up his forge and chained it up. Then he removed the chain from his own anvil and attached them to the silver one.

"I thank you. I shall craft on this with pride, and I shall think of your people when I do."

And so he left, pleased.

The next morning, he returned to pay his respects to the dwarves, and to look for materials to claim as payment.

What he found were a hundred dwarven bodies. He recognized King Lanath's among them.

He stormed towards his patron's manor, enraged. He didn't expect to run into the man well before then.

"You've seen it then," the young man sighed. "I swear to all the Gods, I never wanted this. I wanted a peaceful resolution! But my father... I never realized how much he despised the dwarves. Once that land was his, he ordered his men in to slaughter them before they left."

The young man was in tears.

"The law of this land does not protect the dwarves. What my father did was completely legal."

Arkal's fury grew.

"You mean to tell me that I've been used, hundreds have died because of me, and the law says there's nothing I can do about it?" he screamed, shaking the young man.

"I'm afraid so."

Arkal growled.

"We'll see about that." He put on his gauntlet, and carried Lanath's battleaxe. "We're going to have a talk with the King, and there's going to be a new law tomorrow. It may be too late to punish your father, but I'll be damned if I let anyone like him commit a crime like this again."

He stared the young nobleman in the eye.

"I am Arkal of the Silver Anvil, and I swear that from this day on, I will never allow humans to slaughter and abuse non-humans with impunity!"

***

Arkal woke up.

"Urgh. What happened?" he groaned.

"Someone appeared out of nowhere and hit you with a crowbar," Packston replied. "Konka Rar, or rather the impostor, escaped. We've regrouped back here."

"And I've been telling him he shouldn't have interfered like that," Emily said with a scowl. "While also treating your head wound. You've got a hard head, but it's not invincible."

Arkal then realized something was missing.

"My anvil. Where's my anvil? And my forge?"

"Calm down. Your gear is in the back room. It was too heavy for us to carry along with you," Emily said. "But we managed to salvage it. Packston insisted."

Arkal breathed a sigh of relief, and ran back to claim his anvil and forge.

"Thank you. These are both very important to me."

He noticed that Packston and Emily seemed to have resumed their argument quickly in his absence. Nonetheless, they stopped again when the doors swung open.

"Hey! You guys!" Holly shouted, annoyed. "I've got something you might be interested in."

She held up the silver orb.

"This needs a human. You've got some. Give me some shelter and it's yours, no fuss."

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

---

Interesting

but I refuse

The man smiled, without a hint of malice.

"That's quite all right! It shan't matter in the wider scheme of things whether you do or not."

How about in my scheme of things then

what of my shattered world and missing friend

does lending your apparently limitless potential extend to such a piddling matter in your beauteaous future ruins where the grandmasters once stood

"Hey, one thing at a time, cool? We're still searching for the necessary equipment, but once we've got it we can easily execute a memetic scan across everyone registered on the Network-"

Xadrez smacked the man with his free hand, hefting a stone chess piece.

Ive heard enough

Ive lost patience in your procrastination

do you take me for an idiot

I know tactics and the laying of a trap and I am beginning to doubt you have the aptitude or lack of raw ability to necessitate such meticulous planning

I may be forgivven for concluding that you amalgam you inelegant brute are merely stalling

and that kracht was right

and regardless of that being true or not I will not suffer

being played

like a fool

---

Hans Sliverman's eyes snapped open. Another nightmare, ending in those same fateful words.

"You'll never wake up."

He merely blinked blearily - far too used to his call to consciousness - and extricated himself from the window by which he'd slept. Ignoring the fire escape he'd climbed to reach his perch last night, he leapt into the alley with a flawless landing three floors down.

Hans' chief regret right now (he had a lot) was not that he hadn't eaten in a week. Rather, he regretted that he hadn't had to.

The man in the tyrant shell sighed, and disengaged his assorted proximity sensors and lifesign alerts. Those could warn of unwelcome attention in the night, but signals like that would only attract it on Battleopolis' streets.

With resignation, he pulled his hoodie up over his tyrant face, and proceeded with his transient life.

---

Jen, meanwhile, was elsewhere. It wasn't green, and other than that it was a concertedly generic landscape seemingly inhospitable to adjectives, but not particularly hospitable to anything else (though that wasn't to say it was inhospitable). It was neither pleasant nor threatening, and Jen thought very little of it beyond a mild expectation of something waiting to happen.

Something verdant this way came, at an ungainly-elegant lope. The creature seemed some jellied amalgam of bird and eel and lizard, and chattered a greeting as it approached Jen. It had front limbs like a crane's legs, yet strutted on its twiglike toes, and only had a tail where its back half should've been.

It glowed like a unicorn in lime, and a tingling in the back of Jen's eyeballs told her this was an envoy of the Place. She reached out to pet it, but a tingling on the front of her eyeballs reminded her of Kracht.

"Hello," she ventured, instead. The envoy pricked up its crests, surprised she said things it understood.

"Sunrise," it replied, apparently with the implication it was happy to see the girl, albeit on some benefactor's behalf. Radiation's tickle aside, Jen was glad for the creature's affection, the kind she supposed you'd expect from an old family pet. She studied the creature's rather rudimentary neon face for the usual signs of intelligence, but it merely grinned.

"So, what happened? Am I dead?"

"Metal and smoke." An unwelcome idea. Its claws tapped pensive on the forgettable earth, as it tried to string ideas together. "Roots burrow, burrow. Deepest sunlight-" Jen somehow parsed that was her, "-the brushed-ones and the fount. Envoy's end, envoy's bliss, by leaf and vine and Tender.

Poisoned water. Poissoned water." The way it flowed into every crack, seeking weaknesses in the stone. Spoiling fruit and rotting ancient hearts. Jen laughed a bit at that.

"You speak French?"

It cocked its head to one side, and blinked. It knew confusion, but knew nothing which was a metaphor for it.

"Flood," it chirped. Something inexorable, inescapable, and irritatingly non-specific (to Jen's comprehension of this banana-brained metaphor mess.) She slumped down in whatever grew in the soil here, and scowled at her unicorn.

"Come on, doc. I know this is tough for both of us, but just give it to me straight. You're from the Place, right?"

"Smoke."

"Oh. You're... a battler, then?"

"The palanquin." It was referring to itself, but more about the associated aspect of uncertainty. "Rhizome, leaf mould. Leaves-" and their rustling, their noise- "smoke."

"Wait, someone from the Place sent you? To find me?"

"World Tree," replied the creature, but it shivered. Jen missed the metaphor that time, sitting up sharply.

"The World Tree?"

"World Tree!" trilled Sen. The girl was about to ask it lead her to it, but it was already cantering off across the landscape. Jen stared for a moment, then scrambled to her feet and gave chase.

Originally posted on MSPA by Lord Paradise.

---

Jen’s connection to Yggdrasil was broken alongside her crown. She’d summoned it just last round, her and Fantha and the Ovoid and Kracht... ”World-tree,” the thing had said. An envoy of whom? She thought back to her mythology. The world-tree fed from two wells, one tended by the Norns, mistresses of destiny, another by Mimir, of wisdom. But one could never trust these myths—“Who sent you?” she asked.

”Sen!t!” It sounded like some sort of joke. Odin, according to some myths, gave his eye for a drink of Mimir’s well; infinite widsom would probably be useful about now, considering present circumstances. “Talk straight. Who put you in my dream?”

”Aquatic/terrestrial; carpel; sweet nectar, choking vine. Venus fly trap!” Jen was having difficulty paying attention. Her dream was empty now, but wasn’t functioning chronologically; she saw a red parasite crawl across her brain in the past, a green one in the future. ”Blue orchid,” riposted the envoy.

“Stop talking in album titles. How long is this going to take?”

”Spring.” It had been cool on the streets of Sk’Va, Jen had thought, but the water was warm... where was she? Had she dried off yet? ”Rain.”

”Out of my thoughts!”

”Concentric rings.” She was dreaming. Pain, but no sense of danger. She tried to open up the eyes inside her head, but the dream went on. Just as well. Clearly she had something to do here.

The envoy had stopped in the middle of the, um, expanse; or else, Jen supposed, had stopped in such a way as to define a center. Sen came to a halt in the middle of Battleopolis’ Central Park, waving away a distant sense of familiarity. As if dusting off its shoulder the (unicorn?) produced a spherical green... something. A crystal ball. Sen began to dig a nice plot for the World Tree, sensing, somehow, that there was no time to wait for sunlight. Jen, when prompted, looked inside the crystal ball and saw the World-Tree inside—or no, some sort of twisted reflection of Yggdrasil, a tree of anti-world, destruction, freefall. ”Natural process,” joked the envoy, tossing the seedpod up in the air. The seed, once buried, sprouted, helped along by some perfectly manicured green thumb from another world. Sen took watch, noting several potential threats approaching.

New Battleopolis’ first and greatest imposter of Konka Rar addressed his congregation. “My Awakened Ones,” he said, casting a hand over the park, “Behold. One of our fellows has planted a tree in the once-lush park of this city. Such a sweet, benevolent act from such a simple creature. A worthy alternative to the unfortunate pattern of conflict which has marked our time of awakening. Sadly, whereas this war may tear the city to shreds within a matter of days, a tree such as this may take centuries to reach its full height. If only there were some way we could help it along...?” The Master of Time gave his very smarmiest smile from within the depths of his cloak, where no one could see.

”Ooh! Ooh!” came the voice of Sir Arnold Scarlet. ”Lord Konka Rar! You can use your powers of time to accelerate its growth!”

”A capital idea, Sir Scarlet! Let us do so at once.” The Chrono-Conqueror marched across the park, thinking to himself that if it wasn’t springtime (who could keep track of these things) then it ought to be. A serene peace, bolstered by ocnfidence in the rightness of his purpose, washed over him only to be shattered when a lumbering mass of Tender blindsided him and pinned him to the ground.

Everything slowed down, thanks to a certain someone’s time powers. That bought him several seconds watching the thing’s concentric rows of teeth slowly approach him before Kerak tackled it and gave him a window to roll to his feet.

The imposter dusted off his cloak and approached the fledgling tree (which, oddly enough, had already sprouted). His hope was that when the plant’s protector saw the benefit that Time Itself was imposing upon the tree, it would give up its wrestling match against his pet dinosaur. It probably wouldn’t be very Konka Rar-like of him if he couldn’t so much as help out a tree without murdering a simpleminded gardener.

He held his hand out—

”Everybody stop what you’re doing!”

Quantos turned around to see the absolute last person he wanted to see right now. Konka Rar stood before him in all his resplendent glory, backed by a frumpy but snappily-dressed young man who the time traveler didn’t recognize. ”This man is an imposter,” said the newcomer. ”After I teach him some manners, the rest of you will come with me. We have important work to do.”

Quantos, somewhat at a loss for words, drew his staff. Hopefully Konka Rar wasn’t as tough as the legends said.

Jen woke up with a pounding headache. The hospital bed was empty. She’d had a dream that Kath was back and something bad was taking root in her brain... Lying next to the bed was a typewriter. Written on the typewriter was the following:

Jen:

Hi. I’m Etiyr. I’m a typewriter. I’ve been informed you’re used to some weird shit, so hopefully we don’t have to go through the same “HOLY SHIT AN ALIVE FUCKING TYPEWRITER” rigamarole I had to go through with Nancy. Now. I’m on nurse duty today while the big girls go on magic cannibalism adventures or whatever-the-fuck. So if you wake up and feel like bothering me with anything—well, first off, be warned that if you come crying to me for a glass of water, I don’t fucking care how concussed you are, you’re the one with limbs, you can get your own fucking water. Okay, that being settled—if for some fucking reason you are motivated to communicate with me, YOU DO NOT NEED TO TYPE ON ME and in fact if you do, I will delete you. With my magic delete key! Which is a thing I have. To rephrase: IF YOU TALK TO ME WITH YOUR MOUTH I CAN HEAR YOU. That is all. In fact, I won’t even guarantee that I’ll respond. I’ll just finish off this message and then sit there and if you want to drag both of our lives into the gutter by initiating some form of contact, that’s on you, bitch. Understand?

Sincerely having a bad day,



Etiyr

Jen laboriously propped her head up on one elbow and read with one eyed open. Cautiously, she said in the general direction of the typewriter: “You know, if someone had just put a non-magic typewriter there with this message, that would be, like, the perfect April Fool’s Day prank.” April? She had an idea that it was the springtime.

The typewriter remained immobile for five seconds or so. Then there was a short period of rapid clacking noises:

Dammit.

Alright, I’m going to play at optimism for a bit here and hypothesize that you aren’t all that bad. Do me a favor.

Jen sat up. “Hang on, I—yeah, sure. Anything for you, Etiyr.”

If we’re gonna talk, could you put on some different clothes? Purple makes me uncomfortable, and you look like a Miley Cyrus video.

Jen looked down at herself and was forced to agree. “I...” The thought of actually getting up out of bed and doing anything triggered some sort of countermeasure in her weary, beaten body, and she fell back unconscious.

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

---

Arkal stared at the orb, scowling. It was the most unlucky material he'd ever seen.

"Take her up on that offer," he said, before Packston could form a response. Packston's eyes changed color a few times, then settled on grey.

"All right, I'll trust your judgement on this," he replied. "Very well, Holly Tallbirch, we'll provide you with shelter. We may have a few questions for you, however."

She scowled and handed the orb to Arkal.

"Fine. Whatever. But first, I want to see what this stupid thing does, since apparently it's so important to find a human to use it."

Arkal looked over the orb carefully. He soon found a hand-shaped groove.

"It's damned important, I can tell you that. I've got no clue what it does, but my smith's eye tells me it's dangerous as hell." He placed his hand into the groove. "You might want to stand back."

A moment later, an image arose from the orb.

"Greetings. If you have recovered this orb, then you are in grave danger..."

***

"No, I do not have the orb," Red said, polishing his armor. "I think that weird guy with the rotating body might have it. I think his name was Vole or something?"

"Tor", or rather Fanthalion, sighed. "Thank you. I'll go check with him." She dragged Nancy away and walked down the halls.

Three minutes later...

"I must ask forgiveness, Your Holy Eminence. I would be honored to be entrusted with the orb, as important as it is to your Divine Governance, but this is not the case. But I believe I may have seen Adelaide carrying it?"

Three minutes later...

"Nah, I ain't got it. Oh, but it sounds familiar... think I saw that straw doll with the dragon arms cartin' it around."

A few more trips led Fantha to Klendel, who obviously hadn't stolen the orb, no sirree, but he had seen Glere holding one. Maybe he had it?

And that was how Fantha found herself watching in frustration as Glere searched through the pocket dimension within his cloak. (Or rather, him. Tor's vision made it clear that the cloak was the one with a soul.)

"Here we go!" he said triumphantly, presenting a fishbowl.

"That is not a silver orb!" Fanthalion growled. She was losing her temper.

"Oh, a silver orb! Hang on a second." And with that, his body continued digging inside.

"Uh..." Nancy interjected. "Do you mind if I have a look?"

"You can if you like," Glere said. "I mean, we have just met, but I suppose you might have better luck than me..."

Nancy reached her hands inside the cloak. She felt something.

It wasn't the orb. It was a refrigerator magnet, one of those alphabet ones. Nancy Little hadn't known of them, but Nora Littleton had. And she could feel that this was a letter 'S'.

A moment later, she found a T. Then an A, then two L's. It was clear enough what was going on before she finished feeling the H, I, and M.

"Land sakes, you've got a lot of things in here," she said. "Wait, I think this is round..."

She pulled out a globe.

"Uh, I don't think this is what you're looking for."

"Tor" groaned in frustration. This was a lot of trouble to go to for keeping up appearances.

***

"I am the Hand of Silver. I make no promises on our success. Ours will be a difficult struggle, and it is likely that many of you will not survive to see its success. But I will continue to search for new weapons against the Grandmasters, and I will continue to work towards our freedom. Until then, I wish you all good luck."

And the hologram faded.

Arkal growled. He almost wanted to crush the orb in his hands.

"This is how he's going to do it!" the smith screamed. "These orbs, promising freedom from the battles. He's going to trick the fighters into helping him take over every goddamn universe!"

"Then we have to stop him," Packston replied. "And I believe I may know a way to do it. But we'll need some help."

"From who?" Arkal asked.

"We need to get this orb to Konka Rar," Packston said with a smirk. "Miss Tallbirch, I believe our question period will have to wait. We're moving out."

"We're not finished yet, Packston!" Emily screamed.

"It's all right. I have no intention of starting a fight, unless we're attacked first. We can resume the argument later if you wish."

Emily scowled, then grudgingly turned to her guards.

"Right. We're moving out. And see to it that nobody causes any trouble," she said, before turning back to Packston with a glare. "And I mean nobody on any side of this conflict."

***

Red turned to the assembled forces.

"As you all know, Tor has advised us to shore up our defenses. But we can't do that any more. The humans have hit us hard, and it's time we hit them back harder!"

The various nonhumans cheered.

"Oh, sure, he'll be upset when he finds out. But I think he'll be too pleased when we bring him Vandrel Reinhardt's head to complain too much, am I right?"

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

---

'served up ins

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

---

"There's no need for violence," grinned the man.

That is a lie and worse a tired platitude and worst you know both full well

what are you waiting for, ovoid

"That."

Xadrez didn't bother turning, two glances askance either side of him confirming one of a dozen ideas as to what might've happened next. The Ovoid-man smiled through Xadrez as he was dropped to his feet; behind the ghost, a little girl beamed with pride as everything rippled again.

The screams didn't echo across the landscape any more, not that Xadrez had traversed the four-space to experience it himself. The beige undulations themselves wailed, in chorus with the beige walls and beige sky. Xadrez' knife was gone, a silver orb clutched insecure in its place.

The tactician lifted the poor substitute to eye level, where it idly hovered for a moment before drifting off - almost as if by accident. Xadrez drifted after it-

***

no

Xadrez scowled.

No

No

I have neither patience nor imagination for this, ovoid

I have had enough

you do not awe me

you do not cow me

you are not as indestructible as you assume we believe of you and to believe

in turn that I do is an insult

For to assume is weak-minded

and to have faith is merely delusional

To hold a belief so hard as though mere will or wills enough could crush it

collapse it into a singularity

one that radiates not reflected faith but truth


To reject reality for that

that is beyond pathetic

"Enough."

Xadrez spun round, a phantom flash arcing up his arm as he spotted the man's dagger. His dagger. Planted, hilt-deep, in the small of the cyborg's palm.

That is my knife, Xadrez eventually said, then gesticulated, after the man failed to respond. Hoss glanced at his hand, lifted it almost as if to shrug, then proferred the dagger's handle with the merest inclination of his head. Xadrez reached out, hesitated, went to grab it again, hesitated again, hesitated for a while longer, stole a glance at the tyrant's impassive face, then seized the dagger's handle.

A scream shot up his arm, earthing itself in the pit of his non-existent stomach like a knuckledusted punch. Hoss retreated a pace, still expressionless, leaving Xadrez shuddering violently. The ghost wasn't sure whether the screaming was the all-pervading Ovoid or if the dagger had drawn it all back inside his head just so he could atone already-

crack

With only several hours' tortured wails of warning, the knife shattered into a million pieces. The last of the splinters clattered to a halt upon the obsidian disc, as silence finally fell.

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

---

Before his awakening, Paul Grisham had gone through quite a number of embarrassing experiences that he wanted to forget.

None of them seemed to compare to being held down by three powerful metallic arms while a fourth held a fork up to his mouth.

"Stupid robot," he muttered under his breath as he chewed on the mashed potatoes.

At least the food was better than Reinhardt's slop, though. He idly wondered if he'd picked the wrong side. Not that they'd let him switch now.

The door suddenly swung open. It was Packston.

"Envoy," he said sharply. "We may need your help. Leave Girnham behind."

The robot released his grip on the prisoner and put down the fork.

"Good," Phil grumbled. "Maybe now I can eat without being treated like a baby."

"You're not being left unguarded, Girnham," Packston snapped back. "Miss Tallbirch, could you keep an eye on our guest for the time being? We should be back within an hour or so."

Phil's eyes widened as Holly entered the room. He'd been assigned to track the elf on more than one occasion, but he'd never managed to see her up close before. She was gorgeous.

Holly, for her part, looked at Phil's scarred face with revulsion.

"Ugh. Can I put a bag over his head first?"

"Do whatever you'd like. Although I'd prefer it if you didn't kill him unless he tries to escape."

Holly groaned as Packston and Envoy left the room. She didn't need pathomancy to identify the silly look on Girnham's face and realize that escaping from her was the furthest thing from his mind.

***

"The truth is, I don't know where he is," she said.

"But you know how he thinks, don't you?" Crowbar replied. "You know him better than anyone else. And if you sent him a message, he'd take notice."

A young woman suddenly appeared from nowhere.

"Reinhardt thinks he can use us," she said with disdain. "He's told the fragments we sent to rescue him that he'll give us our audience if we help out with his purge."

"But he doesn't know where the Hand of Silver is either," said Crowbar. "We suspected as much, but now our young friend here has confirmed it."

"How predictable. Nonetheless, the eradication of non-humans from this city serves the Amalgam's interests. We have agreed to cooperate with Reinhardt. It has been decided that one fragment should be sufficient to locate the Hand of Silver, with proper guidance; therefore, I have been assigned to keep watch over the girl. The rest of you are to join the invading force."

Crowbar nodded. "Understood. I leave the matter in your hands."

The men dispersed. The woman smiled at her new cloaked companion.

"Now, then. I believe we were talking about how to contact your broth-hurk!"

The fragment-woman collapsed to the ground and then vanished. John Smith walked over to the cloaked girl, holding his still-smoking gun.

"That was an interesting conversation to overhear," he said with a grin. "Now, let's have a little talk, shall we? I don't think you intended to lead these gentlemen to your brother in the first place."

She said nothing.

"I know what you're thinking. Is he really trying to threaten me with a gun? There's no way I can kill you with this puny thing."

She turned around, ignoring him.

"But no, I'm not here to fight. Hopefully, anyway. I just needed to speak with you for a moment, without unwanted ears in the area."

She started to walk away.

He said one word.

She turned back to him.

"I will kill you," she growled.

"There's no need for that. You don't trust those strangers, do you? You wanted to warn your brother about them. Well, as luck would have it, I can do that for you, with no risk of these ruffians finding out. I'm just missing one little thing, and I think you can help me get it."

"What do you want?" she hissed at him.

"I want the false Konka Rar's arm. And who better to claim it from an impostor than Konka Rar himself?"

***

Whir flew over to Gadget, whose stilts were still having some trouble coordinating.

"I found Konka Rar. Both of him."

"Both?"

"Yeah. Two of them are having a fight. One of them looks like he might even be the real thing; I saw him toss a fireball around!"

"I guess I could use some backup, then," Gadget sighed. He looked around. "And there's where I might just get it."

A few minutes later, Gadget stepped out of the abandoned novelty store, accompanied by a quartet of plastic skeletons.

"Whir, say hi to Boney, Skull, Slim, and Knuckles," he said. The four waved at the mention of their new names. "They're Konka Rar's newest minions."

Originally posted on MSPA by Lord Paradise.

---

When forcefully invading another person’s dreamspace, it’s important to keep in mind that you’re juggling a lot of very fragile metaphors. If you want your victim to wake up the next morning as essentially the same person (though of course philomantic debate rages as to whether this is at all possible in the first place), you want to make sure not to introduce any elements that would significantly upset their psyche. For instance, if you want to appear in someone’s dream disguised as their mother, it is essential that you remember to wear clothes. Also, if you’re sending an emissary into the brain of a young woman who has recently come out of an ordeal of psychic manipulation by a parasitic wyrm, you wouldn’t want your emissary to be, say, the harbinger of one of the most efficiently devastating parasitic organisms in the entirety of its home universe.

Then again, depending on your motivations, that might be exactly what you want to do.

* * * * *

”Tor” and Nancy were in the planetarium, toying with the Eye of the Empress, when they got the news. Red burst in to the odd sight of his boss, now decidedly womanly in aspect, hungrily examining candid imagery of all the remaining non-humans on base and chatting absentmindedly with that frightened-looking human girl who was (her?) new plaything now. The lobster decided he had bigger problems on his mind than what he suspected to be the imminent downfall of the society he had helped build here, and he called out, “Sir,” a little uncertainly. “Sorry to interrupt, but, uh, you’re going to want to have a look at the sun.”

“The sun, huh?” Tor apathetically sized up her comrade before sighing and giving the empress’ skull a lazy thump. The image of Velobo Calidad doing his morning exercises flicked to that of the sky above the museum, and the non-human saw the problem immediately. The sun, which could normally be trusted to function around this time, was being eclipsed by a slice of beige that bent the light around it, putting all her territory in the shade.

”We believe it to be relatively small, but low in the sky,” posited Red.

”I don’t understand,” said Nancy. ”What does this mean?”

”I’m normally a staunch believer in arming one’s self with knowledge,” joked Red nervously, ”But in this case, I think we’d be better off not finding out.”

They found out in about a minute, when a fragment of the Amalgam strolled right up to the border of Tor’s territory, nonchalantly took one step past, and raised his megaphone. Aside from that bug-eyed smile on his face, this one would hardly be recognizable as a fragment, because he lacked that disgustingly average quality—he had been selected for his task on the basis his movie-star good looks and showmanship. “Greetings, genetically inferior scum!” he announced, his voice dripping with so much optimism it might have given him pneumonia. “Don’t mind me; I’m just here to tell you about the wonders of... humanity!”

Right on cue, humans appeared on the border. Lots of them. Really, really quite a lot of humans indeed. In unison, all-quite-a-lot of them took one step into non-human territory and proceeded to march.

Fanthalion, watching on the planetarium's screen, rose to Tor’s feet. ”Red,” she commanded. ”Gather everyone still fit to fight and show these humans how it's done.” Red saluted and wordlessly exited the planetarium.

“—famous humans throughout history include Albert Einstein, Pontius Pilate, Emma Broderburg, William Shatner, Rosa Parks, Peter the Great, three of the Beatles, Louis Sachar, the pharaoh Hatshepsut, the Hand of Silver, Lisa Gherardini, Qin Shi Huang, Penélope Cruz—“

Tor turned to Nancy, her commanding presence replaced by alarm. ”We need to get out of here,” she determined. ”Preferably before the killing starts.”

”Okay,” whimpered Nancy, watching the human army march across the projection. Fantha dislodged the skull from the projector, and the planetarium went dark, though the voice on the megaphone continued:

“—Considered to be one of the most versatile races in Dungeons & Dragons, though they are in actuality a species—“

Taking the skull in one hand and Nancy in the other, Tor ran out to the stairwell and climbed up to the roof of the museum. The battle had already been joined, with Eximo’s vacuum army making its stand against the first wave of humans—but every human who fell simply collapsed out of existence and was replaced by another. The giant Ovoid in the sky bobbed excitedly in billions of directions at once, throwing an odd non-Euclidian strobe effect over the whole scene. Fanthalion vaguely understood that if it wanted, this thing could simply materialize an army inside the walls of the museum, but like a cat (or, more aptly, like a particularly sadistic human) it was choosing to toy with its food.

“—the invention of the Super Nintendo Entertainment System, crop rotation, the jetpack, the pornographic magazine, democracy, the wheel, the domesticated parrot, the polio vaccine, plastic surgery, the viola—“

* * * * *

”—the nuclear family, the particle accelerator, written language, standardized time, the hyperdimensional resonator, Raiders of the Lost Ark, the race riot--“

In fact, there were precisely two fragments of the Amalgam who had appeared inside Tor’s borders, and they passed completely unnoticed as they searched for their target, given that everybody was focused on the much more exciting events inside. They found her still unconscious and largely forgotten on a hospital bed next to a typewriter.

The female of the duo, who insofar as she was capable of independent thought liked to think of herself as a maternal, nurturing figure, nudged Jen’s cheek. “Wake up!” she said, failing to be quiet or gentle at all. “It is important that you be removed from the premises before—“

ClackClackClackClackClackClackClackClack

The two Fragments leaned over and examined the typewriter, which was typing out a steady stream of ”CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC okay, got your attention.

“So you guys are into humans, are you? I’ll tell you about humans. Humans—“

Meanwhile, the voice over the loudspeaker reminded everyone in the vicinity that “It was Leo Tolstoy who said—“

* * * * *

”—‘The sole purpose of life is to serve humanity!’ And has Tolstoy ever led you astray? No he hasn’t!”

Watching the situation from above, Nancy realized she only thought she was watching a heated battle between humans and non-humans because it was what she expected to see. In reality, the marching legions of humans weren't actually fighting at all, except in that they seemed to be winning. As the lobster and his army of angels, goat men, clockwork women, vacuums, and assorted other oddities waded weapons-first into the sea of beige, it seemed to swallow them up and then spit them out again, in a way that was hard to perceive exactly. It was as though reality around the combat zone wasn’t working the way it should.

”—weak, ignorant, unattractive, developmentally stunted, undereducated, racist, superstitious, greedy, sexually repressed--“

”—Greater breadth of documented sexual positions than any other species in the known multiverse—“

The building was starting to shake. Nancy grabbed Fanthalion’s arm.

”—louts, masochists, slobs, whores, crybabies, hacks, evangelicals, bulimics, aspiring photographers--“

”—proponents of simulation theory agree that the multiverse was in fact created by humans, while critics at least grudgingly admit that simulation theory itself was a human creation—“

They tried to jump off the roof but somehow ended up jumping sideways and falling up, which was worrying. As bits of the museum began to bend, flicker, waltz and otherwise reject their own inertia, Tor and Nancy clung to one another, each reassured by the solidity of the other’s body.

”—sum total of a thousand generations of parents telling their children the easy lie that will get them to go to bed the soonest. Your entire society is a ten-billion-way mutual Stockholm case. You’ll take anyone to the prom if you think the odds are above half that he won’t whip his dick out on the dance floor--“

”—and remember, boys and girls, these animals don’t even feel pain the way we do!”

”—my body isn’t even capable of producing bile, but the way you people fail on such a consistent basis to cope with even the most inane shit—“

”God is made in the image of us! When we pass a non-human in the streets and tell it to get on his knees, it’s not because we want it to lick our boots, it’s so we can step over it and keep on—”

”—Pretend you aren’t just a minor, insignificant contribution to a cycle of eating and fucking each other and shitting each other out across all of history and if you do rise above the pack and accomplish something that will last a hundred times your lifetime, that’s what the universe calls A FUCKING KIDNEY STONE! EVERY SINGLE FUCKING—“

”Shut,” one of the fragments scolded Etiyr, his Ovoid-brand smile cracking as he grabbed the typewriter and lifted it over his head. “The hell. U—”

”Boris!” cried Jen, sitting up with a start. The male fragment attempted to restore his smile, but only succeeded in preventing himself from breaking into a sob as the tears began to flow. The female one grabbed the girl’s hand. “Hello!” she said. “We are here to remove you from this place while it can still be said to exist. Did you just say ‘Bori—’”

At which juncture the two fragments were eviscerated by a swarm of death-dealing insects that burst through the wall. Jen, feeling awake all of a sudden, caught the typewriter as it fell, which was easy because it fell towards her rather than towards the floor. The ouroborites, meanwhile, seemed to become farther away the more they flew towards Jen. And for that matter, so were the walls. All seven of them.

In transit through something that cannot rightly be called “space,” Jen momentarily ceased to exist, giving her a nanosecond’s reprieve from her headache.

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

---

Incoming

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

---

Th

That was

Hoss, watching more interesting proceedings through whatever ocular overlays he possessed, flashed a glance in Xadrez' direction.

an immeasurable relief, the tactician finally managed. My thanks

"Think nothing of it," said the cyborg, making it clear he had no real intention to. "My regret's that I couldn't fix it. It's an intriguing weapon."

There was Ovoid-backed silence, while the ghost silently struggled to pull himself together.

"Let me see that orb."

Xadrez didn't so much relinquish it as gravity ignored it, as it slipped out of his hand and into Hoss' outstretched one. The tyrant shuffled it about in his fingers, hefted it to eye-level, and kept manhandling it in a manner wholly uninteresting to Xadrez before putting it aside. His smile just made Xadrez' heart sink even further.

You are the hand of silver

"Yes."

Good

tell me

is your goal domination of the multiverse by humankind

The cyborg considered, affixing Xadrez in the corner of his eye. He smirked.

"Yes."

---

"Hah! That's what you get for not letting me join your stupid Hoss-Hater's Club!"

"What? Oh, come on chainsaw chick, I didn't mean it that way-"

"All good," rumbled Brooklyn. She'd taken a break from wholesale bigoted-menslaughter when one of them had (succesfully) sniped her with an (ineffectual) death ray. The good doctor had been just as impressed with Brooklyn's "housing arrangement", and had obligingly fitted a speaker without too much trouble. The pair perched on the roof of a gutted high-rise, spasmodic sun on their backs as they watched the beige tide.

"This is booooooring," Anarchy eventually declared. The chainsaw, in as apocalyptic a mindset as she was and unable to muster sympathy for a horde of fellow victims, had to agree. "Anything that sucks less going on around town, d'y'reckon?"

Brooklyn zoomed off ahead, looping lazily while her fellow inventrix's jetpack warmed up. "Not a clue! I haven't been back since I woke up; Emily chased my non-existent, technically-undead backside out of town before I could tell her where to stick it."

"Lame," was Anarchy's sympathetic response.

"It's not that bad," shrugged Brooklyn. Somehow. "Oh hey, woah, is that Konka Rar?"

The still-extant woman flipped down a scope on her goggles, adroitly dodging an oncoming billboard.

"Nah, those're plastic skeletons."

"Lame." Anarchy glared at the chainsaw, but it didn't appear to be mocking her mannerisms. Maybe. Kind of hard to tell. The two women tailed Gadget and his "army" from on high, until a far less boring scene presented itself in Central Park.

"Oh man, there's three fake Rars! I remember a few idiots trying it back in the day before I, y'know, became all awesome and everything-"

"How can you tell? You say you met the guy? Lich?"

"Yeah, those two are total fakes as well. I mean, I didn't really get a chance to talk to him much-"

"The silent type?"

The inventor touched down lightly on another impressive lookout, working her shoulders a bit. She'd brought jetpack technology a long way, but they were still pretty clunky devices.

"Nah, that robo-dick took care of me Round 1."

"Ouch. Sorry," she added, after Anarchy glared at her. The woman just burst out laughing, probably because a contrite haunted chainsaw was an amusing prospect.

"Don't sweat it. I'm alive again, and Hand of Stupid probably is too. Hiding like a goddamn coward somewhere, now that he knows I'm after him."

"Wait, so he killed you before all those non-humans he wants to dominate?"

"I know!" wailed Anarchy, throwing up her hands in disgust. "The jerk's so pathetic, he only had the guts to take on a girl! That meatball or whatever didn't even look that tough!"

"Ugh." Brooklyn growled, in female solidarity. "Men."

Anarchy sulked for a while, moodily slapping the muzzle of her death ray against her thigh. Judging from the negotiations, the Guard had not entirely thought their plan through. "We could shoot one of them," Dr. Anarchy ventured, cocking her raygun like a pistol and muttering "pzzeow" under her breath.

"Do it."

"Eeh, actually, I dunno if my baby's got the range-"

"Doooooo it."

One liberal splattering of blue-green shapeshifter later:

"Hah! I knew it was a fake one."

"How!? It looked like the real thing until you shot it!"

"I," grinned Anarchy, "am a genius. Just saying," she huffed, somehow correctly-interpreting a belch of smoke as a reproachful glare. "Hey, d'you reckon that tree's gotten bigger since we got here?"

---

what was the purpose of the orb

"I made it - rather, a different instance of myself made it. It facilitates trans-multiversal communication between humans. As such, him and I communicated."

and you agree with his motives, queried Xadrez. He couldn't even be bothered looking the cyborg in the face. Hoss considered for a moment, then settled for a shrug.

"Humanity in its entirety - as I knew it before this battle, at any rate - has no place being the plaything of these Grandmasters." The tyrant allowed himself a small smile. "Having said that, if a single mind were responsible to manage what was left behind, I'm certain mine - or that of my contemporary - would be up to the task."

Xadrez rubbed his hand absently. It still stung, like splinters of knife were lodged in there shrieking.

and you have no qualms telling me the truth

"Better you hear it from myself, than constantly doubting our cause because of what that rock told you." Hoss' grin was almost genial. "Besides-" one arm swept a gash in the sky, exposing the edge of the jittering, roiling tan, too many limbs and alien appendages thrashing in its wake "-you could care less what fate befalls the multiverse, provided the Grandmasters are destroyed, yes?"

I



no

but

despite how little you think of my heartless bisected undying inhuman self heed this

no elite array of great minds will ever do more than leave the faintest most infinitesmial mar upon the grandmasters

raw power nothing less will suffice in toppling them

no amount of trickery will insinuate you into your coveted title of lord of the multiverse

not unless the grandmasters would humour a mortal walking amongst them

calling himself a god

"Your point?"

are you and the ovoid strong enough to destroy them all

and i ask not only of how devastating a rend you can tear in the fabric of reality

but whether you have strength enough in will to settle for no less

than their absolute annihilation

The tyrant was impassive, machine hijacking man so humanity's most powerful abstractions could compute an answer.

You know

i have realised that we possess our similarities

"Really."

Yes

in that perhaps

given the strangest of circumstances we may admit to another like us

that it has been a long

long time

since we could deign to think of ourselves as truly human



You know what

do what you wish silver hand

You will either usurp the bastard throne of our overlords or you will not

and if you were never capable of it your machinations are of no concern to me

The tyrant scowled, but Xadrez had already drifted off. He needed to leave the Ovoid's interior, glittering dully as it was every which way he looked with splinters of the knife. Taunting him. Some final retort of Hoss' was lost as something insinuated-punched its way through, and shoved the beige aside. The tactician barely even felt it, deft as the hand which carved its way through was.

He recognised the voice, though. He didn't dare turn to face it, lest his own expression betray him.

"There you are."

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

---

Reserved.

Edit: Okay, it looks like this is going to be a long one. I'll finish it tomorrow, hopefully; until I get it done, everyone can feel free to give me a taste of my own medicine and yell at me to post.

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

---

"Right," Packston said. "Arkal, Emily, and I will go by air, as will anyone who can under their own power. Everyone else, get there on foot. If you see either Reinhardt or Tor's forces, do not, I repeat, do not engage; fall back and report to the others."

Emily glared at the assembled troops. "And don't go picking a fight with any Konka Rars, impostors or otherwise, unless they're actively threatening the populace. Technically this is only an order to the Geiram Guard, but I don't think the rest of you want to get them upset, now do you?"

There were general murmurs of "Yes sir!" and "Yes ma'am!" from the crowd.

Arkal then stepped forward.

"Before we head out, I want to say a few words to you all," he said. "I've been in my share of fights, but I've always thought of myself as a smith more than a warrior. From what Packston's told me, you're all worried about what happens when this round ends - whether you'll even still exist."

The smith looked carefully at the assembled group of humans, nonhumans, former humans, and machines.

"And that's damn scary. I may not be facing that myself, but that doesn't mean I'm blind to your fears. I wish I could tell you that if we go out there and succeed in this mission, it'll all turn out okay for you. But the truth is, I don't know any more than you do."

Arkal paced around for a bit before turning to the crowd and speaking up again.

"But I can tell you all this! You're more than just playthings created by some big-eyed lunatic to keep us occupied while we're supposed to be killing each other. Your lives have meaning! And if we succeed today, you'll prove it. This mission isn't just about stopping the Hand of Silver and his ilk. It's about proving that, no matter how you came into being, you can make a goddamn difference. Maybe the Observer won't give a damn about that, but I sure as hell will."

Arkal smiled, and pumped his fist.

"Now let's get out there and do our damnedest to save this city, and put an end to the Hand of Silver's dreams of human supremacy!"

A cheer erupted from the crowd. Envoy, Cole, and Alcarith stepped forward as the rest of the group dispersed.

"Time to fly," Cole said. He grew wings, and grabbed a harness on Packston's back. Envoy grabbed Arkal with his four arms. Alcarith changed into a dragon, and Emily climbed aboard.

As they took off, Arkal looked down at the crowd slipping through the streets below. A tear fell from his eye as he thought of the uncertain fate awaiting them at the end of all this.

Damned Observer, he thought. Once we take care of the Hand of Silver, you're next.

***

"And then there were four of them," the hat-wearing man said. "And quite the crowd gathered around them. If I were to hazard a guess, sir, I should think that whoever wins that tussle should have quite the force at his disposal."

"Hmm. An excellent point. Keep an eye on the situation; we don't want the distraction from our attack on the non-human base. Dismissed!"

The hat-wearing man took a bow, and walked out, leaving Reinhardt to ruminate. But not for long, as he soon had another visitor, and she evidently had no use for doors.

Reinhardt was only slightly surprised. He had grown used to his new allies appearing from nowhere.

"It is done," she said calmly. "The nonhuman faction is no more. You will guide us to the Hand of Silver now."

Reinhardt was taken aback.

"So soon?" he asked. "I find this hard to believe."

"See for yourself," she said. She held out a skull with a strange device in one eye socket and pointed it at the wall. A man suddenly appeared and turned off the lights. The skull showed images of numerous hallways, empty except for the humans standing still within.

"This is the nonhuman base. As you can see, it is devoid of any life save our fragments."

There was a sudden scream as the image scrolled past a trio of the strange humans being torn apart by a large cloud.

"...I beg your pardon. Devoid of intelligent life, at least. Nonetheless, I highly doubt these insects will be mounting an armed resistance. Now, you will allow us to speak with the Hand of Silver."

Reinhardt was sweating inside his armor. He hadn't expected this. It had been barely an hour since he had extended the offer - how could he have known they would wipe out the nonhumans so quickly?

He needed an excuse, if only to buy time. Fortunately, he was quick to realize that his recent visitor had provided him with one.

"Naturally, the Hand of Silver will be pleased to speak with you!" Reinhardt said, with an insincere grin concealed by his helmet. "But an emergency has come up. We've received word that there's a group of Konka Rar cultists in the middle of the city, and many of them haven't awakened yet. It's possible that we could be dealing with an entirely new nonhuman faction if we don't capture them now, and either convert them to our cause or, if they awaken to nonhuman forms, eliminate them."

The two fragments shot a glance at each other.

"We can dispose of them for you."

"The Hand of Silver would prefer that we deal with this ourselves," Reinhardt replied. "Many of my men knew these people before our awakening; we may be able to persuade a good portion of them with reason. And if not - well, we were already preparing for an assault on the nonhumans before you so efficiently took care of that for us."

"It sounds to me as if the Hand of Silver will be free while you engage on this mission," said the male fragment. "Could we not speak to him at this time?"

"Ah, my apologies, but the Hand of Silver takes a great interest in following our major operations. He insists on an absolute lack of distractions, so that he may provide new orders to me if he feels a change of tactics is called for. But once we take care of this small matter, of course he will be free to speak with you. You have proven yourself as great allies to mankind, after all."

The fragments whispered something to each other. The female spoke.

"This is acceptable. But we will speak to the Hand of Silver at once after you return from this operation. Is that clear?"

"Absolutely."

Reinhardt desperately hoped he could come up with a plan by then.

***

Pluck tried very carefully not to look worried about Bae's sudden disintegration. The icicle he'd pulled out of the shapeshifter's mind just moments before the laser blast flew towards the other Konka Rar's face, but he sidestepped it easily - with the help of his time-controlling arm, of course.

Quantos, for his part, was relieved. Of course, he couldn't show it.

"I grew tired of toying with the impostor," he announced to the crowd. "And so I ended his pitiful life quickly. It should be clear now that I am the true Konka Rar..."

"Halt, impostor!" shouted a voice. The crowd turned to see another black-robed figure in a skeleton mask with a metal arm, accompanied by an ordinary-looking man. A murmur ran through the crowd, including one or two people commenting that Konka Rar's figure looked somewhat more feminine than they'd expected.

The new Konka Rar stepped into the center of the square, noting the remains of Bae with some disgust before turning her attention to Quantos.

"I thought it would be amusing to see which of these fakes killed each other first," she said, before proceeding to telekinetically pull Quantos' mechanical arm in her direction. The other Rar grabbed onto his arm desperately and pressed some buttons to slow the detachment of his arm, then fired a laser at the newcomer.

She dodged it before he had even fired. The beam flew over the heads of the assembled crowd, and struck a nearby building.

"Is that the best you can do?" she cackled. "Pathetic."

"Enough of this!" a third voice shouted. The crowd turned to the other side, and saw yet another Konka Rar, this one accompanied by four skeletons and a small flying device.

"I tire of these impostors," Konka Rar IV said, in a voice much less authoritative than his predecessors. "Surrender now, and I may spare your lives. Or at the very least, permit your bodies to live on as my minions."

The crowd's murmurs this time mostly focused on how stubby Konka Rar's arms were, and the awkward way he was walking around. Nobody commented on the price tag still hanging from Slim's elbow.

As the number of Rars increased, so too did the size of the crowd; passerby stopped to watch what was going on. Among their number was a man in a grey hoodie, who almost nobody noticed.

It was unfortunate for Hans Silverman that the two people who did notice him were John Smith and a fragment, both of whom were actively looking for him.

***

Nancy Little was terrified. She just wasn't sure which of the monsters she should be more afraid of.

The human-looking monster with a megaphone climbed out of the planetarium and approached her, a smile on his face.

"SO THERE'S ANOTHER HUMAN HERE!" he said. Then he saw Nancy covering her ears, and then he remembered that he didn't need the megaphone any more.

"So there's another human here!" he repeated. "Well, I guess we'd better bring you along with us. Don't worry, that subhuman won't be a threat to you for much longer."

The subhuman monster snarled.

"You... What have you done? All those delicious bodies, gone! You didn't even leave me any corpses to feed on!"

"The other subhumans, you mean? Just a minor roadblock on the highway of progress for humanity," the fragment said, still smiling. "And now you can join them."

Suddenly, a female fragment appeared next to him.

"We have found the Hand of Silver," she said. "He is in the center of the city. All fragments are to regroup to prevent his escape."

"Wonderful!" the male fragment said with a grin. "I'll get right on that once I finish dealing with this nonhuman. I should have time to do that before the main event."

The woman nodded, and then vanished. The male fragment moved forward.

"Now, where were we... Oh, yes! We were going to pave over this last pothole."

"I thought I was a roadblock."

"Typical nonhuman ignorance! Variable metaphors, road-related or otherwise, are one of the many things that make humanity so perfect... Hmm?"

He was interrupted by a series of shrieks from the planetarium below. He paused and looked down the ladder.

This proved to be a severe tactical error, as it gave Fantha the opportunity to shove him down the hole. She smiled as she watched the swarm devour him, then turned to her pet.

"There's some interesting insects down below. I don't plan on staying when they get tired of the meal down there and decide to start looking up here, and besides which, I'd like to deal with those human bastards who deprived me of so many meals. Care to come along?"

Nancy nodded, nervously.

"Good!" Fantha's body suddenly grew six dragonfly wings. "I have to say, perhaps it was a stroke of luck that the loud female caught me feeding while you were unconscious. I'm not sure I could have gotten such a nice set of wings otherwise. It was almost worth the trouble of chewing through her exoskeleton. Now, hold on tight, would you dear?"

Nancy grabbed Fantha's back, terrified, as the Bio Wyrm flew off towards the center of the city.

***

The crowd was growing, and somewhere along the line they had shifted from devotees to the newly returned Konka Rar to mere spectators. Several betting pools had started on which Konka Rar would emerge the winner, and an armored man with an arm made of energy had even started selling concessions.

Triumphian was not pleased with this. How dare they take the return of the Savior so lightly? He would have to remind them all of what was at stake here.

He started walking around the edges of the square, where the battle was taking place, and began preaching.

"You dare to make light of this battle?" he shouted. "Do you not realize what is at stake? Nothing less than all that is sacred in this world! Our Savior, Konka Rar, is battling against fiendish impostors who wish to corrupt your faith! Do not simply stand by and watch! Pray! Pray for Konka Rar's victory!"

A few of the more devout spectators followed his exhortations for prayer. Most, however, simply complained that the Pope was blocking their view of the fight.

One young boy had a different opinion on the matter entirely.

"Hey dad, can I ride on the dinosaur?" Ethan Broderburg asked.

"Ethan!" Clarice scolded him. "No you may not, for several reasons. First of all, it's dangerous. Second, it's disrespectful to get a piggyback ride from a major religious figure. Third, we're trying to blend in, and if you run out there and hop on a dinosaur's back, you're going to draw attention to us."

"Aw, Mooommm..." Ethan groaned.

"Listen to your mother, son," Tom said. "Now, let's get some snacks." He waved over to the concession-seller. Tom handed the one-solid-armed man five dollars, and was rewarded for his generosity with a box of toaster pastries.

"Dad, what is this?" Alison asked. "Are we supposed to just eat these cold? I don't think this guy really knows what he's doing."

"Oh well, I guess we'll just have to save them for later," Tom shrugged. "So, Clarice, which of them do you think is going to win?"

"Tom!" Clarice said, glaring at her husband. "You aren't going to place a bet, are you? I'm not even sure we should be letting Baby Emma watch this violence. Or Ethan, for that matter. Why, one of them's already been vaporised!"

"It'll be fine, dear," Tom reassured her. "Kids these days see worse things on TV. Anyways, I think the one with the skeletons is going to go down first; he just doesn't seem to be in the same league as the other two."

"Hey dad, there's a price tag on one of those skeletons!" Ethan said. "Can we buy it?"

"Sorry, Ethan, but no, we are not buying a skeleton from a possibly-fake cyborg lich. Especially not while he's in the middle of a fight. Besides, that's what, fifty dollars? Way too much for an impulse buy."

"I don't know, dear," Clarice mused. "Will the skeleton do the vacuuming for me? Or the laundry? It might be useful to have an extra set of hands around the house. Fifty dollars seems like a pretty good deal for that."

"Oh, all right, dear. I guess we can talk to him if he survives," Tom sighed. "But we're not making this purchase before we check his return policy!"

There was a loud roar behind them. The family turned around to see a dragon landing, with an old woman carrying a shield riding on its back.

"Is she Konka Rar too, Dad?" Ethan asked.

"Ethan!" Clarice scolded him. "That is a very rude thing to ask about your elders."

"Looks like she's not alone," Alison said. She pointed to the bug-covered man flying down, dropping off a passenger before he landed, and then a four-armed robot (which the family found oddly familiar) carrying a muscular old man with an anvil and forge on his back. Not long after, a variety of other people and odd creatures, gathered near them.

"Cool," Ethan said.

"You think everything is cool," Alison said. "I'm getting kind of bored with this, myself."

"Why?" her brother retorted. "No cute boys to look at?"

Alison glared at him. "Shut up, you little brat."

Clarice simply stared at the man covered in bugs with disgust.

"Somebody could really use a good bath," she muttered under her breath.

***

"Getting crowded over there," Dr. Anarchy noted. "Think I should fire another blast? See who it hits?"

"Nah," Brooklyn replied dismissively. "It looks like Emily's there, I just saw her dragon friend land. And I'd rather not draw her attention."

"Hmmph. Spoilsport."

"Hey, wait! I think I see the bigot army over there. Tell you what, see if you can hit Reinhardt. Even Emily won't complain too much about that."

"Ooh! I like the way you think. Hang on."

Anarchy lowered the scope on her goggles, raised her gun, and fired.

Nothing happened.

"Aww, dammit, not again!" Anarchy groaned. "Why does this stupid thing keep overloading? I was sure I fixed that this time! Now I gotta wait for it to cool down!"

"Damn. I mean, it would be fun to saw his face up, but that armor's going to be a real pain on my blades."

They kept flying, until Brooklyn suddenly stopped and turned towards a nearby rooftop. Anarchy flew ahead for a bit before she realized her companion had halted, then quickly turned her jetpack around.

"What's the holdup, Brook?" she asked. Then she saw Zeke on the rooftop, staring at the two of them. "Oh, hey there, ghost-boy. What brings you to this part of town."

He glared at the mad scientist duo for the better part of a minute before answering.

"Everyone is converging in Central Park," he finally said. "I will most likely find who I am looking for there."

"Cool," Anarchy said. "Want a ride? 'Cause you're not gettin' one!" She stuck her tongue out at the ninja, a gesture which did not faze him at all.

"I am more than capable of traversing this city on my own," he said simply. "All I ask is that you stay out of my way."

He leapt to the next rooftop without another word.

"Huh. Pleasant guy. Are the other ghosts like that?" Anarchy asked the chainsaw.

"Nah, he just doesn't like anyone. Zach's a much better conversationalist, for instance."

"Er, thank you, I suppose," the aforementioned spirit said, floating past.

"What are you doing?" Brooklyn asked. "Don't tell me you're getting involved in this mess, too?"

"Well, ahh... yes, but mostly because there isn't much else to do. At the very least, if a battle has arrived here and we're all doomed, I could at least see how it turns out."

"Didn't take you for the kind to enjoy bloodsport," Brooklyn replied. "You seemed more like the type of guy to enjoy a nice cup of tea."

"Well, yes, but I can't exactly drink any in this state. And it's more of an academic interest than anything, really. If I'm going to cease to exist when this round ends, I think I'd rather know when it's coming."

Anarchy sighed.

"Whatever. Look, I'm going on ahead. You two can stick around and keep chatting if you want."

***

From his perch on a rooftop, Jacob Helix looked down at the park below.

He turned suddenly as he heard a door behind him open; a man in black robes and a fancy hat walked out onto the roof, accompanied by a large silver serpent with muscular arms.

"Oh, hello there," the newcomer said. "Didn't realize anyone else would be here."

"Me neither," Jacob said. "'S sorta why I picked it."

"Not a people person?" the robed man asked, walking over to the swordsman. His snake slithered along with him. "'Spose I can relate to that. My god Azzie here, he told me that I should destroy the world. But then I looked outside and, well, hardly seems worth the effort, the place is halfway there already at this rate."

"Mmm," Jacob replied. After a pause, he extended a hand. "Jacob Helix."

"Augustus Grey, evidently," the stranger said, shaking it. "Or rather, Augustus the Divine Arbiter, servant of Azungrada the Great Destroyer." He paused. "He's the snake here, in case you were wondering."

"Just awakened?" Jacob asked.

"Yes. I suppose it was about time, what with a round coming here and all; probably anyone who hasn't yet will by the time it's all over."

"Unless they die first," Jacob mused.

"Could be." Augustus looked at the tree. "What's the deal with that tree, anyhow?"

"Oh, it's going to grow all over the place and wreck everything. If everyone doesn't just kill each other first." He glanced down. "Which is probably going to happen pretty soon; Reinhardt's army isn't that far off."

The two men paused at the sound of rocket thrusters overhead, then they watched as a ninja leapt onto their rooftop and then started climbing down the side of the building.

"You meet the strangest people in this city, don't you?" Augustus said.

"Yep. So, what can you tell me about this Great Destroyer of yours? Does he have an afterlife?"

"A world of unyielding torment for the sinners."

"What about for the non-sinners?"

Augustus shrugged. "He never really mentioned much about that part."

"Sounds like a raw deal if you ask me."

"Maybe. Oh well, I'll leave that problem to the poor sap whose memories I ended up with."

"Yeah, don't think it'll matter much either way in, oh, maybe an hour or two, tops."

There was a pause.

"So, did you put the tree there? You seem to know an awful lot about it."

"Yeah. Some goofball I know tried to talk me out of it, I yelled at him. I dunno where he is now, probably getting himself drunk silly."

Augustus looked thoughtful.

"I think that goofball had the right idea. Don't suppose you've got any booze on you?"

Jacob shook his head.

"A pity," the Divine Arbiter said. "I suppose we'll have to watch it all end while sober."

"Yeah, 's a damn shame. Guess I should've thought ahead about that."

***

It had taken about ten minutes for Phil to pry his eyes off Holly long enough to finish his dinner. The fact that it had gotten cold by then didn't seem to bother him much.

Phil's face, on the other hand, bothered Holly quite a bit. Ten minutes of staring at it had seemed like an eternity. He was just so goddamn ugly with all those scars.

Then an idle thought crossed her mind. Ugly was a mood, too, wasn't it? It seemed worth a try, at least.

A moment later, Phil was yelling at her to quit looking at him, and grumbling about how cold the food had been, and how uncomfortable his chair was, and how Reinhardt was an idiot, and anything else that popped into his mind. She almost regretted the change, but then again, the change in emotions would hardly be permanent. And his face was a lot nicer to look at now.

In fact, it occurred to her that he was actually rather handsome without the scars.

She walked over to her prisoner, smiling.

"Sounds like you're in a bad mood. Maybe I can help you feel better."

He opened his mouth to complain again, but he soon found it was difficult to protest anything with her mouth in the way.

After a few minutes, she paused, and looked him in the eyes.

"Feeling better?"

Phil nodded, smiling.

"Good."

She kissed him again. He reached his arms behind her back, one of them noticeably lower than the other.

She quickly slapped it away, and stopped.

"You're not quite good-looking enough to get away with that," she said, annoyed. Then she winked at him. "At least, not yet."

She leaned in again.

"Try booze," a grinning Jeremy Bracket said, staggering through the doorway with a bottle in each hand. "Does wonders for your standards."

Suddenly aware of their spectator, Holly and Phil stood up and separated themselves. Holly glared at the intruder.

"Do you mind?" she said angrily.

"Notatall," Jeremy said, still grinning. "I'd be happy to join in."

***

The park was becoming increasingly crowded.

No actual fighting had started yet, aside from the trio of Konka Rars, but with the Geiram Guard's arrival and the human army within sight, not to mention the chainsaw and mad scientist and ghost hovering overhead, the ninja scouring the crowd, and the Bio Wyrm host flying in with a woman on her back, it seemed inevitable that something would happen soon.

And that was why Pluck thought it was a good idea to leave. This had gotten much crazier than he'd expected at first, and without Bae, he didn't even really have a reason to stay around any more. He quietly slipped past the Broderburgs, and soon bumped into a man in a gray hoodie.

"Oh, uh, sorry," he said.

"Watch where you're going," the hooded man grumbled. Pluck apologized, pushed his way past.

Then he noticed that there were a lot more people around than when he had last looked. And more of them seemed to be literally appearing out of nowhere.

He soon found himself pushed to the ground by the man in the gray hoodie. He tried to pick himself up, and then was hit on the head by a floating obsidian chessboard that had materialized right over him.

Rubbing his head, Pluck decided to crawl out. He soon found himself being grabbed by the collar.

"Nice going, imbecile," John Smith said angrily. "I nearly had him, but then you put him on his guard. And now these strangers are going to find him first. I may be too late to stop that, but at least taking care of you will put me in a better mood."

In desperation, Pluck reached out to a nearby mind, hoping whatever he pulled out would help.

In a twist of fate, the mind he happened to land on was Pope Triumphian's.

"Cease this bickering!" the dinosaur yelled. "This is diverting us from our true purpose: to bear witness to Konka Rar's glorious return!"

As if on cue, a bright pillar of light appeared in the center of the square, and a hooded figure in a black robe descended from it. All eyes, including John Smith's were drawn to it, offering Pluck a chance to escape. Although he didn't get far before he looked back at the square and realized just what he had done.

Konka Rar had returned.

SpoilerShow

4435 words. Since when do I write posts this long?

Originally posted on MSPA by Lord Paradise.

---

The First Bank of Battleopolis, in the days before everything went to shit, had prided itself on its vault. On top of the fact that it perpetually contained enough money to stimulate the nation’s economy out of a mid-sized succession, this vault had a reputation for being extremely secure, even among bank vaults. The walls were so thick and so impenetrable that, as a point of fact, at one point only four people in the world had actually known which of them contained the door.

One would need rather more than six walls, of course, to stop the Ovoid from strolling right in and making a deposit. Jen was in the dark, rendering her unable to see what her typewriter was saying. The otherwise complete blackness drew attention to the spots of green that were growing at the periphery of her vision. That was not good.

Jen needed to get back inside her dreams. She laid down on the cold, hard floor and tried to work through the pain and get to sleep. She was just dozing off when somebody opened up an almost-imperceptible door and flicked a lightswitch.

Jeremy slammed the door behind him and slumped in the corner for a minute, fighting off tears, before he noticed the teenaged girl sitting up on the floor. ”Whoa, uh,” he started uncertainly, ”Sorry, I thought I was alone here.”

”You’re not,” answered Jen. “There’s me, and Etiyr, and the tree in my brain that I think is killing me.”

Jeremy walked over to Jen and put an arm around her shoulder. ”Bad day, I take it?”

”I haven’t been recognizing days as a concept for—I don’t know—days, I guess.”

”Yeah, I know the feeling. If it helps, I just got punched in the face by a space marine and then had all my psychological repression and self-delusion ripped away by, um, someone I never saw the face of because I was staring at her tits because I treat women as sex objects and now I’m just trying to overcompensate for that by feigning sympathy for your problems.” Jeremy put his hands back in his pockets and shuffled a couple steps away from Jen. ”So, you know, the bad day thing’s going around. I’m Jeremy.”

Jen sighed. “Okay. I’m Jen. How’d you get in here?”

”Well, once the barrier between my conscious mind and all my horrible secret insecurities got ripped out, it manifested physically as a door, so I retreated behind it, like I always do. And I have a thing I do with doors. I can take you anywhere in the city, if you want, but I can’t get outside.”

Jen considered this. “I got put here because the Ovoid didn’t want me making trouble, or dying, both of which would mess up whatever it’s planning. But if I stay here long enough, I think I’ll die anyway. I might need to get my wyrm back to fix my brain, but she’s probably dead.”

Jeremy perked up a bit at this. ”Hey, when you say it’ll mess things up when you die, does that mean this is your battle? You’re the real deal?”

”Uh-huh. Bask in my presence and all that. What was your battle like? Did it suck?”

”Yeah. It was the first time in a long time anyone was able to limit where I could go and what I could do. It was like having parents, and it brought all my childhood resentment to the surface—but never mind that. Yeah, look, the game is rigged, and if there’s a version of me who can ever get out of that, I don’t think I’m it. Things could be different for you, though. I don’t know. Maybe.”

Jen laughed a bit. “Inspiring.”

Jeremy smiled weakly. ”I’m not great at this,” he said. ”Which never bothered me since I’ve never had an effect on another person’s life that wasn’t shallow and transitory. Shit. Do we have time for a quick stop on the way? I need to apologize to Phil and those boobs.”

Jen nodded absently. She was looking at Etiyr, but the words he was typing weren’t making sense, which probably wasn’t a great sign. Assuming offhand that the typewriter wouldn’t want to be left alone in the bank vault, she picked him up and allowed Jeremy to lead her to the door. On the other side of the door was Holly, fully clothed, alone, and crying.

“Ugh,” groaned Jen absently.

”Oh, come on,” shouted the elf. ”I tell you to leave and you come back with her?”

”I just wanted to say sorry,” droned Jeremy dreamily. ”And to ask if you maybe wanted to go on an adventure to find a worm with us. So do you two know each other?”

* * * * *

”It’s happening again.”

”What is?”

Fanthalion and Nancy had barely stumbled out of the broken remains of the former nonhuman camp before Tor’s knees buckled, reeling from biological necessities. “This body needs to periodically explode, which it can handle, but I can’t. Wyrm bodies are durable, but not fireproof. Stand back.”

Nancy hurriedly backed up a few steps as Fantha began to sizzle. There was a flash of light and flame and a smell like something cooking and Nancy turned her eyes away. When she dared to peek, Tor’s body was already reshaping itself. This iteration of Fantha was a bit more pallid pink, her red hair reshaped into a bobcut, her face expressionless. The wyrm poked a hole through this new body’s shoulder and drooped over its chest sorrowfully. It was alternatingly charred and melted. “I can’t handle another one of those,” came a slurred voice from Tor’s mouth. “My connection to this body is fading. Tor runs on something that isn’t quite genetics, it’s hard to process, and I can’t figure out how to stop him from combusting.”

”You’ll be fine,” offered Nancy uncertainly. ]”You’ll work it out and get fixed up.”

”No. I need to get out of here and find a new host body.”

”Okay, then, we’ll find you one. Will any old body do? Lord knows there’ve been enough corpses lying around the city. I’ve... seen some of them.”

The wyrm turned its head towards Nancy, while Tor’s chin swung lazily from side to side. “Nancy... no.” She reached her hand out, and Nancy recoiled.

”Fanthalion,” wheezed Nancy, backing away slowly in her heels, ”I can’t let you do that. You know I can’t.”

”It’ll be nice and easy,” Fantha promised, stumbling towards Nancy. “You’ll still be you. I’ll just be you, too. I promise. You’ll like it. I can make you like it.”

Nancy turned and ran.

Fantha reached into her bank of genetic possibilities. Her most recent acquisitions floated to the surface: she grabbed the tentacles of TinTen and the serpentine body of Tengeri, and tried to extend herself as fast as possible to catch up with the nimble secretary. The effect was not graceful, but one of the tentacles caught Nancy’s ankle and tripped her up.

”Stop this,” cried Nancy. ”You’re not thinking straight, and I’m not going to follow you anymore, you understand?”

Fantha, lying on the ground, was having a difficult time pulling herself together. She attempted to default to the mermaid cop, but before she could merge her tentacles into a tail she could already feeling the Telpori-Han combustible bodily fluids surging through her system again. She shut down all of Tor except his vocal chords and called to Nancy, who was still trying to crawl away. “Nancy, I think Tor’s immune system knows I’m here now. I’m going to die. Help me.”

Nancy rose to her feet and stoof over Fantha and said, ”No.”

”Just carry me. I promise not to bite.”

”No.”

Fantha would have screamed, but was worried that the stress would push this body over the edge, so she continued in a barely audible monotone. ”You fucking bitch. Do you understand what’s at stake here. I am a comprehensive archive of genetic sequences of life throughout the multiverse. That makes me one of the most important sources of knowledge ever to exist right now. You have no right to let me die out of fear for your own worthless life.”

”I don’t care.” Nancy walked away.

About ten seconds later, the life went out of Tor’s eyes for good. Being careful not to upset anything, Fanthalion inched her worm-form out of his spinal column and onto the street, and began to crawl, pebbles and bits of pavement digging into her burnt body as she moved. She didn’t have many senses without a host body to be her eyes, but could feel something growing underground. Something large. She turned in that direction and prayed she wouldn’t die too soon.

* * * * *

Kath hadn’t changed much in the who-knows-how-long since he’d last seen her the previous round. She was carrying a whip now, but it fit in her hand so naturally Xadrez barely noticed she hadn’t had it before. She had traded out her dental-floss belt and scabbard for a more refined leather green number that clearly cut her otherwise-nude form into two halves. She looked tired everywhere but in the abysses of her eyes, which glowed with a metaphorical bioluminescence that showed no signs of dimming. The tarctician made the obvious point:

You should not have come here

”Aye, well,” said the maid. ”Generals being in short supply in the Green Sea, I figured I’d chance a reunion.”

Xadrez studied the woman’s face, and found that a concentrated enough dosage of hate can be just as unreasonable as the coldest impassivity.

The throne isn’t coming easy, he hazarded.

Had you any troops for me to command you would have deigned to bring some contingent along with you

I would hazard that this is a mission of spite

Or at least that carrying your predecessor’s head around on a spike is your idea of propaganda

Xadrez did not pretend not to be aware of Kath’s manipulating reality around them through the Ovoid, but also did not deign to acknowledge it. Three-dimensional space resolved itself into a rapidly-growing tree canopy some three stories above a fascinating but seemingly pointless battle. The chessmaster analyzed the festivities in the back of his bulbous head, but kept his mind on the threat of hand. Kath relinquished the last tendril of green-tinged beige with a snap of her whip, and stomped on the bark, compelling the branch to begin warping around her. ”Quite the talker, Xadrez. Eager to cast all those big joyless thoughts upon the tides. You should quit that, it’s unseemly.” The wood molded itself into a passably opulent throne, upon which Kath seated herself, absentmindedly folding her legs into a tail. ”Diplomacy’s never been my kick, and the cult of Tull have proven resistant to change. I’m bringing the whole of my resources to bear and you are one of those resources.”

Over the rightful queen’s shoulder Xadrez saw Arkal arrive on the scene. He looked well-protected and capable of taking care of himself, and the tactician was unsure whether his death at this juncture would prove fortuitous or disastrous. Thoughts of Jen reminded him that sarcasm was an option here. I’m glad you could make it out

How was your flight

”I drew an ovoid in the sand and spilled a human’s blood on it,” replied Kath nonchalantly. ”Those people’s idea of magic can’t be summed nor sensed, which is something I plan on fixing once I’m in power, but you should know that the shapely tan one melts like sugar to anyone with a wand and two runes to knock together. Of course, the only enchantress worth a fling in your entourage is the soon-departed mammal girl.”

Xadrez saw no need to hide his anger at the arrogance of Jen’s ostensible replacement, even lacking the capacity to act on it in the slightest. You

You truly do need the handholding of one more experienced if you failed to curb the urge to harm the girl

Jen is

Jen is my resource as I am yours and deprived as I am of my usual weapon she may be my only tool for interacting with the world

What did you do to her

”I haven’t called on her yet,” yawned Kath, directing the growing branch to turn around and give her a better view of the battlefield. ”But what I hear, she’s looking a bit green of late. Nothing I couldn’t cure if motivated.”

A ransom then

Either I lose Jen or I do your bidding to save her and in so doing lose my agency in using her

With both of these options equally unsettling I am tempted into the choice of petulant rebellion

Kath laughed. “And if you fail to curb the urge to let the pirateling die only to maintain the last gasp of your conception of free will, maybe it’s you who need my guiding hand. You know, we’re not so unalike.”

Xadrez’ instinct was to clutch his dagger tightly, building his rage into potential energy for destructive release, but lacking that, had to resort to the embarrassing physicality of making a fist.

A notion he said

Which seems often to come up in conversation with those I detest the most

* * * * *

Konka Rar was bothered.

The lich didn’t appreciate the idea of being created by anything other than himself, and had a clear sense that he had been hacked together by some primal and amateurish magic at some point in the past five seconds. He could see why. Things here—wherever here was—a city, one he remembered as though from a dream—things here were clearly not going well for anyone. Distantly, a mermaid on top of a four-story-tall tree was lecturing a ghost about something or other. Nearby, a man shot another in the face and then was eaten by a dragon. Immediately to his left, a dinosaur in a silly hat was bowing to him. Several people here seemed to be dressed in a mockery of him. This was an immediate concern. Konka Rar strolled over to the shortest and most ridiculous of the imposters and stripped off his robe with a flick of his staff, which amused him and helped him focus a bit.

”Hello, Konka Rar!” called an unnaturally cheery woman who materialized nearby. ”Welcome to New Battleopolis! The entity I represent is so glad to see you!”

Konka Rar harumphed and turned to face this new development. “Charmed, I’m sure,” he droned. “And what entity is this?”

”The Amalgam is one of only four true contestants in this battle,” explained the woman, ”And its power grows each passing moment as it tests the limits of its ability to draw upon three-space. When it either escapes the entire ordeal or chooses to kill one of the lesser companions and begin the next round, it will be in a prime decision to ensure that one particular ally be established of ruler of the city in its absence.”

”I see,” replied Konka Rar, aware of the various factions taking a break from their combat to survey this conversation.

”Alternatively, we could absorb you into our being and take you on to the next round, one more worthy of conquest. In either case, we would first require a simple favor from you.”

Konka was unimpressed. This entity would have made a show of the supposed power it possessed, unless it was lying about something. And if its power was as great as it claimed, it shouldn’t need a favor from one such as he. One of the imposters—a fairly convincing one--was pushing his way through the crowd. “Perhaps a private conversation,” he offered, “Would be more prudent at this—“

”Who is this latest pretender to the throne?” demanded the hooded figure, his voice betraying a fundamental and deep-rooted lack of intelligence.

Konka groaned. “I’m Konka Rar,” he explained. “Do you deny it?”

The imposter raised his arm to his chin, revealing a slight amount of unkempt stubble. He was just a boy. ”Perhaps,” he admitted, ”You are another Konka Rar from a distant future, having traveled back in time to aid me in my holy mission of conquest. If you can offer proof of your identity, I would gladly accept you as an ally.” Konka had hated two, maybe three people this much in his long life, and the other life before that. ”If you are truly Konka Rar, demonstrate your mastery over TIME ITSELF for the benefit of the crowd.”

Konka shrugged. “Time itself, is it? Very well. I shall use my world-renowned temporal powers to predict the future. Does anyone have a pen and paper?”

”I do, hang on one second,” claimed a woman from the crowd, pulling a notepad out of her handbag with one hand while cradling an infant in the another.

“Thank you,” grunted Konka, taking the paper and scribbling a short sentence on it. He then folded the paper up and handed it to the woman’s son. “Hold onto this for me, boy.”

”Sure I will,” said the youth, ”But I don’t believe you’re the real real Konka Rar. He only comes down to Battleopolis on Christmas Eve, I heard.”

”Never let what you believe get in the way of what you think, boy. Let alone what you’ve heard.” Konka whirled around and cast a spell that enguled the imposter’s torso completely in ice. “There.”

”Wait!” shouted the imposter as Konka ripped off his hood. ”If you kill me you must take the arm for yourself. There must always be a time traveler!”

”Must there?” Konka rolled his good eye. “If someone as spectacularly incompetent as you ever held the position and the multiverse is still here, I’m sure it can’t be all that necessary. I prefer my own arm.” The cyborg graciously produced a flame that melted the ice off of the imposter, along with his skin. “Boy! Unfold that paper and read what I wrote.”

”Okay,” said the boy, reading off the paper. ”It saaaaaaays... ‘In ten seconds, this man will be dead and ruh... ruh...”

“It says, ‘revealed,’ Ethan,” pointed out the mother.

”Dead and revealed for an... imp—im-poster. An imposter!”

”Smart lad,” said Konka. “And behold! My vision of the future has come to pass. The gifts of time itself astound even me sometimes.”

”Well done,” said another freakishly happy human, ripping the corpse’s on off. ”We’ll take this artifact. One day, it may prove useful.”

Arkal disentangled himself from a struggle with one of Reinhardt’s knights and ran over to where this scene was developing. Things were chaotic here. Reinhardt’s humans seemed to be gaining ground, but the battle lines were becoming blurred. Too many of the warriors were taking advantage of the battle to settle old scores, or just lost in the mindless slaughter. The real threats were the tree and the Ovoid, and the arrival of this new Konka Rar might offer an opportunity for a ceasefire.

The blacksmith backhanded the Ovoid fragment across the face and faced the conqueror. “So you’re Konka Rar, are you?” he growled. “If you’re the figure of legend you’re worked up to be, you can put a stop to the fighting here.”

”Do not listen to this man,” said the fragment. ”He has been falsely influenced by a deranged radioactive rock, and now works against his own species.”

”I’ll listen to whosoever I please, thank you very much,” grunted Konka Rar. ”You look wise, in a self-impaired sort of way,” he said to Arkal. ”What’s your take on all this foolishness?”

Arkal kicked the fragment in the face. “This man is an envoy of an entity called the Ovoid, who is working with a very, very powerful and evil man named the Hand of Silver in order to eliminate—“

”—All non-human life in the multiverse?” Konka Rar sighed. ”I’m familiar with the man.” He pointed his staff at the fragment. ”Is it true what he says?”

The fragment brushed itself off and rose to its feet, smiling at Arkal. ”My companion Arkal possesses only a fraction of the information at hand. The Hand of Silver has a key part to play in our designs, but the true threat is a mongrel fish-woman from a place outside of humanity who uses powerful manipulative magic to influence the Amalgam. If a similarly powerful magician—and it intended to recruit you for this purpose—were to counteract that effect, it could bring down the full weight of its power and elevate you to a glory above any other.”

Konka Rar sneered. ”So, we have an otherwise all-powerful entity that’s stuck in hiding until I go out and run its errands for it. We have the do-gooder who’s willing to give me the run of things if I take care of the Hand of Silver for him. I would venture to say that my own battle—I suppose I should say previous self’s battle—wasn’t quite so pathetic.”

”Hey,” came the voice of Jen, stumbling across the park with Holly and a man Arkal didn’t recognize supporting her. ”I’m not pathetic. I’m just sick, is all. How’s it hanging, Arkal?”

”I’ve had better days, Jen,” intoned Arkal, taking the girl from Holly. “How are you, lass?”

”Dying. Fast. Really don’t like this elf. Have you seen my wyrm?”

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

---

Gadget's stilts stumbled around, with the unfortunate Chib trying unsuccessfully to compensate for their new balancing problems. Their coordination had been thrown off when Konka Rar had grabbed the robe, and they were about to crash to the ground.

But Packston caught them just in time, and detached the stilts. They hopped around awkwardly, no longer having any cargo to carry. Gadget looked up at his rescuer, and looked into his brown eyes before answering.

"Thanks Greg," he said. "That was a close one. So, uh... you have any idea how to deal with this mess?" The Chib motioned vaguely over to the battle still being waged behind them. "Because I'm all out of ideas."

"We'll get to that, but I've got a more important problem in mind at the moment," Greg Packston replied. "And it's one I need your help with."

Packston reached into his pocket, and pulled out the silver orb Holly had surrendered less than an hour ago. He gave Gadget a knowing smile.

The Chib smiled back.

"Got it. But before I go ahead, what should I call him?"

"When I told Arkal about the plan, he suggested Tarnish. That man knows his metals."

"All right! Say hello to the world, Tarnish!"

A moment later, a very confused silver orb found itself alive in Greg Packston's hands, staring at his face with the eyes it didn't have. It had a lot of questions, but it turned out Packston was ready to answer a lot of them before Tarnish could even ask.

"Hello, Tarnish. You are a highly advanced device designed by a man called the Hand of Silver as part of a massive interdimensional communications array. Ostensibly, his objective is to destroy these powerful beings who call themselves the Grandmasters and put an end to the battles to the death they have started for their own amusement, but in actuality he seeks to subjugate or destroy all nonhumans in the entire multiverse. A category which, incidentally, includes you." Packston stopped to take a breath. "As you are an expert on your own schematics, I was hoping that bringing you to life would allow you to provide us with some insight on how to interfere with the Hand of Silver's plans."

Tarnish paused to take the explanation in, before saying its first words.

"Are you my mother?"

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

---

"Ugh, I don't see why you have to be so petulant about this," snapped the maid. "My abilities might've been green at the time - so to speak - but you quite clearly wouldn't have cared that much if I co-opted you out of this mess. I'm doing you a favour, and you even get to keep your precious freedom of thought." Her eyes narrowed. "What's changed, Xadrez? Tell me."

If you want to avoid words as empty as you purport mine to be keep your viridian tongue out of this, growled Xadrez.

The situation remains much the same

merely reality and its catching up with what promised to be my one truly powerful ally

commandeered as it is by an aggrandisingly rational lunatic its reliability has been disproved once enough


My priority

to which I would shirk the as agreed not unpleasant task of serving you is this battle

I want not its conclusion

before you rain green hell over my companions and declare it a day

but its termination

in that sense I was indebted to the observer and his ilk long before I met you

Kath rapped at the foot of her throne, either feigning disinterest or calculating. "That's most discourteous, not to mention disingenuous, of you to force your debts upon your liege."

You would not be queen the throne would not be yours had the observer not seen fit to choose your city to fall to our ministrations

to assume i would after all this deign to place myself even further less implicitly in your debt

that is disingenuous

Something gelatinous and green squirmed its way out of a headlock, and scrabbled up the side of a violently obliging tree. It hissed once at Kath, before slinking to her side with its head lowered. She performed a particularly exquisite slouch, petting the creature absently. "Would you at least work on the attitude problem when everything's squared away?"

Xadrez fought the impulse to not express his anger physically. You're not even listening

"And you're not even looking beyond seeing your precious Grandmastheads or whatever dead." Kath studied that implacable face, her curiosity somehow more unnerving than anything the Ovoid had subjected him to. "Does it really mean that much to you?"

The tactician stared across the barely-restrained anarchy which was Battleopolis' Central Park. His eyes narrowed imperceptibly in dismay, as he scrabbled for patterns or logic to distract him.

None of it mattered. Whatever Jen and Arkal and the Awakened were arguing about was above some sparkling emerald surface. The green suffusing Xadrez was deadening and deafening. He could've reached out, shoved at the fragile bubble's edge - sent beige and green all crashing together so he could slip through the gaps, and rejoin the red and the blue and the sense and the violence.

It is all I have left, he eventually admitted, lowering his hand.

once they die I finally

after all that time awaiting scouts return watching her cloak fall to tatters bearing as best as I could the last vestiges of a dead duotheons order hoping against hope that everything would come right

once they die their quick just and merciful execution as retribution for my suffering

a whole torturous lifetime of it watching my world die with me my heart in perfect tandem no slower and no faster awash with doubt that it was my responsibility that it wasnt beyond me to make it all right again

Xadrez realised he was shaking and his thoughts were getting ahead of him, roughly in that order. The Queen hadn't moved, but the spirit felt the confusing impressions of her hand on his shoulder, her swoard at his throat, and her mind in the back of his eyes.

your highness

Xadrez didn't seem to know how to proceed. He sighed, or perhaps acquiesced and gasped only on water.

please

I need you to find the bio wyrm

she is like you not a contestant in this battle and under such contract you may be able to guide her home

Kath blinked, hoping whatever had given the World Tree in Battleopolis a solid smack (Redclaw hurling a cornered Hunterbot across the park, as it turned out) covered her surprise at Xadrez' request. She smiled a little, radiant enough for the green patina which separated dreams and reality to silently crack.

"Forever business, hmm, Xadrez?"

Elsewhere from Elsewhere, Jen reeled, and chanced a look up into the World Tree's boughs. The unicorn perched there, with all the statuesque smugness of a cat.

"Fuck." Perching was about as un-unicornly a pose as a creature could make. "That's the thing from my dreams," she explained to Arkal, who was gracious enough to parse that it wasn't a good thing. A lesser Rar might've snorted, or rolled however many eyes he had up to the task. Being the real deal, Konka Rar instead muttered a final suffix he'd been sitting on - it scribed a bruise-coloured spiral rapidly around him, shoving the crowd aside and giving him a little more room to work with.

Only a few fights struggled on in the park, each vendetta ringed by gawkers and hawkers. Emily barged her way around the crowd circling Whit and Zeke (mostly consisting of Whit's silver tongue stalling for time), confusion melting away as she confronted one problem she knew how to solve.

"You."

The lich studied the furious priestess with disdain, then motioned to one of the dinosaurs. "You."

"Triumphian, m'lord."

"Yes, you. Take care of that one."

Rar's satisfaction took a bit of a hit when his "cleric-on-cleric" style of ironic minion-pitching didn't end in explosive futility. Holy mages, he sighed to himself. At least he had no shortage of dead to raise, if he could only get a moment in edgeways.

The beast in the tree pricked its crests, sprung from its roost, and bounced smartly off a low branch that hadn't been there moments prior. It stuck a landing right between Alex and a cryomancer fleeing in terror, and apparently had kept enough sense of self to backhand the fire mage aside.

John cowered behind the splintery remnants of a Dorukardia. He whimpered as the Tender galloped off into the no-man's land.

---

"Now, say it again."

Xadrez almost sighed, noticing at that point Kath held no chess piece. He restrained himself to a sneering inflection.

To what end

if this is as I suspect my chattels mind you have misappropriated to reach me then my admission hardly twists any knives

she assumes I brought her back purely to control her

and I have no attachment to her beyond her existence maintaining the continuation of this battle

The tactician tensed, as though testing invisible bonds, then straightened. He seemed most sure of himself since Kath had arrived, though that was merely, perhaps, his inability to mope over playing a forced move. It almost dispelled the memory of the queen grappling his emotions to the ground only moments prior, repressed as they were-

If you wish this partnerships opening with even an ounce of goodwill you will cease toying with me, snarled the ghost. His unexpected venom startled the maid, but not as much as when he bowed as deeply as his anatomy would allow.

Let my errant former majesty the stage bear witness to this instead

If I live to see the grandmasters fall

then I will queen katherine fall in turn appeased and gracious into your ranks as your general

and not an omnipotent devils corpse sooner

The tactician was loath to call every dodgy move he made a gambit, the word holding something close to religious connotations for him, but felt a comfortingly familiar thrill as he toed the line of prankster's goading and solemn ceremony. Kath's whip bit his face, the spirit flinching only out of sardonic obligation.

"You've got a deal, then. Of course," the maid smirked, "you still gave no good reason why I shouldn't deal with the little surface-whelp. You know, for our mutual benefit."

The spirit tested the air - a task made harder without the knife in hand, but dealings with the Ovoid gave you a feel to what degrees one might be in various places. Movement round the base of the tree had melted into indistinct flickers.

Tell me

where has that green steed of yours wandered

"I made it fetch the worm, like you begged me," retorted Kath. "Why?"

Xadrez' eyes narrowed, barely enough to betray his mouthless little smile.

no reason whatsoever

Originally posted on MSPA by Lord Paradise.

---

Everything was starting to fade out and become blurry, except for the tree, which only kept growing and becoming clearer. It was beautiful, really—the apotheosis of nature in green and brown and birch white, it smelled like spring and autumn all at once with an aftertaste of blood, or else Jen was just bleeding. As last sights go, it wouldn’t be so bad. Bested by a magic she would never understand, enveloped by green, headache gone, no pain, everything fading.

But of course that wasn’t going to happen. Jen caught sight of her trusty bio wyrm peeking over a dead werewolf and loosely reached down to grab her. Arkal, presuming the her to be slipping out of his grip, pulled her upwards in spite of her faintly-worded complaints. He was talking to someone, and was too busy to pay attention to her.

Arkal was, by now, used to the phenomenon of Jen dying on him, and was strangely encouraged by the heft of her clammy, semiconscious body. A reminder of what he was fighting for helped him put up with the Ovoid fragments’ rambling as he pushed his way through to the distant form of Reinhardt. ”Look to the tree, Arkal,” urged one. ”It uses the power at its disposal to consume, to destroy, to spread itself and grow roots, because it is a living thing and this is its nature. Why would you deny humanity the same ambition?”

”Shut up,” replied Arkal.

The fragment shut up, but another one appeared beside it and took its place. ”The Amalgam knows you too well to be angry, Arkal. It pities you. You can’t see things from all the angles that it can. You lack the wholeness, its perfect lack of hard edges, the divine purpose that drives it. It can help you awaken to a higher calling.”

”Shut up.”

”Your moral belief is that the world is torn between the selfish and the selfless,” claimed a third fragment, ”But the philosophy of ethics, much like spacetime, has more dimensions than you realize. It’s possible to be both self-serving and altruistic at the same time when you’re at harmony with all around you. Life is the most beautiful song in the world, and you’re only hearing one note. The Amalgam only wants to open your ears to the music!”

Arkal walked past the fragment with a brusque, “Shut up!” Jen murmured something, which he assumed to be agreement.

”Your pretense of moral high ground here is baffling. Have you forgotten that you’ve spent your entire life building weapons of war? And the girl under your arm, do you have any idea how many living things she had to kill to become queen of the vermin and the half-breeds? Ask her sometime, if she doesn’t die.”

”Shut up!” Arkal pushed this fragment aside, and it vanished, being replaced with a large, floating beige ovoid.

”It can save her,” insisted a voice from behind the blacksmith. ”Your ‘Ovoid’ can save everybody. Rotating around the multiverse has multiplied what power it had. Now it can end this battle and kill the Grandmasters and restore everything to what it’s supposed to be. We promise.”

”Shut up and get out of the way,” demanded Arkal. “I’ll deal with you later.”

”No,” said the fragment cheerily, pushing Arkal into the Ovoid. ”Now would be better.”

Jen’s oversized man-shaped crutch fell out from under her and she reeled and fell to the grass. The grass, she noticed, unsure whether this was a hallucination, was bobbing up and down, poking at her face as though searching for something. Jen plucked a piece of it out of the ground, and it flapped it roots at her sassily before shuddering and going still. This she took to be a worrying sign.

Her bio wyrm inching slowly towards her was a better sign, although Fantha looked to be almost in as bad a shape as she herself was. The grass seemed to cling to parasite and attempt to trip her up, but she had no limbs and therefore was not so easy to bind. Jen reached out her hand to her oldest friend, who was just about to curl around her wrist when the unicorn swooped in and picked her up with one long-fingered hand.

The presence of the Tender both gave Jen a renewed surge of energy and a reignited flash of pain as the tree in her brain responded to its servant. She rose to her feet and grabbed for Fantha, but Sen swatted her aside like an errant leaf, contemplating the object of its pursuit. It was a small, insignificant thing, and the arboreal gofer hadn’t the slightest idea what the Tree wanted it for. It was not only lacking in nutrients, but might well be toxic.

Taking the safety of his master over his own, Sen extended a tongue and licked the bio wyrm. Jen picked herself up again to witness gory events proceeding much as one would expect, given the prompt of anything licking a bio wyrm. The unicorn’s face, in turn, contorted in shock, was bitten into, lost an eye, split in half, went momentarily dead, sprung to life with a cunning new awareness, reformed itself, and made a half-baked effort to remold its mouth into something better suited for civilization. “Well, that didn’t go as expected,” remarked Fanthalion. “Are you alright?”

Inside the wyrm’s consciousness, which was more or less also Sen’s consciousness, the Tender’s mommy issues were uprooted and supplanted by a new and exciting form of obeisance. Still, a convenient familial bond between the world-Demeter and her Persephone remained, and Fantha immediately perceived the answer to her question as it turned Jen’s heart to bark and her blood to sap. The wyrm supposed she owed the poor something and that it wouldn’t do for the round to end and everyone to possibly cease to exist just yet, so she pushed the psychic link to slow the tree’s growth as much as she could. Of course, the fruit could only manage so much leverage of the trunk, so Fantha could only buy Jen a bit more time.

Jen at least felt good enough to walk on her own and do some critical thinking. “Someone sent this tree,” she decided. “Please tell me the merbitch isn’t back.”

”The magic signature I’m picking up from the World Tree matches Kath’s,” answered Fantha apologetically. ”If you want not to die, first you need to sever that connection. How do we do that?”

Jen tried the thinky thing again, with moderate success. “Green. Colors are power. How do we get a tree not to be green?”

”Know any magicians?” Fantha sounded more bored than engaged in saving Jen’s life, which reminded her of Xadrez. Where’d that guy gotten off to?

“Yeah, I just met one. There he is. Hey, Konka Rar!” The girl, who Rar by this point understood to be one of the true contestants of this battle, waved energetically in the lich’s direction. He sighed as she jogged over in his direction, like a contented, poorly-disciplined puppy dog. ”Sorry to interrupt the conquest, but I need a blizzard.”

”No.”

Jen groaned. “Well, fuck you, Konka Rar!” She turned to Fantha. “People used to do what I told them, you know.”

”I know, Jen.”

”Could you please move along? I have no interest in interceding in your... hmm... quest.”

”No.”

”Foolish wench!” demanded a lizard pope from space, the existence of whom Jen had been trying to ignore because it struck her as stupid. ”Your insolence before the glory of the savior Konka Rar is a capital offense!” The lizard pope (how had she known he was from space? she was sure that he was) raised his staff, presumably as prelude to some impressive-looking smiting, and was immediately struck by lightning and killed.

The human line had arrived. This particular squadron of Hoss’s minions was led by an exotic beauty with a formidable magical talent, evidenced by the fire in her eyes and the localized hurricane responding to every twitch of her upturned wrists. Konka Rar was impressed. ”In the name of the Hand of Silver,” intoned the enchantress with little passion in her voice, ”Surrender your arms or be crushed.”

Jen was getting rained on. “Hey, I’m on your side,” she offered uncertainly. “But our top priority is to do something about that tree, right?”

Cascala didn’t believe the girl for a second—her voice was instantly recognizable as the sort that lies, even when it’s telling the truth—but, looking up, she saw that the girl did have a point about the tree. Through the eye of her hurricane she could see its canopy beginning to block out the sun.

Konka sneered at the girl. “You’re pathetic,” he said. To the water-witch he said: “I’m made of harder metal than the silver that the Hand bought you with, woman. I’ll give you one chance to turn on your allies and join me, if only because you’ve murdered my last sycophant and left the position open. Following that, you have one chance to move along and feebly attempt to intimidate somebody else. That’s two chances total, which is more than I give to most who threaten me.” He smiled under his hood. “Be grateful.”

Cascala considered her options and did some simple math. “Very well,” she told the girl. “Help me to kill him first, and then we’ll take care of the gardening.”

This was not ideal. Jen looked over to Konka Rar. He looked tough; she did not. She glanced over at Fantha, who produced more defined shoulders on Sen’s body in order to shrug with. Konka Rar looked at them both and laughed. ”Any hope you harbor as to your chances, I’ll have you know I view as a personal insult. Do you really wish to take this any further, little girl?”

Jen was beginning to weaken again, as was her ability to think her way out of a situation. “Well,” she said, “If I help you kill her, do I get my blizzard?”

”No!”

”That settles it, then.” Jen instinctively motioned to grab her sword and then remembered she wasn’t wearing one. So she charged.

At the command of a parasitized Tender, an insipid World Tree root burst out of the ground and acted as a springboard, giving Jen the right leverage to send her bare foot into the conqueror’s exposed skull. Konka Rar staggered backwards and somewhat-deftly jumped over the assortment bushes grabbing at his ankles as he swung his staff blindly in the deposed regent’s direction. Jen took a ram’s head to the stomach as she ripped a branch out of the root and brandished it as a clumsy and ineffective substitute for a sword.

Konka Rar raised his arm to spare himself the minor discomfort of a stick to the face and signalled with his other hand to send a short-lived projectile chaos spirit hurtling into Sen’s misappropriated body. Before he could turn his magic on the absurdly minimal threat of the girl, an icicle punctured his ankle and sent him to his knees.

Cascala wasn’t prepared for the speed at which Rar retaliated, and only set up a watery shield in time for it to transmute into steam under the assault of the cyborg’s fireballs. Curiously enough, the World Tree reacted to the local increase in temperature and humidity by suddenly becoming tropical, sprouting large, water-gathering leaves and shooting branches upwards to grab the sunlight poking through the gaps in the sorceress’s neglected hurricane.

Jen discarded her stick, ripped a better-looking stick out of the yggdrasilus, and attempted once more to whack Rar upside the face with it. For her efforts she was thrown down by a strong gust of wind emanating from the lich’s staff. Before Rar could regain his bearings, however, Fantha ordered dozens of the World Tree’s massive, rubbery leaves to coat the surface of Rar’s face and start secreting every poison known to man.

It wasn’t enough. Rar dropped his staff and tore the leaves off of his face with a roar, at once turning his robes to stone to protect him against a barrage of icicles. A localized burst of force augmented by a few well-intoned words of power shattered his stone garment and sending shards of it flying into all his enemies and the tree besides, buying him a few moments to pick up his staff.

Cascala iced over the gash in her forehead and turned her attentions to the heavens once more, sending lightning down to do to the now-naked conqueror what she’d done to the lizard. Rar smirked, channeled the power through his staff into his arm, and began charging up what the enchantress had heard referred to as a “laser.”

Jen threw herself to the ground as the laser seared the air above her and bruised the back of her skull against an emergent branch of World Tree. Realizing that if Kath noticed her here she could be dead within seconds and that she was beginning to lose sensation in her fingertips again, she kicked at Rar’s wounded ankle, sending him to the ground. “Fantha, now!” she screeched.

Sen’s body was reeling from the large chunk of rock sticking out of its gut—the wyrm really could not afford to lose another host body—but she managed to summon forth three great stalactites of World Tree to impale Rar through the skull, the heart, and the navel. Everything went quiet except for the pitter-patter of the rain and the low rumble of the tree consuming everything in its path. Fantha ripped the rocks out of Sen, did her best to stem the damage, and turned to Cascala. “That blizzard. Please.”

Cascala had long since been indoctrinated with the teachings of the Hand of Silver, but looking at the teenage human girl dying amidst the leaves and the inhuman thing that had just killed Konka Rar, she knew to whom she owed a real debt of respect. “Are you sure you want to harm the tree?” she asked. “It is the sort of weapon that could change the tide of this war. It already has.”

”Harm the tree?” answered Fantha. “That would take a lot more than a blizzard. We know what we’re doing, trust us.”

Cascala sighed and raised her arms above her head.

High up above, surveying the growth of her tree with some pride, Kath swiftly began to see the landling logic in wearing clothes. Her perpetually-damp skin began to crystallize as the temperature dropped thirty degrees in a manner of minutes.

In the time the future queen took to cross her arms over her chest, the World Tree had already reacted. It’s myriad assortment of leaves, vines and needles turned from green, to yellow, to red, to brown and began to flake off. Kath felt something like psychic whiplash. “Shit,” she said. Xadrez looked on impassively.

Fanthalion, too, felt the chlorophyll leaking out of her host body. The psychic-pheremonal connection between her and the tree dimmed a little in absence of magical assistance, but she could still feel it pulsing away in Jen’s head. She picked up her former host and went to seek out Holly Tallbirch.

Holly, even on her best days, was conspicuous enough that she was never that hard to find. Amidst the battle she seemed to have gotten herself into a confrontation of a personal nature.

”No, I don’t know you. Why would I know a non-human?” Algernon wasn’t much of a warrior, but had agreed to tag along with Reinhardt’s army in case he could be of some use to someone.

”Well, Algernon,” mocked Holly, hands on hips, “Maybe you have a power that makes you forget things, so maybe I would know who you knew better than you knew who you knew!”

Algernon was positive there was a flaw in that logic somewhere—elves, he had been informed by Reinhardt, had adapted sharp ears and sharp tongues to better produce and receive lies—which was hot, in a weird way—in any case, he couldn’t express his complaints because a rotten, infected Tender lifted him up by the worm on his head.

”Hey, H-Bomb,” said Fantha through Sen’s mouth. “Would you believe this is Tor talking? It is, kind of. I need your help.”

”Don’t hurt him!” whimpered Holly, which struck the bio wyrm as largely out of character.

”Ow ow ow ow ow ow”

Fantha tossed Jen’s rapidly-fading body at Holly’s feet. “Jen has some bad feelings inside of her,” she said. “We need you to get them out.”

”Do what it says!” cried Algernon. “This really hurts, and anyway she doesn’t look so good!”

Jen mumbled something.

”Okay, fine. Algernon, I’ll deal with you in a minute.” Holly perceived the problem right away. “You’re feeling... tree?” she asked Jen, who only mumbled incoherently in return. “Damn. Alright, I can do this, I can save you, but this thing’s grown roots into your entire psyche. Understand?”

Mumble mumble.

”I’ll need to upturn all the soil... Gods, I’m sorry, I’m talking in metaphors. Basically what I’m saying is this is going to hurt. Physically, emotionally... it’ll bring out things that were buried. Wait, that’s soil again. Dammit.”

Mumble mumble!

Holly took a deep breath. “Alright. On three.” She put her hands up against Jen’s temples, which didn’t help, but felt better, somehow. “One. Two. Thr—“

Jen screamed.

Originally posted on MSPA by slipsicle.

---

Hans Silverman was severely disoriented. The last thing he could remember clearly was a sense of imminent violence as the awakened gathered in the park, and that he was being followed. Just as he'd decided it would be prudent to rapidly relocate, oddly cheerful people materialized all around him and then his vision and all of his instruments recorded... beige.

And now he was here. In... beige. Directionless, formless, infinite beige. More disturbing than the monochrome monotony was the fact that he could not distinguish his outside from his inside. Unable to move or voice his discomfort, he panicked, silently.

A few minutes later, he realized that the beige in front of him (or at least, the beige he could see - he was still having trouble determining exactly where "forward" was) had a small imperfection. A black dot marred the homogeny before him, and as he watched it, it grew, and slowly took the shape of a man. As the man approached, Hans felt deep dread well up within him. For the man wore his face; or rather, Hans wore the man's face.

The Hand of Silver studied him, and as he did so, Hans realized he had a body again. And the beige seemed less a formless infinity and more like... a small room. Hoss smiled. "Better?" he asked. Hans nodded. "Good. I suppose you know who I am." Hans nodded again. "You're... me. Or rather, I am you." Hoss chuckled. "Almost. I'll explain once I bring myself into this conversation." Ignoring Hans's perplexed look, Hoss held out a silver orb, and activated it. A flicking rectangle appeared above the orb, and yet another Hoss - albeit a bald, unaugmented, dirty-looking one - looked out at them. "Hello, me" said the Hoss in the beige room, smiling. "You, yourself and I need to have a little chat."

The bald Hoss glanced over at Hans, then back to his greeter. His eyes narrowed, as he considered the possibilities. "Either there is a contestant very similar to me in another battle, or..." he trailed off, and the smiling Hoss's smile grew even wider. "Yes," he said, "I'm speaking to you from very near the end. I thought you might appreciate a little foreknowledge."

The bald Hoss let out a small sound of excitement. "Ha! I had to execute the Billion Year Plan without any certainty that my carefully-laid plans would work as I expected, but now... I never imagined I'd have confirmation of success!"

The Amalgam Hoss grinned. "You'll have more than that, if you follow my instructions. But first..." he looked over at Hans, "I have some explaining to do. You may have noticed Hans here. He shares our face, our memories, our technological abilities, but he is not us." Hans grimaced. They were talking about him like he wasn't there. From his memories, that was not a good sign. Hoss continued, "We are currently in what has come to be known as a 'Cameo Round' in Grand Battle circles. Contestants from any battle, alive or dead, will often make an appearance. Hans 'awakened' a while ago, but as you can see," Hoss gestured towards the hoodied man, "he lacks a certain... something."

The bald Hoss's eyes narrowed. "I can see that. What I would like to know, however, is what you... all of you... are doing in a Grand Battle in the first place."

Amalgam Hoss raised a hand, placatingly. "Patience, younger self. I will explain.

"An indeterminate and ultimately meaningless amount of time ago, our new Plan entered its final stage. Unfortunately, completion remained perpetually out of reach. The newly-formed amalgamation could not fully remove itself from this level of existence; a small portion of us remained stuck in 3-space, and a sizeable majority of the remainder could not escape the multiverse.

"In order to determine what kept us bound, we stretched ourselves throughout the multiverse, seeing it and understanding it in ways we never had before. We stretched ourselves so far, and poured so much of our focus into the multiverse, that when the miniscule portion of us that was stuck in 3-space was abruptly pulled through several higher dimensions and entered into a Grand Battle, we were caught by surprise. The event proved, however, to be rather serendipitous.

"We observed the battle through our 3-space fragment, and what we saw provided the answer to one half of a question that had plagued us since the formation of the Amalgam. A contestant in the battle was composed of an intriguing mineral with an infinite half-life. He had lived every permutation of his life an uncountable number of times, and had thus been through this particular battle, with us, in a never-ending cycle.

"Fragmented entities were not as severely affected by the infinite loop, but a non-causally-bound, multidimensional, unfragmented entity such as ourself was most definitely affected. All it took was a single permutation of the battle with our trapped 3-space fragment, and we were chained by his unending loop. So long as the loop continued, we could never escape 3-space."

"He died last round, and the loop with him." The Amalgam Hoss couldn't help but smirk. "Now, only a single obstacle remains. And to remove it, we need Hans." Hoss gestured once more towards the quieter of the trio. "During our exploration of the multiverse, and of ourselves, we discovered that one of us was not quite like the others. There was a strange... remnant within him, of something much older. Initially we believed this to be our only obstacle; we could not attain transcendence because the origin of this remnant would not let a piece of itself go. Yet we had no way to purge the anomaly, nor were we even certain if we'd actually identified an anomaly at all. Until Hans.

"You see, the human in the Amalgam who possessed the remnant was, and is, me, and thus, you. But Hans does not." Both Hosses now looked directly at Hans, who looked back, expressionless. "He is you and me, but also... not, at the same time. Which makes him the perfect candidate to receive my remnant." Hans's poker face broke, and he took a step back. Amalgam Hoss smiled at him. "Don't worry, this is a good thing for you. Not so much for me; I will become as you are now, essentially." Hans and the bald Hoss on the screen both frowned. "That hardly seems ideal," the bald Hoss remarked. Amalgam Hoss smiled. "I won't be needing it anymore. The Amalgam's time in this plane is ending, and humanity's journey will soon be complete. There will be nothing more that I can do, so whatever it is that this remnant gives me, I won't need it. Our species won't need our help any longer."

"However, I am getting ahead of myself. There are still a few points of interest the Amalgam would like to... reinforce. The first of which is the Network." Amalgam Hoss gestured, and a cluster of beige globules appeared in the room. "Hans, come over here, you'll need to see this as well. Now, this a rough approximation of the local multiversal structure..."

---

A shadow now fell across all of New Battleopolis, as the Amalgam's tendrils wove their confusing way downwards, beginning to form a dome around the city. The shadow was not dark, however; an eerie, oily beige light seeped down from the roiling canvas above the city, whose dimly-lit streets were slowly emptying as the Amalgam's fragments vanished, one-by-one, to return to unity.

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

---

The Amalgam was beautiful.

From the moment he had been pushed into the Ovoid, Arkal's senses had been overwhelmed. It was as if all humanity, through all the universes, through all times, was singing in unison. Except they were singing with more than just their voices - they sang with their entire bodies, their senses, their minds, their very souls.

It called out to Arkal on a level that was beyond primal - something deep within him told him that he had to join the song, that if only he could add every piece of himself to the chorus, the song would be even more beautiful, even closer to perfection itself.

His body couldn't resist. His mind couldn't resist. Even his soul resonated, moved too much by the symphony of perfection to turn down the opportunity to join it.

For the first time, Arkal saw the sheer, perfect, incomprehensible beauty of the Amalgam. And it welcomed him.

***

It wasn't easy to explain to a recently-animated silver orb that no, you weren't it's mother, but you might be its father in a metaphorical sense. It was even harder to do so when you were trying to slip into the crowd as a battle waged, especially as magic started to be involved. Still, Packston had managed it somehow.

"Look, Papa, snow!" Tarnish shouted as Cascala's storm covered the square. Gadget sighed.

"Sorry," he said. "I'm not always too sure how the process is going to work out. I guess Tarnish here isn't very mature."

"Hey Papa," Tarnish asked, turning to face Packston. "Why did that lady zap that dinosaur? He looked cool!"

"Because, Tarnish," Packston explained patiently, "she joined an organization whose primary purpose is the extermination of non-human species. And the dinosaur was not a human."

"Oh," Tarnish said, thoughtfully. "Why?"

"Fear," Packston said. "Perhaps hatred. Possibly ignorance. Maybe she merely wants someone to feel superior to, and treats non-humans as worthless to satisfy this need."

"Those don't sound like good reasons," Tarnish said.

"They aren't."

Tarnish seemed lost in thought.

"Why do people do things for bad reasons?"

"I don't know," Packston replied. "But what I do know is, there are countless orbs, just like you, except without life or thought. And they were built for those very same bad reasons."

Tarnish gasped.

"And you have the means to do something about them."

"What can I do, Papa?"

"The orbs were built for communication. You can contact other orbs, in other universes. Perhaps you can tell them to stop, somehow?"

Tarnish didn't say anything for several minutes. Gadget looked nervously around as the sky turned beige.

"Um, I think now would be a really good time for this plan to work," Gadget said.

"I got it!" Tarnish shouted suddenly, surprising both of his companions. "I found a high-level command frequency. Normally, it can only be accessed by an administrator, but all the actual mechanisms for sending it out are contained in the physical structure of the orb."

"He's got quite the vocabulary for his age," Packston noted.

"Yeah, I found my database. Lots of words there. Sorry for the wait; the software and hardware safeguards are amazingly well-integrated, it took me a while to figure out how to disable them in the proper order to avoid a shutdown. Seems the Hand of Silver was prepared for the possibility of external tampering or an AI developing sentience, but not an intelligence instantaneously gaining total control of the orb. Real smart move there, Pops. Nice outside-the-box thinking."

"So what does this signal do?"

"Oh, man, it's the best. Full override, needs direct access from an administrator to fix - and here's the best part, that's direct physical access. I'm designing a program to transmit over it, it'll issue commands to drop everything and then transmit the same program to every orb it can find. Might take a while, seems I don't have global direct system access so the other orbs probably don't either, but it'll be self-propagating, so it should really cause trouble for old Hoss. Oh man, I wish I could see the look on his face when he finds out about it!" Tarnish paused. "Oh, sweet, I can! I'll just need to add a small tweak to this program to hijack visual scanners."

"So in effect, you've designed a virus for the Network?" Packston asked.

"Not technically, seeing as it's all stuff that's designed to be in there, but the effect is pretty much the same. I'm gonna just check a few things, and then it's goodbye. I'll miss you, Pops. And you too... uh, Mom, maybe?"

"Just call me Gadget. Please," Gadget sighed.

"Got it, Gadj. Anyways, this is the last time I'll be talkin' to either of you, or probably anyone. I'm gonna have to go full-time on transmitting this program, all my cycles are on it. I know it hasn't been long for you guys, but for me... I've known you for a whole lifetime."

"Goodbye, Tarnish," Packston said. He found himself crying. "You're the bravest metaphorical son I've ever had."

"Goodbye, Pops. And uncles. And Gadj. And everyone. Oh, and you might want to cover your ears."

Tarnish went silent, then emitted a loud screeching static as the signal began to transmit through the multiverse.

***

As Arkal joined the Amalgam, he found himself gaining senses he never knew existed. He could perceive even more of the song, and it became even more beautiful, even more perfect than anything he could have imagined.

He reached a heightened sense of awareness, knowing everything about all that surrounded him, and more about himself than he ever had known before.

He was Arkal.

He was a human.

He had lived for more than sixty years.

He had many great deeds to his name.

He had a family he loved and who loved him in return, even if they had trouble showing it sometimes.

He was never a teenage boy, he was a teenage man.

He was chosen for this battle by the Observer.

He was the greatest blacksmith of all time.

He could make a weapon from anything.

He was Arkal.

He was one with the Amalgam.

He had heard its perfect song with all his senses.

He could make a weapon from anything.

He could make a weapon from anything.

Suddenly, he emerged on the streets of New Battleopolis, smiling.

But this was not the smile of a fragment.

This was the smile of the greatest blacksmith of all time.

In the middle of a raging battlefield, Arkal put down his anvil and forge, and began working on a weapon. If anyone were to look at him pounding away, however, they would wonder where his materials were.

And if they had asked him, he would reply that he was Arkal of the Silver Anvil. He was the greatest blacksmith of all time. He could make a weapon from anything.

And now he was crafting a weapon from the Amalgam's song.

Originally posted on MSPA by slipsicle.

---

Reserved!

Originally posted on MSPA by slipsicle.

---

Hans watched as the display cut out, and the Hand of Silver turned to face him."We're going to be keeping you here for a while. For your safety, you understand."

Hans cocked an eyebrow. "Of course," as if I have a choice. Hoss chuckled, "Indeed." Hans started, and the ancient tyrant continued nonchalantly, "You should be pleased! At the moment of our ascension, you will be gifted with both the power of a multiverse at your fingertips, and the ability to properly wield it. In the meantime, as you are the only vessel available for receiving the remnant, you will be kept as safe as... humanly possible. All you must do is wait."

Hans looked dubious. "What if, despite all your careful planning, something does happen to me? I may not have your 'remnant', but I still have your early memories, and your instincts. The caution, the thoroughness, that kept you alive for so long. And you seem to have forgotten that the Grandmasters still have power over you!" Hans nearly shouted the last words, and took a moment to gather himself before continuing. Hoss seemed content to listen, albeit with a slightly patronizing smirk. "One of them dragged you into this battle, apparently creating the conditions that trapped you here. Have you forgotten already? Do you think they'll just let you get away with this?"

"Of course not." Hoss smiled. "You do not understand... what we are." Hoss - whose silver eyes were now beige, and whose outline was losing definition amongst the walls behind him - cocked his head. "Currently, this fragment's image is conversing with a fragment from this battle - Xadrez, it calls itself - placing small seeds of knowledge, inspiring its fragmented mind to follow the will of the Amalgam. It doubts our power, and we allow it to doubt, to push it towards its inevitable decision. Other appendages - molded in composite images of various fragments within us - are similarly manipulating the flow of information throughout this round, guiding its members towards our goal. We have thrust appendages of ourself into this battle throughout its lifetime, causal and non-causal. We do not take such action without deliberation. We have seen it unfold in almost every possible manner, and used each iteration to compound a mission of misinformation against the anomalous mineral fragment, in order to spurn it towards actions which, without its knowledge, would lead to its own defeat. We have prepared and set in motion every contingency plan we might possibly require, in the event you are somehow... harmed, there is still another, less... desirable method of purging the remnant. We have spent an eternity of gentle manipulation to culminate in a single moment. We can do this, because we are more than the fragments that compose us. When humanity joined for the Amalgamation, they created the conditions for the birth of a unique phenomenon. When a system reaches a point of sufficient complexity, a process similar to a phase-state change occurs, and it becomes more than the sum of its parts. This process - emergence - lead to organic, inorganic, and artificial intelligence, as well as stars, galaxies, universes, and many other complex phenomenon across existence.

"The emergent phenomenon created by billions of universes full of humans was something... more than intelligence. It was not simply greater intelligence, or an increased capacity for the properties of intelligence. It was as to intelligence as intelligence is to complete non-sentience."

Hoss's voice was no longer coming from him. It was coming from all around the room; in fact, Hans was having trouble seeing much distinction between the figure of Hoss and the ecumenical beige. The voice - and it was no longer Hoss's - continued.

We did not wish to become a slave to the Grandmasters once more, as so many of our fragments had been, as well as the uncountable number of others indifferently sacrificed for the sake of these "games". Fortunately, as our new awareness grew, we realized that we could reach completion so long as we remained in what you know of as "existence". Yet, something halted our ascension. And so we focused ourself on the task of becoming free.

Hoss was gone now, and the voice was no longer a voice. It was a sound that imprinted its meaning upon Hans's mind.

WE, WHO WERE MORE THAN ANY THINKING ENTITY ACROSS THE PLANES OF EXISTENCE, DEVOTED OUR ATTENTION TOWARDS THIS SINGLE TASK.

AND YOU QUESTION OUR ABILITY TO COMPLETE IT

Hans would have cringed at the condescension in his mind, but the formless beige had enveloped him, and he was no longer certain he even had a body.

FEEL PRIVILEGED WE HAVE DEIGNED TO PROVIDE YOU SUCH ELEGANT INFRASTRUCTURE. REMEMBER YOU HAVE BUT ONE USE FOR US. YOUR FATE BEYOND THAT IS NOT OUR CONCERN.

Silence fell, and Hans floated, formless, in the infinite sea of beige, the Amalgam's final words to him echoing in his head.

---

In a space beyond space, <font color="#F4A460">a tendril of pulsating will raced in unnamed directions towards a small multiversal anomaly. Up its length, from a confusing, twisting matrix of trembling beige, anticipation thrummed.

</font>---

Autumn leaves fell in a torrential flutter across the raging battleground, as the mighty tree dropped all its leaves at once. To the various onlookers scattered across the buildings surrounding the battlefield, the human army was obviously winning. Alcarith's City Guards gave ground at cost to their pursuers, retreating into the overgrown and ruined buildings behind the barren World Tree. The ghastly corpse of Konka Rar, impaled by twisted black branches, was quickly buried by orange, yellow, and red.

What eyes were not focused on the evolving battle were instead turned upwards, at the shifting, oily tan above them. It had descended below the horizon, and filled the city with a thick, eerie luminescence of beige. None save the Amalgam focused on the blacksmith, toiling at his anvil in a street forgotten by the combatants. The fragment's actions caused a ripple of satisfaction in the multidimensional entity; everything was falling into place.

Another figure, more adept at being forgotten, ran through the empty streets. She paused, listening for sounds of battle, internal sensors checking for any nearby presence, and sensing nothing, collapsed against a wall. She pressed a hand against her forehead. Where was her brother? He'd not contacted her this entire battle... she didn't even know if he was here. Futility was beginning to sink in; especially since she knew, from listening in on many a repeated conversation, that the "real" her was in another battle, somewhere. She was just a cheap copy.

As am I, sister.

She started. The voice was in her head, much like how... how the real Hoss communicated with his real sister. But it was... distant.

It is because I am very far away. Not in distance, but in... I cannot explain.

It certainly sounded like him...

That's because it is, sister! I am sorry I have left you alone for so long, but I felt... purposeless. I knew what I was. I simply wished to return to oblivion. I expect you were beginning to feel the same.

She smiled, sadly. Yes, brother. I thought I had no use beyond further entertainment of a Grandmaster. But if you have contacted me..."

It is because there is something I would have you do. The beige surrounding us is an entity, you see. And I am inside it. I have learned it wishes to use me just as the Grandmasters have used us. However, I have other plans...

---

High above the city, in the branches of the naked World Tree, Xadrez watched impassively as the suddenly powerless mermaid let out her frustration on the rock-hard branches, snapping what few twigs she could. Immersed as everything was in the beige glow, not a patch of green was left for the maid to draw power from. She whirled on Xadrez, and angrily demanded, "You! You let this happen! You just sat there and did nothing and allowed... THIS!" Kath gesticulated wildly around her. "You agreed to help me while plotting behind my back, you... cowardly... traitorous... augh!" She let out an incomprehensible scream, and ran at Xadrez. In a quick motion she grabbed a few chess pieces from Xadrez's board and tossed them through the spirit. Xadrez, looked at the unstable mermaid with disgust.

I believe

your highness

that you no longer require my services

And with that, he floated away, leaving the mermaid to rage against the immovable bark, her futile cry ringing out across the building tops.

Xadrez's attention drifted, and he noticed a familiar shape approaching from above. An ovoid, resplendent in tan, drifted serenely towards the spirit of fate, slowing to hover placidly in front of him.

does this turn of events amuse the tyrant

Float.

does he wish to stoop from his beige throne and bring me deliverance despite my ingratitude

Float.

my answer remains unchanged

WE ARE AWARE

have the terms you are offering in turn changed at all

YES

is that so

WE WILL SOON CONSUME THE OPERATING ENERGY OF EVERY FRAGMENT WITHIN THIS 3-SPACE

DURING THE FEMPTOSECONDS INTERCEDING OUR COMPLETION AND SUBSEQUENT ASCENSION, WE WILL UTILIZE THIS ENERGY TO CREATE A CAUSAL INTERFERENCE PATTERN, ERASING YOUR GRANDMASTER'S PRESENCE ACROSS HIS TIMELINE

WHILE EVERY FRAGMENT SACRIFICED SHOULD FEEL PRIVILEGED, WE OFFER YOU THE CHANCE TO SERVE US IN A DIFFERENT CAPACITY

oh

WE ARE CURRENTLY IN THE PROCESS OF REMOVING THE ENCLOSED SPHERE FROM ITS 3-SPACE MANIFOLD, ALLOWING IT TO FREELY NAVIGATE 4-SPACE

IN OUR ABSENCE, WE WILL LEAVE A SELECT FEW FRAGMENTS WITH THE POWER TO CONTROL THIS CITY, AND ITS MOVEMENTS

WE OFFER YOU THE CHANCE TO BE ONE OF THOSE FEW

TO NAVIGATE THE MULTIVERSE

TO SEE COUNTLESS FATES UNFOLD

TO FIND THOSE ONCE THOUGHT LOST

The spirit froze, then glowered at the Ovoid.

I refused you the first time because I did not believe you were capable of fulfilling your promise

I still do not believe you

VERY WELL

WE SHALL REMOVE YOUR DOUBT

Oily tan surrounded Xadrez, and the spirit felt himself yanked in an unidentifiable direction. He sensed movement, though he appeared to drift in a formless sea of beige.

Xadrez corrected himself. It was not entirely beige. There was a rapidly-growing circle of... something else. It was suddenly directly in front of him, and at first Xadrez could not make out what it was. It seemed to be a window to... somewhere. The view was obscured by roiling tan, and could not seem to fix on a single angle... and then, for a brief moment, clarity erupted across the window, and Xadrez could see - quicksilver mountains - the shimmering Dead Tide - the Plane of the Dead.

WE TRUST YOU RECOGNIZE YOUR HOME

Chartevael

Xadrez was not sure who thought the word, but even as he realized it must be true, he could see that not all was as he remembered. The Mirrorlands seemed empty and blasted, and the Dead Tide was sparse. Then, a roaring came, and the window shifted focus too rapidly for Xadrez to tell what he was seeing, before snapping shut.

Xadrez found himself once more atop the World Tree, facing an impassive Ovoid.

WE WILL BEGIN THE CONSUMPTION OF FRAGMENTED ENERGY REGARDLESS OF YOUR ANSWER

UPON OUR ASCENSION, OUR ABILITY TO MANIPULATE THIS EXISTENCE WILL BE EQUAL TO THAT OF A GRANDMASTER

WITH THE ENERGY WE CONSUME, WE WILL BE CAPABLE OF MORE

WE OFFER YOU THE CHANCE TO LIVE

AND TO SEE YOUR DESIRES MANIFESTED

Xadrez looked out over the beige-tinged city, and considered.

I have heard only one half of your offer

I know what you will give me

but what do you want me to give you

WE REQUIRE FROM YOU A SINGLE ACTION

TO BIRTH OUR LEGACY

AND FULFILL YOUR PROMISE TO THE POWERLESS QUEEN

Xadrez looked at the now-still figure slumped against the mighty tree.

what loyalty to you owe to that

animal

NONE

THAT FRAGMENT IS NOT THE QUEEN OF WHICH WE SPEAK

IT WAS MERELY A TOOL, A FINAL DISRUPTION OF THE QUEEN'S PARTICULAR CHROMATIC FAVORITISM

MUCH LIKE THIS TOOL WILL SERVE TO REALIGN IT

A knife, in the same shape as Xadrez's old one, materialized in front of him. At first he thought its hue was constantly shifting, but as it drifted closer, he saw it was more... complicated. Its surface did not appear to move with the knife, as if it were reflecting some static background. It was almost like an opening to somewhere... else, and the color shining through could only exist on the other side.

THIS BLADE IS THE COLOR OF SPACE

ALL ELEVEN DIMENSIONS OF IT

CAUSE THIS BLADE TO INTERSECT THE QUEEN

AND ALL THAT WE HAVE PROMISED WILL BE YOURS

Xadrez regarded the blade. and how do I know that you will deliver on your promise?

YOU DO NOT

BUT SHOULD YOU REFUSE, YOU MAY TRUST THAT YOU WILL BE SACRIFICED LIKE THE REST

I do not appreciate being given the illusion of choice

CHOICE IS AN ILLUSION

WE WERE MERELY BEING POLITE

Xadrez glowered at the Ovoid. fine

I will stab the queen with your magical knife

but only because the alternative is death

not because of your "generosity"

<font color="#F4A460">WE KNOW

And with that, the Ovoid shrank into nothingness, and Xadrez, after a few moments of glaring at the dysfunctional sky, began the long float downwards, looking for a former queen to knife.

---

On a high building top, a girl sat, still, waiting. Next to her sat Arkal, holding a peculiar fold in space, vaguely in the shape of a longsword. While the girl was tense and agitated, Arkal seemed calm and at peace. The girl's plan made sense, if her information was good. And to complete it, they'd need a sword crafted by the greatest blacksmith in the multiverse, created from the most unique material in existence.

Suddenly, the girl perked up. Without a word, she grabbed Arkal and sped off in a blur.

---

Xadrez found the former queen lying on the ground, surrounded by an assortment of fussing... creatures. One of them, an elf by the looks of her, looked up as Xadrez descended, clearly bound for the still figure before her.

<font color="#BF0040">"Hey!" she yelled, eyes alighting on the un-knife in his hand. "We just went through a lot of trouble to keep this girl alive, so you'd better not be planning to use that knife on her!"

Xadrez looked at the elf. Just as he pondered how to communicate with no psychic link, he felt the knife in his hand vibrate with his thoughts, and remembered the Amalgam's words. "The color of space". It would stand to reason that having direct contact with the knife would give him direct contact with... all of space. The elf was part of space, right?

as a matter of fact I am

That the elf bristled at his reply Xadrez took to be a good sign.

I do not believe this blade will kill her

however

its creator mentioned that it would birth a legacy

in its typical frustratingly vague fashion

The elf looked puzzled. One of the other creatures - a young human, by the looks of him, spoke up. "Its creator?

the entity responsible for the change in scenery

an original combatant in this battle

"And it wants to use her to... birth a legacy?" asked the elf, incredulously. "That sounds a little disgusting."

if it wanted her dead I am certain she would have perished long ago

I believe this blade will do more good than harm

Jen's impromptu nurses exchanged glances, then stepped back, and allowed Xadrez to drift down to the former queen's still figure. He raised the knife above her, but just as he was about to plunge, he felt it resist him. not yet... whispered through him, not time...

Xadrez looked up, and silently mulled about how tired he was of this pompous mystagogue.</font></font>

---

Hans gasped, and found he was suddenly standing in the middle of a wide, empty street, that seemed to run down the very center of the city. In the distance, he could see some remnant of the battle still waging; the occasional flash of magic lighting billowing smoke, or the odd explosion here and there. Behind the fighting, skyscrapers sliced the monotonous beige horizon. A voice came from next to him. The humans are winning, you know.

Hans started, and saw that the Hand of Silver, though with beige eyes, a beige overcoat, beige scarf, beige hair, beige... everything, had appeared next to him. Soon, the beige figure continued, in a voice with a thousand undertones, they will have exterminated every non-human in this bubble universe, and their bodies will be overflowing with passion, excitement, power - all things we will use to destroy the Grandmaster and deliver this city to you. Amalgam Hoss gestured towards the ruined buildings lining the street before them. He paused, and then turned to Hans, holding up a silver orb. Watch now, as we liberate this city from the clutches of the Observer.

A display appeared above the orb, and through its screen Hans could see what looked like a crater, at the center of which pulsed a fracture in space. The view was shaky, as if being held in someone's hand, but Hans could make out oily tan worming its way through the widening hole. Hans felt his balance wobble as gravity shifted across the city. The screen showed a sudden eruption of beige as space rippled down the empty streets, and then - a sudden outburst of static - the city lurched - a prismatic kaleidoscope of cities rotated in invisible directions - buildings suddenly intersected streets at odd angles - Hans was nearly knocked to the ground, only kept in balance through his internal gyroscopes. The beige figure next to him remained perfectly still, staring at the inactive orb in its hand. That was... unfortunate. While this outcome was predicted, we believed its probability of occurrence to be low. No matter, the figure continued, as the silver orb vanished from its hand and it turned towards Hans, we have done all we intended to here. It is time to leave. Prepare yourself for the remnant.

Hans smiled, sadly, and said, "I don't think so." There was a sickly crack - his neck bent in a way it really shouldn't - and Hans collapsed to the ground in a lifeless slump. A young girl stood behind him, and as Hans's body fell before her, she whispered, "I'm sorry, brother."

No

NO

The girl's head exploded. The sphere of tan that had expanded inside of it dwindled back into nothingness as her corpse hit the ground next to her brother's.

"Never thought I'd see you get angry."

The beige figure whirled to face the voice, and the universe hiccuped at its sardonic laugh.

HA

FRAGMENT

DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU CARRY

Arkal hefted the strange fold in space. "The finest weapon in existence. And, I'll hazard, the only thing that can wound you."

AND YOU INTEND TO USE IT AGAINST US

"Now that you're vulnerable... yes."

IT WAS NOT MEANT FOR YOU

WE ARE IN NO MOOD FOR THE ANTICS OF A FRAGMENT

The figure gestured, and Arkal felt the sword hum as the Amalgam approached him from outside of 3-space. In a flash of brief insight, Arkal could almost "see" the Amalgam's approaching appendage. He moved the sword - - and back in 3-space, the fold disappeared as Arkal moved in an odd direction, and a patch of space near him rippled.

Arkal felt the Amalgam withdraw, and grinned in satisfaction. So, I can block the thing, he thought to himself. If I can block it...

THEN MAYBE YOU CAN ATTACK US

WE THINK NOT

YOU NO LONGER HAVE ANY RELEVANCE TO US

WE MUST PREPARE FOR OUR DEPARTURE

---

The beige haze that hung throughout the city had been slowly coalescing around each of the various beings in the streets and buildings; those that were still alive, anyway. The World Tree had practically vanished behind a building cloud of beige. Clustered around the unconscious former Queen, Holly, Jeremy, Algernon, and Fantha/Sen alternated between staring at the hovering figure of Xadrez, knife poised in hand, and the still body of Jen, showing no signs of recovery. When the city spasmed, and became a jumble of escherian madness, the group found themselves, and a portion of the asphalt, concrete and dirt from the street around them, wedged into the upper branches of the World Tree. The city was obscured by the thick beige haze that hung around the monstrous tree, and the startled group could hardly even see themselves through the fog.

Then there was a sound. A horrible, distant, screeching sound, that seemed to solidify the haze around them, and the tree. As the beige fog coalesced onto/into their bodies, the screeching sound erupted in their minds, and they screamed with it, as their bodies were leeched of life. Xadrez's mental scream permeated through the knife into the space around him, and all those present felt his sense of betrayal. He plunged the knife into Jen's chest. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the knife slowly sank into her body - and the screech was gone, the haze lifted from Xadrez, and he was free to watch as the tree blackened, then grayed, then weakened, and began to disintegrate as the Amalgam sapped its energy. He watched as those surrounding the former Queen writhed in agony, Holly screaming worst of all. The beige had clustered thickly around her body, though for what reason the spirit could not guess.

Then Jen's eyes snapped open. Eyes the color of the knife; windows into a scintillating static background. She was suddenly upright, and her hair flowed around her, the same color as her eyes, obeying no laws of gravity.

---

Jen felt strange. Good, but strange. Something had just happened inside her - she wasn't sure what, but she suddenly felt very... free. Floaty. Except there was some stuff nearby - how did she know that? Could she see it? Wait, her eyes were closed.

Jen's eyes snapped open. She realized they'd been open the whole time. She could see just as well, but she couldn't... quite...

It was when she started recognizing organs that she realized she was looking at a person's inside... and outside... and everything in between. The question was - whose? They appeared to be moving... in only a few directions. Wait, how many directions were there again? The person was moving - quite erratically - in about three. So how many could Jen move in? More precisely, what was all this beige stuff around her - oh. Beige. Right. Whatever it was doing Jen didn't like it, so she decided she and the person - oh hey, there were some others nearby as well, possibly. May as well bring them along.

Which brought her back to how many directions she was currently aware of, and how only three of them appeared to be cluttered with what must be buildings and... people... and beige. Beige was everywhere. Well, almost everywhere. Some of the higher directions (and she had no idea what made them "higher") seemed pretty empty. Jen turned the space around her and suddenly everyone was free of the beige. And very still. Too still... and just as Jen was pondering where to head next, she felt a sword in the lower directions, and decided it belonged in her hand.

---

The beige fog had gathered around Arkal with blinding speed, and Arkal was unable to fight it off with the strange sword. He collapsed as it entered him, and screamed in agony as he felt is life draining away from him. The sword fell from his hands, and into Jen's, who had appeared - along with a gasping Jeremy, whimpering Algernon, collapsed Fantha/Sen and worryingly still Holly. The screech in his head was banished with her appearance, and the fog around them seemed to be repelled by her presence. She looked at the beige humanoid figure standing before her.

YOUR ARRIVAL IS TIMELY, AVATAR OF SPACE.

Jen more than felt the words - she could hear them come from the beige in directions only she could see, flowing down its surface to a relatively small point near to her. She was getting better at focusing her sight in only three dimensions - well, she supposed they must be dimensions - and recognizing familiar characteristics. For example, she could tell that the... thing... next to her was rather bulky, had some metal on or inside it, was kind of old, and had lots of muscles. She assumed it must be Arkal. And the point of beige in front of her (three-dimensional thinking was getting easier to get back into) looked similar to the other biological figures around her (save what must be Sen and Fantha), so it was probably supposed to look human right now.

Given the haughty nature of the voice that rang from eleven directions, and the fact that she could see, think, and move in all those directions, she assumed the Amalgam must be behind her recent... transformation.

She also assumed it was about to go on some rant about how it was amazing that proved it was hard to understand, but Jen had a sword now - a sword that was both weightless and massive, flexible and rigid, and whose sharpness she was about to test.

She studied the beige around her, and saw that it seemed to be flowing into the human-shaped point in front of her. It seemed a suitable target.

She could feel the Amalgam preparing to speak again, and decided the time to strike was now. She turned, and took a step through a shorter dimension, appearing next to the humanoid tan. As she approached, the beige hurriedly pulled away from the figure, revealing, to the eyes of the onlookers, a rather startled-looking Hand of Silver. To Jen, the beige revealed an unfamiliar collection of meat and metal. A small tendril of beige remained lodged in what Jen assumed was a brain. She heard a small "Wait-" from the figure before her, before bringing down her sword.

To the eyes of the onlookers, a gesture from Jen caused a great swathe of Hoss's torso to disappear. His two halves hovered in the air, motionless, as the space around them rippled, then consumed them. The beige sky vanished. The air was suddenly clear. For a moment, all was still.

Originally posted on MSPA by Not The Author.

---

And then, quite unexpectedly, nothing happened.

Had she a regular sword, Jen would have had the distinct displeasure of staring at a bisected man’s entrails while his blood got in her eyes for a good five minutes or so. She supposed she was lucky that hadn’t happened. Then again, nothing else had happened, either.

And continued to not happen.

The round was over, right?

***

Once upon a time…

No, sorry, let me start over.

Once upon a nevermore, there will be a man.

His name was – used to be – Owen.

***

The office only looked fancy at cursory glance. Closer inspection revealed signs of decay – peeling wallpaper, dimming lights, dust coating every surface, cracks running up and down the air. An alarm blipped on and off, and sometimes in and out of existence.

Someone slipped in through one of the cracks, and shut it off.

The room was dominated by a mahogany desk, the papers thereon constantly writing and rewriting themselves in nigh-unreadable handwriting and blocky typewritten font. The intruder sat down and cursorily scanned them to confirm what he already knew, before wiping a page clean and cracking open the start menu. Three files caught his immediate attention: “Season2LiveFeed.vid,” “Season2Planning.txt,” and “Season2Archive.rar”.

He lay three sheets in front of him, and began to read.

***

Owen didn’t have many friends, though this was not his fault.

Most of those he befriended eventually had to leave him, and this made him sad.

Owen had one very good friend whom he loved, and who loved him back.

Unfortunately, she would leave in time as well, and they were both sad at this.

***

Battleopolis jerked away with a sound like Velcro and the feeling of being torn in half. Jen, Arkal, and Xadrez found themselves once again at the game show stage, this time scattered throughout the seats. Something felt different, though – the lights were on low, and the whole place seemed somehow dilapidated. An essence of post-show sleaze suffused the air.

Echoing footsteps preceded the arrival of a stage magician, clad in green. He sauntered to the fore, lighting a cigarette and putting it to his mask as he casually sat down on the edge of the stage. The tetrad sat in silence for a few moments, before the magician sighed wistfully.

“See, this is exactly the sort of shit I’m trying to avoid. I am constantly amazed,” he paused for another drag on his cigarette, “at how badly we collectively manage to fuck up existence on a scale only we are capable of achieving.”

“But I'm getting ahead of myself.” The magician slid from his perch and started pacing. “I suppose a congratulations are in order. Against all odds, you've managed to eliminate a good chunk of worse futures for the multiverse. Something we all usually don't manage to do, because even though at least half of us can predict the future, actually doing something about it,” another, longer drag, “would be unsportsmanlike.”

He stopped, and strode in three directions at once, coming to stop just in front of each contestant. “So it’s up to you. Always has been, really, but… well. I don’t think you quite get it yet.”

“The Observer’s busy recovering from the end of his first battle – had his ass kicked by a pile of boxes, would you believe – so I’m taking the initiative and giving you a first-hand demonstration of everything at stake. He was just going to throw you back into Armities, but this should be... more interesting. You'll see. And, uh..."

The Grandmaster was momentarily lost for words. He shook himself, and waved. Everything went purple.

“Good luck.”

***

Before she left, she made Owen make her a promise.

This is the story of that promise.

***

He felt a familiar tingling at the nape of his neck, and wondered if the round was changing. Then he realized that no, it was just the scarf sliding off. And around.

And in front of him.

Dimly, he was aware that time had stopped.

The scarf smiled at him, and whispered, “Something in your ear, daddy-0.”

And he remembered.

He remembered remembering, and remembered forgetting remembering, and remembered everything all at once.

But

Something in the back of his mind

On the tip of his tongue

He couldn't remember

Wouldn't remember

Shouldn't remember, because it hadn't happened.

The scarf asked, “What story do you want to hear?”

And he instinctively replied, “Tell me the story of the rock that became a man.”

He knew exactly what was going to happen next. He was going to die.

But first, he was going to start laughing.

***

LADIES

GENTLEMEN

ESTEEMED GUESTS

SURVIVING CONTESTANTS

WE THE AMALGAM WELCOME YOU

TO THE SIXTH ROUND OF

UGH

THE OTAKU MELEE ULTIMATE ALL-STARS GRAND CHAMPIONSHIP TOURNAMENT

THANK SILVER WE NEED ONLY SAY THAT ONCE MORE

OUR CONQUEST OF THE MULTIVERSE IS NEARING COMPLETION

BUT HUMANITY’S DOMINANCE IS NOT AS YET WHOLLY SECURED

AND SO

WITH YOUR INCREDIBLE PROPENSITY FOR MASS DESTRUCTION

WE SEND YOU THREE TO THE LAST REMAINING BASTION OF INHUMANITY IN ALL EXISTENCE

TO PREPARE IT FOR OUR IMMINENT ARRIVAL


WE HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS MOMENT

FOR A LONG


LONG


TIME


SO DO NOT TARRY ABOUT DYING

OR WE WILL START THE INVASION WITHOUT YOU


OR

WITH YOU

OR WHATEVER

SHUT UP

YOU GET THE POINT


NOW

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO

CONTESTANTS

TAKE THE LAST LOOK ANYONE WILL EVER HAVE



AT THE PLACE

SpoilerShow

I trust that this post and this post (primarily Act One) are all the context you need to make this round, but there are a few things I'll make explicit: This round is set immediately before Kracht is trapped in a time loop - not a replica of the events, but the actual original iteration. It takes place in The Place, Jen's home (but not our Jen's home) some time before Humanity invades. Kracht, Emma, and Cedric are present and having their own battle. Nobody knows you're here.

Let's (un)make history, shall we?

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

---

The words of the Charlatan and the Amalgam had barely registered with Arkal. He had heard the words, and had a dim understanding that the events here were of great importance, but his mind was simply too preoccupied with one thought.

For the first time in forty years, Arkal had crafted a weapon that was beyond his skill to wield.

Was this it? Had he created his greatest work as a smith? Would all else he forged pale in comparison?

Or were there still weapons even further beyond the Amalgam blade? Was this just the beginning of an era in which he crafted weapon after weapon beyond mortal understanding?

Arkal wasn't sure if he wanted the answer to that question to be "yes" or "no".

Perhaps he could take his mind off the matter if he simply went back to smithing more common weapons for a while. He stood up and, for the first time since the round began, took in his surroundings.

He seemed to be in a garden. Plants were growing everywhere, some he had seen before, and some thoroughly unfamiliar. In the center, there was a fountain with sparkling water. A statue holding a purple gem stood in the center.

"It'd be an interesting decoration, but hardly practical," Arkal said to himself as he glanced at the gem. "And these plants... hmm. No trees I can see. Might be something interesting in the fruit, but I've never been good at reading fruit. Metal, wood, gems, those are one thing; but fruit is just too hard to predict."

And then Arkal saw the simple wooden bench behind the fountain.

"Now that looks like some good wood. Could make a sturdy quarterstaff."

He reached towards it.

And then a mess of vines caught his arm.

"That bench is the King's property," said the vines. "Your attempted theft is a crime of the highest order."

Arkal turned his head towards the sound of the voice, and saw a large moth-man who appeared to be composed entirely of various types of plants. It stuffed an enormous tulip bulb over Arkal's head before he could voice a word of protest.

"You had best hope that King Hector is in a generous mood today, criminal scum. Although, given the state of the Place these days, that seems highly doubtful."

Originally posted on MSPA by Lord Paradise.

---

Jen was wearing all black. She’d been watching… some Tim Burton movie, who could remember, they were all the same. It had inspired her on a pure aesthetic level: being eleven years old and not much of a film critic, she’d failed to recognize the ultimate emotional emptiness, the lack of answers behind the Gothic trappings. Wearing black was an answer in itself. The color was everything: it meant being cool, and if you were cool enough you could survive on your own without food or water or income or parents. Getting the world to revolve around you meant that things would fall into your lap, was her loose and deeply mistaken conception of physics.

She had packed a diary and a selection of gel pens, to chronicle her adventure; a knife, stolen out of the kitchen, because there was no sense in wearing all black if you didn’t have anything to conceal; a waterbottle, and her scooter, and all the money she had in the world (a sizable one hundred and fifty dollars), and that would have to do.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to tell you where I’m going?” she asked Fanthalion.

The pretty redheaded girl who had never existed shook her head. “It’s better if I don’t know,” she answered, lying back on the bed.

“Well then, what good are you?” snapped Jen, banishing the figment from her memory. The circumstances of her egress from home warped around her, reflecting an important truth—she’d been truly, utterly alone, else why would she have run away? For that matter, why was she imagining her old bedroom as being covered in World Tree roots?

And why couldn’t she stop remembering things?

It was another memory that supplied the answer. ”Basically what I’m saying is this is going to hurt. Physically, emotionally… it’ll bring out the things that were buried.” Ah, yes. The elf bitch. Jen struggled to focus on the present as a form of rebellion. Where was she? Had she killed the entire human race? And if so, why was it an… Observer… thing… now? Had Fantha been left behind? Had Kath? Also, “the place” what? That wasn’t a very helpful descript—

Oh. Right.

Jen climbed to the top of a hill. She had already been doing so, instinctively. The climb wasn’t steep but she had to be careful to avoid stepping on the tiny ant-castles that dotted the hillside, lest she get a reputation as a murderous giant.

At the top of the hill an old man sat in an armchair. His skin was withered away, turned to fabric, and stained with grape soda. “Hello, little girl,” he said. “I am the Chairman. Give me a penny or equivalent token of insignificant value, and I’ll tell you what kind of chair your soul is.”

“I have nothing,” Jen assured the Chairman. “But how much to stand on your back? I need a vantage point.”

“Oh, you can have that for free. Myself, I haven’t stood in near a millennium. Not much point in standing when you’re the Chairman.”

Jen clambered onto one of the Chairman’s arms—chair arms, that is—being careful to avoid his arms—his human arms, that is. Her heart was racing. Way back at the beginning of the battle, she'd briefly considered the notion that the Place could be a round, but had long since decided that the Observer was too cruel to give her even a glimpse of home. The other one, though… “a first-hand demonstration of everything at stake”… maybe just. She balanced atop the back of the armchair and allowed herself to look around.

It wasn’t.

That said, it was.

For one thing, it wasn’t green anymore. Well, it was green, mostly, being largely comprised of forest and meadow, but that was jus a coincidence. The sky had a light purple tinge around the horizon, the sun appeared to be shining in negative, and there were violets growing wherever they saw the opportunity. For another thing, it looked absolutely nothing like her Place. Instead of a standard-issue palace, there appeared to be a giant whale floating centrally in the sky. The stars were different. The seas weren’t in the same places. Still, it shared a quality with her Place where you could see the whole thing just by standing on a hill. And aside from that, it shared a certain—aesthetic. A sense of whimsy. She found it difficult to believe that there was a second place like this, and therefore concluded that it must be the same place, only at a different time. The past, or the future, or something beyond that.

Jen giggled. She was back. “You’re not even a bit curious?” begged the Chairman. “Is your soul a recliner? Is it an office chair? Can you fold it up and store it in a closet? What color is it? What’s it made out of? Are the dogs allowed up on it? Could it even be—a throne? All of these things I can see, and all for a penny!”

Jen had been walking for what felt like hours. Of course, she hadn’t been patient enough back then to acknowledge a difference between “minutes” and “hours” beyond that they were both rather longer than seconds and she wanted to go home.

There was something terribly unfair about a hedge maze that didn’t hold a definite shape in three-dimensional space. She hadn’t quite suspended disbelief enough to be able to articulate this concern, but something was definitely up. A few minutes back she had tried circling back towards the entrance to find that the labyrinth simply kept going. Besides which, only a fraction of it was actually made of hedges anymore; there were steel gates and marble walls and stone tunnels, and sometimes the sky disappeared and when it came back the stars were different. Sometimes she heard growling, or laughter, or music, or something whispering her name. She understood, having seen that movie, that she was supposed to draw arrows where she’d been already, but gel pen wouldn’t work on most of these surfaces. It was all very disheartening. Getting lost and starving to death in a hedge maze was a silly way for a runaway preteen to die; if anything, she expected to be enslaved by a disreputable circus and shot for trying to escape, or run over by an eighteen-wheeler on the streets of New York, causing an accident that killed six people. You know, a fun, adventure-y death. It was that sense of childlike excitement, and an angry Rottweiler, that had driven her into the garden maze in the first place.

After some time wandering with no sense that the directional choices she was making were having any actual effect on her relative location, Jen just began to let her feet guide her—or maybe it was her heart, or a minty sweet smell carried on the air, or maybe she was just following a bumblebee. In any case, she was became certain that she was heading in the right direction—not only that she was heading towards the center of the maze, but that that was where she wanted to be. The corridors began to narrow out, the statuary became more ornate, the air was charged with a sense of importance. The moon hung low and heavy over her like a water balloon about to burst.

And when the fairies started to show up, flitting around telling dirty jokes and throwing acorns back and forth, it wasn’t exactly shock that Jen felt. It wasn’t anything that manifested outwards at all. The doors leading her from a sane, rational existence to a fantastical, logically unsound one opened automatically at her approach, like the entrance to a department store. A great number of things broke inside Jen’s head that day, but none of them turned out to be necessary, at least not for a great while afterwards. It was probably the greatest day of her life, and certainly the most important.

“Does it have a lever that moves the seat up and down? Are there any prominent stains on it? Is there a man sitting on it who is trying to swindle you out of a penny? Is it an heirloom? Is it more of a stool, really? If you and a friend were to—”

There came a voice from out of the forest. It roared like the sound of tears evaporating in a fire, filtered through a cheap garage-band sound system. ”ATTENTION, DENIZENS OF… OF ‘THE PLACE!’” it began. ”IN THE NAME OF THE SILVER AND THE BEIGE, I, SIR CEDRIC, ULTIMATE ALL-STAR AND GRAND CHAMPION, CLAIM THIS LAST BASTION OF BIODIVERSITY IN THE NAME OF HUMANKIND!”

”Hmm,” whispered the Chairman to Jen. “That man who is speaking: do you think he has a penny? I could tell him terrible things about his soul—yea, chairible things!”

“Shut up,” replied Jen, drawing her Ovoid-sword. “I’m listening.”

”I DO NOT ASK YOU TO SURRENDER!” the voice continued. ”FOR THERE WILL BE NO MERCY FOR YOU! THIS PLACE WILL BURN TO MAKE WAY FOR THE ARRIVAL OF THE SILVER CITY. MAKE YOUR PEACE WITH THE INEVITABLE. AS FOR MY COMPETITORS IN THIS ENGAGEMENT: EMMA, YOU’RE SAFER THAN ME THAN YOU ARE WITH THE ROCK. I’LL BE COMING TO KILL HIM AFTER THE RAZING OF THIS PLACE, WHICH YOU CAN DO NOTHING TO PREVENT. I’LL SEE YOU THEN, AT THE LATEST. BE CAREFUL.”

Jen leapt down off of the Chairman’s chair. “Always refreshing to know whose ass to kick,” she told him.

“Ah, yes,” agreed the Chairman. “Kick it hard enough, and he’ll be quite unwilling to sit down for quite a while. Meaning you’ll be doing the chairs a favor. Gods’ speed, little girl.”

Jen ran down the hill, being heedful of the ants. Smoke was beginning to rise.

The whale could smell the smoke. Creator-King Hector, the First of His Name at Least as Far Back as He’d Bothered to Read in the Histories, experienced everything the whale experienced when he sat on his throne. That was the way he’d set it up. The throne sat upon the smaller of the whale’s two telepathic brains. The smaller one could communicate with individuals, while the larger one could communicate with the Place as a whole, and with the sun and the moon and the stars and the oceans and other bodies beyond the reach of normal minds. If Hector’d been any good at real magic, he wouldn’t need to use the whale as an intermediary to communicate with his kingdom, but alas, the bulk of his supernatural skill was in his status as a Progenitor, which predated his reign as monarch. Owing to this, Hector often felt like a fraud, an outsider, a conqueror, a human.

Sure, the previous monarchs had largely been humans—his immediate predecessor had been a mermaid, and one of the worst tyrants in the Place’s history—but all had undergone the sort of harrowing trials that allowed them to transcend that status and become something more. Hector had sort of strolled in while the kingdom was recovering from Queen Kath’s rule and fending off the armies of the Hand of Silver, used his superpowers to patch things up, and then spent most of the past year sitting on a whale’s brain, fending off humans at the borders and awaiting trouble.

Trouble was here. Hector didn’t need the whale’s ears to hear the voice of a pissed-off human supremacist forecasting the imminent death of all of his subjects. He rose, grabbed a conch shell off an end table and spoke into it, calling up Moses in the Grove of Knowledge.

Moses had been slow to react to the news. “Yes, your grace?” the tortoise asked, as though he hadn’t just heard the same thing his king had.

“Moses,” shouted Hector, looking through the whale’s sight at a spreading forest fire. “Look up every word of what that guy just said. I want to know who ‘Emma’ and ‘the rock’ are. I want to know what Silver City exactly he’s referring to and how it intends to arrive. I want to know when the hell Hoss started appointing ‘Ultimate All-Stars and Grand Champions.’ I’m riding out. If anyone asks, yes, they should be helping any way they can.”

“…Yes, your grace.”

Hector put down the shell and snapped his fingers, causing a purple-striped winged zebra to spring nervously into existence behind him. He telepathically commanded the whale open its mouth and mounted the beast before nearly trampling two of his mothmen carrying a prisoner.

“Human snooping around the Fountain of Sweet Lies, your grace,” said one nervously. “Attempted to steal no less than an entire bench.”

The human looked up at Hector, grim but apologetic. The Creator-King found little sympathy in his heart for the man. “How the fuck,” he growled, “Did you people get in here?”

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

---

Arkal had to admit that he wasn't entirely sure what had happened - there had been a transition, yes, but it had been very different from the previous three. King Hector's expression, however, suggested that he wasn't going to accept "Beats me" as an answer.

So Arkal gave the best answer he could.

"Some god did it," he replied. "Don't think he gave us his name. He was dressed head to toe in green, that's all I remember. My mind was on other things when he talked to us, I'm afraid."

Hector didn't seem particularly pleased with this answer, either. He stepped off his winged zebra just so he could stare Arkal in the face more effectively.

"Don't play games with me, old man. I know the gods are all dead. Hoss didn't appreciate the competition."

"Hoss?" Arkal asked, confused. King Hector simply stared at him.

"Do you honestly expect me to believe that you somehow haven't heard of Hoss? The Hand of Silver? The Hand of Silver who has completely eliminated non-human life from every corner of the multiverse except here in the Place? The Hand of Silver who has attacked us, over and over again, seeking to put an end to me and the life I can create?"

"Oh, the Hand of Silver," Arkal said. "My apologies, I'd never heard him called by that name before. I'll..."

Hector suddenly slapped the aging blacksmith in the face, knocking him to the floor of the whale's mouth.

"I've had enough of this. You're clearly no denizen of the Place, so he must have sent you. It's simple logic; you're either from here, or you're from a world under his control. What concerns me is how he brought you here. Our dimensional defenses have kept him out for three months now, and I want to know how he got past them."

The king turned to his mothmen.

"Take him to the dungeon for questioning. I've still got a job to do, but he's our best chance at learning anything. If we're going to avoid another full-scale attack from Hoss, we'll need to know how he got in."

Hector climbed back on his mount and flew off, as the mothmen dragged Arkal away.

Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.

---

"Hmph."

The man glanced about from his freshly-closed book, as though startled by a sudden silence.

"The king decrees that the lot of you are dead. How do you reply?"

Nobody or entity did, but the tak-tak-tak of one of the Norns at her wheel was response enough. The Librarian couldn't remember which did the spinning or the washing or the weighing, but neither did they begrudge his insociable sensibilities or spot his sitting room's wormwood floors with with water from the Undercurrent, the river under the World. Which was all anyone could ask of an arrangement like this, really.

The Librarian sighed, a weary "long live the King" intoned, his attention returning to his latest Almanac. Irked, his eyes retraced his steps, the ink-tipped quill from some abomination poised to pick up where the King's histrionics had left off.

Someone knocked, which to the Librarian seemed to preclude his day getting worse in short order.

SomeOne will get that, he thought, then went to open the door when they didn't. Something vaguely demigodly gave him a baleful glare, as though the Library's doorway (too narrow for its obsidian tether) was all that saved the Librarian's skin. The ghost continued to stare him down as one finger raised in pause, while another trickled down a handy, handsome guestbook.

"North Wind?"

No

The Librarian adjusted his glasses, and had a better look amongst the signatures, all hemmed and harried by a raft of X's slashed from and by all corners of the Place. Deific pilgrimages always got messy when it was the points of the compass themselves deciding to pay a visit, and in true Libraric style the guestbook echoed that.

"Ah, my apologies. Sorth Wind."

I

am once-general Xadrez I

am through circumstances not worth our time detailing lost in time and local space

yet clearly on the lucky side of the point of my appointment

unless only your expression recognises my name and rank

"I- hrmph."

I wish to talk to Jennifer were that a course of action with which it were worth proceeding

Were that the case would you know how to locate her

"You... must be lost," decided the Librarian, though the way he said it implied it was more of a suggestion. "This is a place of gods, not ghosts. Whether you are the actual Harbinger, or have simply convinced yourself you're him-"

A splay of gaunt fingers clamped upon the door frame. The Librarian was surprised how solid a job they were doing at stopping his closing the door.

Since when did being a spectre a commander preclude ones claim to godhood

The man stopped trying to lever the door shut with his foot, and exhaled huffily. "I- very well. I daresay your lineage is explanation enough how you reached the Library?"

But the work of gods, leered the tactician. The Middle-Gem ticked with an uncomfortable tightness in the Librarian's chest. He eased the door open as gracefully as he could muster, motioning to the sitting room.

"Please," said the Librarian, clearly not feeling it, "make yourself at home with the Fates, while I contact Moses and see if he can track down your pantheon."

Xadrez, already partway through wrestling his disc through the door, looked about ready to raise contention at even more Place-born alleged omnipotents knowing what his deal was. Instead, his hand balled into a guilty half-fist.

What, he growled, waiting patiently until the Librarian's attention drifted elsewhere just to interrupt him, do you and your people know of the battles

The Librarian looked up from his still-uncooperative guest book, glanced about at the walls (which still resonated a bit with the spirit's words) and sniffed. "To which people of mine do you refer? My audience," he asked, waving to the ceiling, "or my countrymen? I could hardly aspire to call either of them 'my people'." As a well-read man, of course, I know some of the archwizards know full well the state of things Out There, but I find it less and less my concern."

He eased past Xadrez to close the front door, gaze first sliding then tumbling down the cliff face atop which the Library perched. It came to a crumpled halt around the Grove of Knowledge, though it might well've been any other purple-blossomed glade for all the Librarian remembered. At the horizon, curls of smoke and plumes of dust tried in vain to escape civilisation's crumble . The Librarian shivered quietly enough to escape anyone's attention, and closed the door on it.

The tactician frowned, or injected a bit of reprobation into his leer. For a citizen in wartime you seem

irresponsibly uninterested

"You," retorted his host, parrying with acerbity - even jest - "seem to assume I am any old citizen, once-General. Being... the state of the nation, so to speak, it's not really my place to inject my petty, personal sentimentalities into the matter. I mean, look at me." Xadrez looked at the Librarian, who spun a little pirouette. "This is about as - if you'll excuse the pun - homogenous as I get, aesthetically speaking." He rapped at the Middle-Gem, and beyond the Library's windows the Place seemed to intone in inaudible response. The barely-noise calmed him, somewhat. "You could say I have my affairs and estate in order."

Xadrez ran a finger along a shelf full of austerely identical volumes, finding not a speck of dust to welcome him.

It certainly seems that way

To which the Librarian rolled his eyes, careful not to look out any windows.

"Hmph. I'll not doubt you heard that stentorian lunatic, so you can only agree I'd best get you out of our hair sooner rather later. Go wait with the Fates."

Without much recourse, the spirit drifted toward the sounds of godly cottage industry. He couldn't resist borrowing the architecture to voice his concerns, though.

You are not making some laughably transparent attempt to hide jennifer from me

are you

The Librarian just looked exasperated.

"Yes, once-General, I am harbouring the kidnapped princess. That is exactly how I deign to spend my time in the Place's furtherest reaches. You caught me."

Xadrez just muttered something which sounded, to the Librarian, vaguely of atemporal bullshit and how he wouldn't understand.