The Comfort Of The Knife

I followed the trail of molten sunshine that wound its way above the district. Sure, there were tributaries of gold that trickled off in other directions—other targets. They were too minor to sate the burning urge that ripped an emptiness through me. A chill that could only be destroyed through the consumption of something more than one off targets. It was in search of whatever that more was which led me to touching down atop a warehouse on the edge of the water. Though at this hour the bay was akin to an endless void. Even the moon refused to mirror in the invisible tide that gave a writhing life to the dark. The only light I had eyes for was the golden trail that curled around a skylight set within the warehouse’s roof.

Wings folded, I crept toward the portal of color and peered down through the glass at the corpses I’d make. Their faces were hidden to me—already scribbled out—but their body language betrayed a relaxed joy. They sat around a table, circular and covered in a green felt, and tossed chips into a growing horde. Clutched chards in their fingers as they only had eyes for a treasure they’d never claim.

Though the urge pushed me onwards I clung to the rim of the skyward window. I checked the list, and oh their crimes were delicious to see listed: conspiracy against the Lodge, stolen identities, members of a cult—my attention bisected the lust cloud that drowned my brain. They were Lurkers in the Deep. I licked my lips as I recalled the worry and resignation of Melissa’s face when she had spotted their graffiti. Then imagined the beautiful face she’d wear after I told her I’d dyed the ocean red with the blood of those very same Lurkers. That I’d made the exam safer for us all. The lust tickled my nerves as I quivered in glee.

I tested the glass with my foot, and found it sturdy. I’d need force if I was to shatter it. Sphinx heard my unspoken request and stretched its wings. It took only one heavy flap to propel into the air. The second drew me up into the sky. At the third I knew I’d make one grand entrance.

Its wings folded and I fell, hard and fast as a judge’s gavel. In the midst of my descent I pointed to one of the Lurkers who had just tossed chips into the air. A laugh trailed above me at what imagined was the most confused expression as it saw them tumble slowly in the air. A sight so peculiar it leaned over the table to better examine. It didn’t even look up—shame, it might’ve not died first then.

Within the sluggish Godtime, my entrance was marked by pieces of glass that tumbled lazy as snowflakes. From below it must’ve looked like a beautiful explosion as each piece sparkled within the lazy incandescent lights. A sky full of stars—their final sight.

I landed on the distracted cultist’s head. It made such a good cushion as my feet shattered its skull and smeared its brains—what little it had—on the surprisingly clean poker table. Which turned out to be stunningly well-made as it didn’t shatter beneath me. Chips flew into the air like rice at a wedding. I Godtime’d the Lurker in front of me. It screamed as the chips made sleepy somersaults above us. Enough of that noise, I thought, and solved the problem.

In a generous sweep of both arms, I tossed an arc of chalecdony fire in direction and in the other I introduced the bright-tenderness of Mother’s Last Smile. The screaming cultist before me was lucky enough to get both courtesies. Its face was forgotten in the consumptive fire, and its head severed from the weak neck that supported it. The other cultists hadn’t gotten to ponder the scene for more than a second in their own subjective time before they too died.

My heart drummed quick and light as I waited. There was no sorcery in the air nor the clackety-clack of some mechanical weapon. It was only the light tinkle of glass and muffled plonk of chips. I’d done this perfectly, and oh the joyous moan that came from my body as I saw all those names, those serious crimes, be checked away. I’d earned that moan and held myself lest the pleasure bisect me.

The rapturous afterglow was cut short by the whirling roll of a flushed toilet down the hall. I stood tall, teeth bared but hidden by the mask, and made my every muscle—flesh and spirit—taut in anticipation. It was that bullheaded blowhard from the outpost that opened the door. I hadn’t expected it, and so I saw his face. I smiled, and I laughed sharp as a hyena.

“This is great,” I said.

He asked, “Two-spell.”

I hissed, “It’s three now.”

You might not believe me, but before we began our merry chase I saw myself in his eyes. Arms spread wide as if to embrace the sheer enormity of the moment. Half my body shiny-slick with the blood of what I put together were his friends. Though really I did more “taking them apart.” There was only a quarter of my body untouched by blood. He probably had enough in him to make the coat even.

I like to imagine that at the sound of my laugh he understood that it was only a rendition of his laugh as he mocked me—I hate to be laughed at. From how he ran, I think he finally got that. I skipped down from the table as he bolted back into the hallway. He had such luck that my toss of chalcedony fire caught the door rather than him—he’d closed it in his retreat. I sprinted through the curtain of nothing the sorcerous flames had degraded the wood into.

It took the bullheaded idiot the first turn of the hallway to cast spells back—the idea a bit too slow to catch the coward at the start. He had formed the hand-spell before I had turned the corner. His hands parted as if in supplication right when I re-established sight of him. A sunrise orange miasma poured from his hands. Billowed into the air like smoke before taking shape as a crowd of ancient warriors. They let loose the Glory hungry roar of the human animal and charged. Past them all I saw that bullheaded bastard linger to watch his spell take my life—confirm it. I wouldn’t give him the pleasure.

I let loose my own maenadian bellow of all that was in me—all that Bloodlust—and unleashed a Fivefold Atomic Glory back at him. We were the same link in the Chain, but Amber was right that sparring didn’t mean shit. Chalcedony incinerated the orange sunrise as Revelation trumped the meager strength of mortal Glory. The floors, walls, and ceiling of the hallway were lathered in hungry flames that chased him down the hall and out the window.

He lucked out again and rolled down stacked boxes of cargo that were right below the window. Five drops six feet each to an interlude of safety. When I flew through the window after him I noted the shock on his face—he didn’t expect those boxes either. Though he quickly gathered himself as he heard the beating of Sphinx’s wings. Sprinting off into the labyrinth of shipping containers thinking that he’d lose me. Forgetting that I could just follow the fleeing ant that he was from up in the air. The Omensight making it so I could see perfectly in the night.

Our chase led us down turn after turn after turn. I kept it exciting by directing Sphinx to unleash a barrage of Atomic Glory’s from the eyes on its wings. The sprinkling of violent stars rained about him. Unfortunately, his reflexes weren’t atrocious and every star that had a chance of even grazing him he’d block by conjuring a spectral phalanx of warriors proud to die. When that grew boring I talked to him. Hoped that the distraction would lead him to a dead end.

I asked, “Why the Lurkers? They’d never let you join their ranks.”

He answered, “We weren’t joining their ranks but allying against that bitch of a Lodgemaster and monsters like you.”

Rapid barks of laughter tumbled from me. He thought I was the monster. Really? I swooped low and had Sphinx drop me from the sky. My glaive cleaved air, but crashed onto another set of spectral shields. I kicked off of them before the array of conjured pilum snaked out in the gaps between the layered shields. Two flaps and I had righted back in the air.

“They kidnapped you, or did you run your head into a wall and forget?”

He yelled, “No, but they made amends. Paid us for the injury upon our names they caused. That’s more kindness than the Lodgemaster showed us and the collectives who’ve been allies to the Lodge since it was founded in this region. She did nothing to make amends due to her lapse in duty.”

“Lapse in duty?” I asked. “I saved you. And this is the thanks I get?”

“No one saved us. I woke up to a building filled with corpses and empty of the living.”

“That was me clearing the way,” I said. “Also, I did cut the lock to your cell.”

“You could’ve woken us up. Led us out of there.”

“Why should I? You were competition.”

“We were without weapons. No supplies. Left in the Underside without a proper suit. We could’ve caught curses!”

I scowled, “And now you’re on my list, and I’m so happy to check you off!”

His phalanx scattered as an Atomic Glory crashed into it. He leaped out of the way just in time. My eyes narrowed in frustration, and happened to catch the shock-pink glint of a Luck curse that swam about his head like a crown. Strings of it unspooling from the mass as it wove into the fiber of his being. The bullheaded annoyance was being made luckier by the second.

Once again he ran. Made a turn and this time I smiled as I knew it was the dead end I’d been waiting for—why was he still running? I swooped low and took the turn tight. Gasped as I saw him raise a narrow quartz slate that was the dark-blue of the Abyss. It shined in the bioluminescent color of a deep sea as thread ran from it to one of the Whalefall murals—the key thread to its activation.

The jellyfish swirled and pushed through the wall like it wasn’t even there. A bloom of them cluttering the air like paper lanterns on New Year’s. It was the groaning cry of the dying whale in the mural that smothered the scream of rage which tore down my throat. I swooped low and with Sphinx’s wings sped down the path after my prey.

We wouldn’t be fast enough. I knew that in my bones. There were no targets for me to Godtime, so I could catch up. His phalanxes were fast enough to keep blocking my flames by the grace of the curse. My eyes screwed shut as I screamed again—this time at my impotence.

Sphinx said, “See, Nadia.”

I opened my eyes. The world in lilac save for the colors of sorcery and the touch of the Courts. It connected the key to the mural. His body was woven with them as a summoner, the curse was woven in him in its parasitism, and a thread of purest enmity ran from me to him. All those threads. My sight landed gently on the string that connected us. I could feel it draw against the memories inside; teasing at the visions of the past I could review. A hypothesis came to mind.

Atomic Glory would shoot through the air of Realspace. It was dodgeable as a result. Yet the tie that connected me to him couldn’t be shirked. Could it burn? Not as the after effect of letting the flames consume my target, but as the vector by which it could travel. With how the key unlocked the mural by a tie of fate it seemed possible.

Sphinx’s rumble of approval vibrated in my spirit. It wasn’t a new spell, but a twist on a classic. My fingers parted from around the tie of enmity as I split infinity once again. Cried out in orgiastic self-satisfaction as an infinite number of outcomes were incinerated to fuel the one I’d chosen. In the flames I saw the possibilities. Delusional resolutions that hinged on impossible choices. They burn so bright.

Atomic Glory raced down the string—he was still running, nearly at another Lucky escape. Fortunate for me, Luck is for trumping what’s Real not the future seen within Revelation’s flames. I flicked off the Omensight, amused to see the bead of flame disappear—spells cast along fate’s threads weren’t visible to those without some form of sorcerous vision. A detail I stored for some other time. Some other fight. Instead I let myself sink into the moment. Experience the tiniest bit of surprise and glee as my bullheaded enemy spontaneously combusts. Flowers of chalcedony burning him from within like some wicker sacrifice.

He tumbled to his knees. Dropped the key. I picked it up for myself as I stalked his crawling corpse to the very end. I pushed him with the butt of my glave so I could roll him over. He didn’t scream as he died. Just a rasp as every strand that made up his future, his present, his connections, all of it went up in flames. He was being hollowed until not even the Real could support his existence. When I blinked the flames were dying and whatever had burnt was gone. There was only the bright green of an entry checked off and fading.

A low smoky voice called out, “Your flames are pretty.”

I whirled about to see one of my fellow dogs slow clapping at the end of the aisle. I banished the dark with a blink of my eyes—the tears mixed with my sweat stinging my eyes from the spell. It was worth it because his body was something to behold. Sculpted with graceful curves from a generous amount of muscle that lurked below, his physique was a thick inverted triangle. A powerful frame that barely tapered at their waist. As he walked toward me I saw how he slouched, shoulders rolled forward. Prowling like a tiger with an effortless implication of the violence they could impart. I tasted salt on my lips as I stalked toward hit—it was only right to meet halfway.

It took effort to keep down the hot pulse of fear that blossomed behind my navel. This dog was tall like the statue they were. Taller than Amber. Nearly a foot taller than me going by how my eyes landed at his chest—the hard decorative pillows my mom loved to collect came to mind.

I asked, “How long have you been watching?”

My voice totally didn’t crack.

“Since that,” he said.

Shoved his thumb behind him. I gave a quick hop and caught sight of the warehouse. It was a veritable bonfire.

I said, “Oh, well, no one will remember that when it’s gone.”

“Pity. I think I’d like to remember something that beautiful,” he said.

Though he kept his mask—I hoped his eyes—trained on me as he spoke. Then his mask tilted downward to my chest.

“I’ll have to sate myself with this,” he purred. “In that suit you look pretty as the apples on my grandparent’s orchard. Right size too.”

Apples. . . I looked to my chest and felt my face burn hot as a hearth.

“You pig,” I spat.

Thrust Mother’s Last Smile at his head. He tilted his head out of the way. Wove back under the glaive as I swept it to the side. His hand shot out to catch the weapon beneath the bright-white head. I tried to tug it from his grasp, but it was like every force imaginable led straight to him—to that grip. He was higher up the Chain. It only took one pull from him to jerk me forward. I crashed into him. Stumbled a half step, and his other hand caught me by the waist.

“Dogs aren’t supposed to fight, Orchard,” he said.

He pointed with his head up and to the right. I turned my head to follow and spotted a Secretary sitting atop the containers. They looked around in surprise then pouted. I turned back to him.

“Thanks,” I said. “Now let me go!”

He released me, and I could actually take a step backwards. I’d asked him to let go, but for a half-second I lingered. Then I coughed and reestablished a fair distance between us—a conversational distance. My awkwardness crumpled up the majority of my high from a job well done. It didn’t take away the heat though—that still coiled in me.

“Nice tool you got there, Orchard,” he said. “Not a lot of examinees running around with Conceptual weapons. How’d you get one?”

I heard the howl of stormy winds and the patter of angry rain in my mind.

“From my mom,” I whispered.

“Family heirloom, that makes sense. I have one myself. Well, not right now. I worry it’d make me too distinct for now.”

“Uh huh, well last I checked you’re the only pig taking the exam. And stop calling me Orchard!”

“Alright, what do you want me to call you?”

I nearly answered with my own name. Anything to not let him put some pet name on me. Then I remembered I was trying to keep a division between the night me and the day me. A different name would help.

“F-fine. Orchard is fine,” I said, then had a thought, “if I get to give you a name.”

The chuckle that rumbled in him made my face heat up.

“Sure thing, Orchard. I’ll take any name you want to call me.”

“Piggy,” I said.

“Huh?”

I circled him—really took him in—and gave a satisfactory nod.

“Yeah, I think Piggy is a great name.”

He shook his head in disbelief. Held up two fingers to mimic the appearance of a boar’s tusks.

“Piggy is is then.”

Our banter was interrupted as a river of gold materialized above us only to bleed into a dripping red. The HUD filled with a message: Emergent Threat Determined. Assigned Highest Priority. We glanced at each other.

Piggy asked, “Think it’ll give the most points?”

“It better,” I said. “Race you to it!”

Sphinx’s wings hurriedly smacked the sky to propel me to the air. Piggy’s response chased after.

“You’re on,” he yelled.

I took an early lead because I could fly over the labyrinth of shipping containers. Piggy stole the lead back by applying some spell that left me locked in place. Even with the Omensight I couldn’t perfectly parse the magic used—the suit and the mask doing something to anonymize our sorcery. He didn’t let me go until he had a block and a half of lead on me. Our game took us from the cluster of warehouses at one end of the bay to the other where large houses sat at the edge of a cliff that dropped down to the water. Piggy had beat me there, and joined the small crowd of dogs that had formed at an intersection

“Not going to gloat?” I asked as I touched ground.

Sphinx’s wings had folded back inside of my spirit—I didn’t want too many of my competitors noting the distinctive markings on them. Which is when I noticed no one had watched me at all. Before I could ask why, Piggy grabbed my hand and led me through the loose crowd. The answer was memorable; from the street down to a house that was half-collapsed were the bodies of at least twenty other dogs like me. Their blood filled the grooves of the cobblestone road. There wasn’t a single body that had made it more than halfway to the ruined house.

“Looks like no one is getting those points,” Piggy said.

“If no one’s going to try, why're they all standing around?”

“We want to see if someone can,” the cat girl said.

I found her perched on a tree branch overhead. Her twin tails swung back-and-forth in the mild boredom that cats often found themselves in.

“Why not do it yourself?” I asked.

She said, “Because I like life more than points. Also, there’s a beast in there that I know I’m not the sort of predator to take on nor turn my back to.”

“Can’t fault her for keeping a clear estimation of herself,” Piggy said. “No one even knows what makes this target such a high priority.”

I read the entry that was at the top of my list. It said: Potential White Womb Scenario. None of which made sense to me at the time. I only figured it had to be something awful since the lot of us were tasked with killing it. So I watched the crowd alongside Piggy and waited to glean some information. We didn’t have long before one of our dogs was hyped up by his peers that maybe he could be the one to do what twenty could not.

He gave a quick stretch, formed a hand-spell with some unknown effect, and ran. His arms pumped as he kicked off the ground with each step. That’s when we saw the dawn emerge. A pillar of light shooting up from the horizon—no, the house—and arcing down onto the road. The light broke apart in its descent to create individual bullets of purest Morning. Our fellow dog kicked up his pace. It was pointless. Through the Omensight I observed the spell and could see the ties of fate that guided each bullet to the ground.

The dog was barreling through threads one after another. They didn’t stick to him, but they told a prophecy of their trajectory—he wasn’t going to escape them. When the first one landed it sounded like the sizzle of fat touching a pain. It was the fat cooking, rendered down by the heat. He was a lanky dog, but he still had enough fat for the spell to agitate. The rain of bullets made clean holes through his body. Quickly polka-dotting him until he had only the thinnest strands of flesh keeping his silhouette in one doyly’d piece that fell to the stones below.

Piggy whistled. One of our other dogs swore. It was a different one that pointed out our current tester wasn’t done yet. Whatever spell he cast before running went into effect. His blood swept back into his body. Flesh and muscle stitched themselves back together. Death was undone. The sheer energy of it caused the cobblestone to glow orange-hot before it dulled to a black glass as the heat escaped. A few dogs cheered—it was impressive.

“It’s not done,” Sphinx said to me.

Morning rose again. We all felt it. The dog did his best to scrabble out of the glass shallow he’d made. His shoes couldn’t find purchase, so he slipped. Shattered his jaw on the product of his own sorcery. The bullets made sure he didn’t process the pain for long.

“A one and done spell isn’t that good,” Piggy said. “Probably wouldn’t’ve outran the spell even if he hadn’t slipped.”

“What about you?” I asked.

“What?”

“Think you could get past this?”

Piggy snorted, “I’m not that cocky, Orchard.”

“Shame,” I said. “Guess I’m bigger.”

“Really?” he asked. “I take it you have an answer.”

“Maybe,” I said.

The way my other dogs turned to me made me want to hedge my bet.

“At least if you helped me,” I said. “You can run fast.”

Piggy pushed off of the tree and rolled his shoulders to stand at his full height.

“You’ve hooked my ego. What’s the plan, Orchard?”

I grinned behind the mask. It wasn’t the kind of plan that Nadia would have, but Orchard would. She just wouldn’t tell, so I didn’t.

I asked, “I’m still in the soldiery so I can’t get a good read on the spell. How strong do you think it is?”

“At least viscount. Weakened a bit because of the casting distance. Weakened again for some other reason. Maybe lands somewhere near the high end of Baron, comparatively speaking.”

“That’ll work.” I said, “Bend over for me.”

“Just because, dog, is our designation doesn’t mean we have to act like it,” the cat girl said.

I stammered, “Not like that. I just need to get on Piggy’s back. It’ll make this easier.”

Piggy chuckled, “Of course. Though you should know, I prefer to bend people over rather than get bent.”

I ignored the comment and slipped my legs between the loops he made with his arms. The sheer amount of heat that ran through his body ripped up my centerline. He gently flexed and pinned my legs against himself. Looked back to me.

“Now what?” he asked.

“Run.”

He nodded. Bent his knees and arched his back as I felt everything draw into him like he was the center of the universe. Then it all snapped and he rocketed forward. With a single bound we cleared two yards. Two more in the second bound. This couldn’t even be called running; he skipped off the ground like a flat stone on a placid lake.

I fought the way the wind shoved my face into his neck. Tilted my head up, and witnessed the Morning in its awful glory. As we raced to the house I realized how wide that pillar of imminent doom was, and I screamed into Piggy’s ear.

“I’m going to put a spell on you. Don’t resist.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied.

One hand-spell later and I had plunged the two of us into Godtime. True to his word, Piggy didn’t resist me when the spell touched him. While his physical body was straining, his spiritual one was relaxed and absorbed the spell much better than when I had used it on Secretary without warning. The result of which helped it slip past the innate defenses that came from having a higher spiritual density than a spell’s caster. So rather than the half-speed pantomime of slowness that occurred with Secretary, I was at least able to slow the bullets down to a quarter of their speed.

“I’m still not going to make it,” Piggy yelled.

Of course he wouldn’t. That’s why this plan had two stages. With every core muscle I had—planted from years of working out with Mom—I arched my back against the force of the wind. When I could see the dogs watching upside down I knew I had the right angle. My arms crashed together as the wind yanked them back. I wound my fingers and my thumb together.

As Piggy’s foot came down and the world condensed on that single step, I wound infinity in my hands fivefold—prayed to the Sovereign of Revelation that this would work—and split it as slow as possible. The star that winked into being squinted and flexed from the uneven flow of fuel that trickled into its blazing mass. I had leashed my Atomic Glory so it wouldn’t fly toward the crowd. Instead, I had Piggy ride the waves of the power that screamed behind him.

All of it together rocketed us forward. Houses and trees became streaks of color on the wind. Behind us, I watched as the bullets of Morning ascended to smash into the street. They were right behind us—the heat tickled my fingers—but they didn’t touch us.

I howled our victory as Piggy cleared the wave of bullets and we smashed through the front door that still remained attached to the ruined house. It was a blur of wood and metal as we crashed through wall after wall. Both of our spells dropped in the process. We found ourselves in the kitchen of the house. Piggy had curled around me blocking the worst of our landing. I clambered off of him—worried that I’d sacrificed him due to a poorly thought out plan.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He groaned, “I might need. . .”

“Yeah?”

“Mouth to mouth.”

I punched him in the thigh.

“I was actually worried about you,” I said.

He pushed himself out of the crater he made of the oven we were stopped by. I heard a few cracks as he stretched.

“Worry is fine for now,” he said, “but long-term it might prove necessary.”

I rose and nearly swooned. Piggy caught me by the shoulder and righted me. I blinked away the darkness that crept at my vision. Sucked in a deep breath that did nothing to alleviate the pain.

“Just, stay still for a moment,” Piggy said, “you have summoner’s exhaustion.”

“What? That’s never happened to me before,” I said.

“Have you pushed yourself this hard before?”

“Maybe. Well, if I have, I was just casting spells normally.”

Piggy nodded, “That’d do it. That isn’t normally how the spell is supposed to go, is it?”

“Not even close. Was my first time doing that actually.”

“That checks out then. Twisting a spell puts more of a strain on your spirit than casting them straight. Though I get a sense there’s nothing really straight about you, Orchard.”

I let him have that one. He was right.

“When does it stop?” I asked.

Piggy shrugged, “No idea. Not really a practical question in the first place though. Spells take effort, same as flipping a tire, but the more you do—especially if you’re twisting the spell—the more your spiritual musculature will develop. Well, that’s the theory anyways.”

“I thought you said your grandparents ran an orchard?”

He said, “The ones on my dad’s side of the family do. My mom’s dad—my other grandpa—is a bit of a researcher. Though you wouldn’t find his name on any major org’s membership list. I help him out when I can though. Guess I picked up a few facts in the process.”

I hummed approvingly at the new light I saw him in—so my pig had a bookish side. We didn’t linger in the moment long as a woman’s pained screech split the silence. Our attention snapped in the direction of the noise. We looked over the kitchen island to the living room that was connected—well, the remains of a living room. The far wall was gone and you could see the ocean void beyond the cliff. Hear the water as it crashed in the near distance. There was only a portion of the ceiling that remained. I figured most of it was destroyed by repeated castings of that spell from how what was left of the ceiling diminished along the bullet’s trajectory. Everything else was seared black from the force of the spell. Burnt well and good, but largely still whole. A condition that was arguably better than the summoner that sat in a plush chair across from us.

Whatever her age was supposed to be I couldn’t tell. Her eyes were sunken in along with every other part of her, save the impossible swell of her stomach. She rattled with every breath and glistened silver by the light of the television that played off the sweat that coated her. Plastered her hair against the cap of her skull like it was painted on.

“You should’ve stayed back,” she rasped.

Piggy stalked around the island. I mirrored and went the other way—hands tight around Mother’s Last Smile. We both could see how the bloody trail of a high priority target circled her.

“Wouldn’t be a hunt if we did,” Piggy said.

“A hunt, after everything I did for—,” a choked-sob interrupted her. “Fine. I tried to do right, so enjoy your monster.”

Piggy raised his fists. I flicked on the Omensight and immediately shut my eyes—though it didn’t help. Something was in her, and it glowed an impossibly bright white. Devoid of any color, allegiance to any particular Court, it was something that felt wrong. An intrusion. Sphinx hissed from with my spirit—I might have hissed alongside it.

Then the summoner in the chair exploded.

Her flesh disintegrated in the blast—too fragile—but her blood still flew and coated the room, including PIggy and myself, in an even coat of reddish-black. My heart slammed in my chest like a car door. Adrenaline and pleasure chased each other through every vein. I let out a low long breath as I tried to keep tight my senses.

“Mommy,” came a voice.

It was a song and a strum of a string. Partially Real and partially Conceptual. Vibrating the air against my ear and playing upon the Metallic fibers of my spiritual musculature.

I yelled, “There’s a kid here!”

Sphinx said, “I sense none.”

“Mommy!” it screamed, so scared.

“Can’t you hear it?” I asked. Both to Sphinx and Piggy.

“Only thing I hear is the sweet sound of those points,” Piggy said.

I forced my eyes open. The light had cleared, and what stood in the remains of what was once a woman drew a gasp from my chest. It was banded in purplish-black scales. Had bulbous eyes that swiveled in search of something—its mommy. The three claws that tipped its two fingers and thumb rang against the scales with the clean tone of a tuning fork. Its mouth worked open to reveal misshapen human teeth. A thick ping tongue slipped from its mouth. While a pink umbilical cord spotted with black wrapped around its neck like a scarf. It rippled in the wind.

“Mommy,” it whispered, fearful that it had been abandoned.

What kind of entity is this, I thought.

“It’s. . .not quite one,” Sphinx said.

I leveraged the Omensight to get any hints as to what it was. The answer was just as inconclusive—the monster’s “body” was a skeleton that a white miasma of undyed threads clung to. Though with each cry of, “Mommy,” that went unanswered an ashen black stained the miasma with Death.

It’s Courtless? Entities never lack Courts.

“Humans do,” Sphinx said. “What is this?”

We both observed the creature as its eyes sought out its mom. My HUD flashed: Confirmed White Womb. Eliminate With Extreme Prejudice. Piggy ruffled the blonde mane that fell down in a shaggy cut down his neck. He stepped through the blood and splattered viscera until he was an arm’s length away.

“Piggy, don’t,” I screamed.

He reared back—foot sliding as he took a boxer’s stance. Fist cocked tight against his abs. The world compacted around his forearm. Condensed into a tight ball around his fist. Space warped in my vision at the power he loaded into this one punch. The White Womb’s eyes locked onto Piggy. Its mouth opened showing those same teeth—baby teeth—as it coo’d happily.

“Mommy!”

He punched and the world rubber banded with him. If there was a wall in that living room it would’ve been gone. When his knuckles touched the White Womb’s head I heard the squelch of a pulped skull. Then the sharp sonic boom as all the force of Piggy’s punch ripped forward and tore off the top half of the White Womb’s body.

I watched as the remains of its arms dropped to the ground. Its pelvis and legs weren’t far behind. Piggy spun around and threw wide his arms in a florid stage bow. I didn’t give him much attention—my eyes remained on the White Womb’s body. The miasma had blown away under the force of Piggy’s punch, but there were still skeletal remains.

I gasped, “Oh shit.”

Sphinx said, “It’s not dead.”