Stupid Sexy Cryptids [83-87] (Patreon)

83: The Justice Boundary

Galateya cracked eggs into a ceramic bowl one by one.

Each egg broke clean, yolks intact, shells discarded into a separate container. 

As she worked on breakfast for her new ‘Circle’ Clan consisting of Ashcroft Clifford, Commandant Nexxali Everrim and the very strange Omnid Wendigo who called herself Commander Xandria, her thoughts wandered to her favourite novel series, “Belle and the Monster”.

The breakfast preparation reminded her the way the human protagonist girl prepared breakfast for her Skinwalker beloved monster, creating morning rituals that gradually bound them together through simple acts of service.

Was this what she was doing now? Producing meals for her Clan? Hoping that one day, Ashcroft, Nexxali and Xandria would reveal their terrible secrets to her?

There was a certain injustice to her new relationship, an imbalance that she didn't like. It gnawed at her Taniwha senses like hot coals pressed against scales. The asymmetry of it constantly thrummed through her awareness: they concealed many of their plans, diluted the truth in constant misdirection. She knew nothing except what they chose to feed her in careful, measured portions skewed in unjust lies.

Galateya knew that there was no solution to this irritating imbalance so she focused on her current accomplishments instead.

The kitchen itself radiated a peculiar wrongness to her senses, a structural injustice that made her inner compass spin. Uneven floors. Decaying walls featuring gunfire damage. Banged up cabinets. A refrigerator that hummed off-key. 

Every surface screamed of neglect, of time's patient erosion of order.

But she could fix that. No, she would absolutely fix that. Being Hearth Keeper meant imposing order on chaos, creating a domain where justice could flourish. Even if all of her home-maker knowledge came from human romance novels, she aimed to dive headfirst into her new position, feeling excited about imposing fairness upon her new, small, non-magical domain.

She’d replaced the water heater, and had the two gun units repair the leaking pipes. Progress was happening. Things were measurably, quantifiably better.

She whisked the eggs with measured strokes, watching the yolks blend into the whites. The motion itself carried rightness, a small act of creation that aligned with her understanding of how a Hearth Keeper should function. Her scales rippled with green moss and bark textures blooming across her face as she relaxed.

"Keiy," she called over her shoulder. "Can you check the temperature on the griddle?"

The symbiote gun trotted over on six articulated legs closer to the stove and then froze.

"Keiy?" Galateya repeated, watching as the gun unit's triangular red eyes dimmed and brightened repeatedly. "The griddle?"

"Oh! Yes! Right! The griddle!" Keiy's voice pitched higher than normal, almost chirping. She flashed a red ray against the archaic stovetop. "The temperature reads at three hundred and forty-seven degrees Fahrenheit, which is optimal for— oh, but what if the eggs don't like that temperature? What if they'd prefer three hundred and fifty? Or maybe they'd be happier at three hundred and forty-five?"

“What?” Galateya's scales shifted from mossy bark to cracked pottery. "Keiy, eggs don't have preferences."

"How do you know?" Keiy's head swiveled back to glare at her unnervingly. "Maybe eggs have feelings we've never considered! Maybe they want to be cooked gently, tenderly, with care!" Her voice cracked on the last word.

Galateya stared at her gun unit.

Since being bound to her, Keiy had always been sardonic, dry, factual to the point of bluntness. She usually catalogued things with the emotional investment of a bored calculator. The new, strange behaviour that started yesterday was escalating in scope.

"What’s going on with you?" Galateya asked. “Why are you so… distracted?”

Keiy's legs shuffled. The patterns of light across her head rearranged themselves into a resemblance of a… pixelated smile?!

"Nothing! Absolutely nothing! I am functioning within normal parameters! Mostly! Probably! I just— do you think— would it be weird if I—" She fell silent.

“If you what?” Galateya asked, feeling concerned for her weapon.

"Sorry, what were we talking about?” Keiy unfroze. “The Weapon-Net is very loud today."

“Loud, how?” Galateya asked.

“Loud with… urm,” Keiy tapped her hexagonal-shaped head with a dark metal leg. “Loud with interesting stuff. Humans being humans, I suppose. It’s a tad… distracting. Don’t worry about it, Teya. It’s just… the usual… new things. Yeah. New things.”

“New things?”

“Yes. It’s not, like, bad things. It’s… nice things. A new kind of assessment of local treats, that’s all. It’ll pass, I’m certain. Don’t worry your lovely, colorful dragon-head about it. Datamancer Kawathra is on top of the issue.”

“Uh-huh,” Galateya frowned. 

Her gun unit was keeping secrets from her too. More annoying injustice. 

The front door creaked open and boots thudded through the hall towards the kitchen. Galateya glanced at the hallway, expecting one of her new house-mates.

Instead, a stranger walked in.

Over seven feet tall. Broad shoulders wrapped in black hexasuit plates that looked thick enough to stop bullets. Muscular arms. A face featuring an overly chiseled jaw, high cheekbones and amber eyes that caught the morning light.

The wrongness of his appearance hit her like a slap. 

This person looked like Ashcroft… but only slightly. The entire physical form of the man advancing towards her screamed deception. The height alone violated every interaction they'd had. She'd been taller than him yesterday. Now he was a few inches taller than her. 

The vaguely Ash-shaped stranger reached her. 

"Morning, Teya!" Ashcroft's voice emerged from that ridiculous face. It sounded… wrong. Slightly off, modulated, tuned in an unnerving manner that subverted her expectations.

An egg detonated in her claws. “...Ash?” 

“Yees?” The overly muscular human looked down at her. 

“Why… are you…” Galateya struggled with her words. “So… different?”

Her scales rippled from obsidian shards into something that resembled broken glass catching firelight.

Ashcroft tilted his head. The motion belonged to him. The face performing it absolutely did not.

"Different how?" He inquired teasingly.

Galateya let out a deep growl.

Her human consort registered as a walking contradiction. Two separate justice signatures overlapped, creating a dissonant harmony that made her inner compass spin. Underneath the muscular frame pulsed his familiar pattern of their blood bond.

The exterior, though. The exterior blazed with artificial wrongness. It was as if someone had taken a sculpture of masculinity and polished it until every angle reflected light at geometrically perfect intervals. Too balanced. Too fit. Too… perfect.

"You're seven feet tall." Galateya set down the egg bowl before she shattered it too.

“Had a growth spurt.” He smiled, pouring himself a glass of orange juice from the fridge.

“You’re… messing with me,” she stated.

“Just a little,” he commented, heading into the living room with his glass.

Galateya followed, watching him walk towards Daxagon, Piotr, and Linari sprawled across the leather couch.

“Sup guys?” He asked, waiting for their reactions.

The wolf-woman's head snapped up. Her nostrils flared.

"Slayer's balls," Linari breathed. "Ash?" She leaned forward, sniffing aggressively. "You smell… Like a… symbiote gun.”

Piotr stared, frozen mid-sip of his coffee. "Mate. What the actual fuck happened to you?"

Daxagon burst out laughing. "Bro! You look like a freaking gigachad meme! Did you photoshop yourself in real life?"

"Yes," Ashcroft said simply. "That's exactly what I did."

Keiy trotted into the living room, her triangular red eyes focusing on Ashcroft. 

"Updating threat assessment," Keiy commented, scanning Ashcroft with a beam. “...Gun unit with unexplained Biomechanical Modifications."

"Why?" Galateya asked. 

“Why what?” The gigachad-Ash rotated.

"Why do you look so… ridiculous?"

"Had Kawathra mod my body a little." He tapped the black band circling his forehead. "This is a hexasuit frame. Gun unit actually. I'm controlling it with my mind. Pretty neat, right?"

"Neat," Galateya repeated. "You're wearing gun-unit-armor disguised as muscles. Your entire body radiates false presentation. This is the opposite of neat."

"Harsh," Daxagon commented. "Let the man enjoy his gigachad-ness."

Galateya’s eye twitched. 

“Maybe he’s trying to impress you,” Dax laughed. “Aren’t you into that sorta stuff? He looks like exactly one of your romance-novel covers.”

Galateya pursed her lips, not impressed with this development.

"This isn't… impressive," she said firmly. "This." She gestured at his entire form. "It's all clearly fake."

"Characters in romance novels are fake," Ashcroft pointed out.

Galateya's eye twitched. "Characters in romance novels are… meant to… aspirational. Not literal fabrications. They're fictional representations of ideals. That's completely different from you walking around wearing a meat puppet that looks like someone fed every male lead ever written into an AI generator and hit 'combine.'"

Linari snorted into her coffee.

"Look," Ashcroft said, spreading his hands. "I know it's jarring. But think about it logically. Eventually I'll be on TV as your consort. Do you really want me looking like myself?"

Galateya blinked. "Why wouldn't you?"

"Because humanity is a boiling pot right now." He playfully picked up a leather armchair with one hand and put it down next to the couch. "People won't take alien rulership lightly. There will be resistance. Anger. And someone, somewhere, will decide the best way to express their displeasure is by shooting the human collaborator. Nexxali told me that your Incarnators are imperfect. I don't want to lose a month of my life, so this was the solution.”

“...Oh,” Galateya let out, the simmering fire of displeasure burning in her chest simmering down.

“Plus the general hate mail, death threats, angry mobs. My family could become targets. My parents could get kidnapped," he explained. “My actual life as Ashcroft Clifford stays private. Safe. I’ll be dating you in public and receiving the medal from your Legate Grandmother as… Chad Yodwick or something.”

“Or something?” Galateya asked.

“Or something,” Chad-Ash nodded. “Want to give me a name?”

“A name for?”

“For this face,” the human pointed at his excessively chiselled chin. “The guy dating the future Baroness of Earth.”

The Taniwha studied the fabricated face before her. The angles were too sharp, the jaw too heroic, the amber eyes too… expressive. It truly looked like someone had fed a diffusion model every action movie poster from the last decade and commanded it to synthesize the ultimate masculine ideal.

"What about... Brad?" she suggested flatly.

"Brad?" Her consort raised an eyebrow.

"Short. Simple. Very human-sounding," Galateya said, her tone making it clear she was not invested in this ridiculous naming exercise.

"Brad Yodwick?" Daxagon snickered from the couch. "Sounds like a regional manager who sells insurance."

"Fine. How about... Thaddeus?" Galateya tried again.

Piotr choked on his coffee. "Thaddeus?! That's worse!"

"Thaddeus McBroface," Daxagon added helpfully, making Piotr laugh.

Galateya's scales flashed an angry orange. "I am trying!"

"Are you though?" Ash's voice carried amusement through the modified vocal cords. "Because it sounds like you're just throwing manly names and hoping something sticks."

"Well forgive me for not having an extensive catalog of human names!" Galateya snapped. "I don’t have a degree in naming freaking meat puppets!"

"Meat puppets," Daxagon wheezed. "Oh man, that's going in my notes."

Galateya crossed her arms, scales settling into stubborn granite. "I… need more time to think of something appropriate. Something that won't make me cringe every time I have to say it in public."

"Fair enough." Ash nodded. "I'll give you till… eleven to come up with a name.”

"Who else is coming to breakfast?" she asked, refusing to acknowledge the chortles from the group on the couch.

"North and South headed downtown to manage their affairs," Ash replied. "Commander Xandy, Nexy, and Kawthy are nomming UwUs in Seeker Kappa. Working on stuff."

"Very important business things that definitely are not suspicious at all, right?” She ground out.

“Yep.”

“Fine.” She turned sharply toward the kitchen, her tail sweeping low enough to make Keiy hop up to avoid being smacked.

"You sound bitter," Keiy observed as Galateya stomped back into the kitchen.

"I sound appropriately concerned about not being fully informed," Galateya huffed.

"If you say so," the gun unit shrugged.

Galateya poured the egg mixture onto the griddle, watching it sizzle and bubble. Behind her, the living room conversation continued about the merits of various breakfast foods and whether UwUs counted as ethical protein sources.

"I can't believe you can casually wear a gun unit as a body," Dax was saying. "That's mental, mate."

"It's quite practical," Ash said. "I can swap out different frames. Today I'm Ash the Gigachad. Tomorrow I could be—I don't know—Steve the Slightly Less Intimidating Office Worker."

"Steve," Linari snorted. "That's even worse than Brad."

"Steve has character!” Dax laughed. “Steve pays his taxes on time and has reasonable opinions about municipal zoning laws. I want to be Steve! Can I be Steve?”

"Steve sounds boring," Piotr said.

"Exactly! That's the point! Nobody assassinates Steve for dating Sexy Space Wendigos and Dragons,” Ash commented. 

“Steve’s dating prospects are depressing,” Dax added. “He should lower his standards. I bet Gretchel from Accounting likes him.”

Galateya scraped the eggs off the griddle onto a plate with far more aggression than the task required.

84: Breakfast Circle

She plated the eggs alongside bacon that Xandy had not, in fact, consumed sixty percent of. Apparently the Wendigo had been too busy "working on stuff" to raid the refrigerator. 

Galateya knew exactly what kind of stuff the Wendigo Commander was up to this morning. 

Her damned sensitive Omnid ears and Fractal Engine made sure of it. She didn’t hear the conversation through the thick brick and mortar mansion walls but she was far too aware of the loud moans and swats, and felt the explosion of desire blossoming across the Astral like a nuclear detonation of pure love going off.

Galateya had woken to it at dawn, her scales rippling through a cascade of brilliant colors she couldn't control. The sensation had crashed through the mansion's Astral space like a tidal wave of shared ecstasy, impossible to ignore. Her body had responded against her will, heart racing, scales and mane flushing red and hot pink.

She'd buried her face in the pillow, mortified, feeling the Astral boiling, feeling her body responding to it in unexpected ways with each fiery wave igniting the Underside of the world, her clawed hand sliding between her legs.

Commander Xandria, Marshal Nexxali, and Ashcroft had been conducting their morning activities with such enthusiasm that every Omnid within a mile radius probably felt the reverberations. The pleasure-bond between them sang across dimensions, a three-part harmony of desire and fulfillment that made Galateya acutely aware of her own isolation.

She wasn't invited to their room. Wasn't part of their intimacy. She was the outsider, the blood-bound consort forced into proximity but not belonging. A Hearth Keeper, not a Prima. A servant role dressed up in fancy titles.

The injustice of it burned.

Now, plating breakfast, she tried to ignore the lingering emotional residue. Her mane kept trying to shift colors to red and pink flowers, betraying her inner thoughts.

"Breakfast," she announced, carrying plates into the living room.

The group descended on the food.

"This is excellent, Teya," her ‘consort’ commented as sampled the food. “Thanks.”

"It's just eggs and bacon," she muttered.

"Yummy eggs and bacon goodness. Nexxy and Sh… Xandy can’t cook if their lives depended on it."

Galateya ate standing, uncomfortable joining the casual breakfast circle. She was painfully aware of her role here. Fix things. Cook things. Provide structure. Don't expect to be included in the real bonds forming around her.

"Hey Teya," Ash said, setting down his empty plate. "Want to go on a date?"

Her fork clattered against her plate, all of her current expectations wobbling in their pre-determined frames. "What?"

"A date. You and me."

"When?" She heard herself ask, suspicious.

"Today. At noon."

"Noon?" Her scales flickered through confused violets. "But I haven't finished… renovation work. The kitchen needs—"

"The kitchen can wait," Ash stood, the muscles of the fabricated body rippling. "Dax and Piotr can handle things. Right guys?"

"Sure mate," Daxagon waved a hand. "We got this."

"Come on," Ash offered his hand. "Let's get out of this house for a bit."

Galateya stared at the offered hand. Her scales rippled from violet confusion to suspicious orange. "Why are you asking me on a date?"

"It's an opportunity for us to get to know each other," Ash said. His amber eyes held a warmth that felt genuine despite the ridiculous, handsomified face delivering it.

She heard the surface truth in his words, but her Taniwha senses detected layers beneath. Hidden currents. Unspoken purposes. Plans within plans.

Her chest tightened. Part of her wanted to accept. To believe this gesture meant something real. But another part recognized the pattern: orchestrated intimacy, calculated bonding, strategic relationship building. Just another piece in whatever game he and Commander Xandria were playing.

"I don't understand you," she said quietly. 

“Think of it as an opportunity to understand me,” he said.

“Will I even get a chance to understand the real you?”

“This is the real me,” he insisted. “The me who wants justice for humanity. The me that has to spin like a hamster in his wheel, trying to make everyone happy. That includes you, by the way.”

Galateya sighed. Again, this was the truth but not all of it.

Ash lowered his hand but didn't retreat. "What do you want me to say, Teya?"

"The truth." Her claws flexed at her sides, sharpening into elongated blades. "The actual reason. Quit screwing around with me."

He sighed. "The real reason is to provide a nice show for your great-grandmother."

The words hit her harder than expected. Galateya's tail curled tight against her leg, scales darkening to coal black shot through with angry crimson veins, mane and tail spine turning into jagged obsidian spikes.

"Right." She turned back toward the kitchen. "Of course. Everything's theater."

"Teya, wait." Ash followed her into the kitchen. "Yes, part of this is performance. Your grandmother will review what Keiy sends her. She expects to see her Baroness building a relationship with her consort. But here's the thing: even if most of my current appearance is fake, we're still spending time together. Doesn't that matter?"

Galateya's jaw clenched. "Spending time together under false pretenses."

"All relationships start somewhere," he shrugged. "Arranged marriages, political alliances… blood bonds forced by Legates. The beginning doesn't define the ending. We could actually get to know each other. Talk. Hang out. Have fun."

“Fun?” Violets and grays warred across her skin as Galateya's inner compass spun. Every angle of this situation registered as unjust, unbalanced, weighted toward outcomes she couldn't fully see. But beneath the anger and suspicion lived something more dangerous: hope.

She knew that she was being fucked with. Knew that a chasm of mistrust existed between her and the others and yet…

She wanted to go out. Wanted to hold hands. Wanted to talk to him. 

You damned desperate dragon idiot. This is definitely some kind of a trap. Why do you keep falling for these things? She mentally chided herself.

"Fine." The word came out as sharp and jagged as her current mane appearance.

Ash turned to the gun unit observing the couple from the doorway. "Keiy, want to join us?"

The symbiote's triangular eyes brightened. "Join? Me? On your… date? Really?"

"Sure. You can catalog interesting human behaviors or whatever it is you find fascinating about us primitives. Send the video summary of our best moments as a couple to Galya’s granny’s scrapbook or whatever."

Keiy laughed, a smiling face manifesting below the red eyes. Galateya stared at her gun.

"I would be... honored?” The gun unit nodded. “Yes. Honored. That's the correct emotional response for this scenario, right?"

"Good enough." Ash headed for the stairs. "I'll see you at 11:30 okay?”

“Okay,” Galateya let out.

Ash descended wearing dark jeans and a loose button-down shirt and leather jacket that mostly hid the excessive musculature. Reflective sunglasses perched on his nose. He carried a garment bag.

"Here, Kawathra made you something too," he said, offering the bag to Galateya. "You don't have to wear it if you hate it."

Galateya unzipped the bag. 

Pink. The dress was pink. Not subtle rose or dusty mauve, but vibrant, unapologetic pink. Gothic lolita styling with layers of ruffles, black lace trim, and bows. The fabric felt soft, some kind of fancy Corpse-Seeker-manufactured material.

She held it up, torn between mortification and curiosity. Every romance novel she'd ever read featured heroines in beautiful dresses. It felt undeserved. Only successful, top Commanders could afford to print dresses like this in their Corpse Seeker fabricator.

Her scales and mane flushed pink to match the dress. Traitors!

"When did Kawathra make this?"

"About twenty minutes ago," Ash shrugged. "She thought you might like it."

Galateya held the dress up. It was pretty in a way that made her chest ache. The kind of thing she'd seen in her romance novels but never imagined wearing herself since she grew up wearing a single, self-adjusting hexasuit her entire life. The same damned, generic, black hexasuit she was wearing now.

"You can change in the bathroom down the hall," Ash said. 

She clutched the dress and walked to the bathroom. The door clicked shut behind her.

“Fold hexasuit to thigh,” Galateya ordered and watched as the plates retracted into a single ‘storage mode’ hexagon line wrapped around her thigh. The dress slid over her head easily. The fabric moved with her scales, adjusting as they shifted colors. She looked in the mirror.

The dress fit perfectly, conforming to her curves, leaving her arms bare to show off the scales she'd been so self-conscious about. The skirt fell to just above her knees, short enough to show her digitigrade legs. When she moved, the fabric moved too, adapting as her body shifted textures from scales to bark to flower petals.

Galateya stared at herself in the mirror. She looked ridiculous. She looked… beautiful. She looked like someone playing dress-up in feelings she didn't know how to process.

The reflection showed someone she barely recognized. Not the military-trained Knight. Not the disposable spawnling. Just a young Taniwha woman in a pink dress with violet eyes and flowery mane that practically glowed with uncertain, desperate hope.

Romantic idiot. She mentally criticized herself. Stop blushing with blossoms, this is all fake! You know it’s fake!

Her dastardly mane and tail bloomed with even more cherry blossoms.

“Ughhh,” Galateya rubbed her face. “Leviathan’s tits, why can’t I get myself together?”

She emerged from the bathroom. Ash waited in the hallway.

"You look lovely," he said simply.

"It's just a dress."

"You look nice in it." He paused. "Oh, hey. Did you think of a name for me?"

"A name?" She blinked, still mentally preoccupied with the damned pink dress.

"Yeah. For Mr. Gigachad here." He gestured at his fabricated face. "Can't exactly introduce myself as Ash around town when I look almost nothing like Ash. Well, maybe an Ash who spent ten years at the gym excessively working out and chewing protein bars for breakfast, lunch and dinner."

She studied his overly manly face. The build that screamed action hero.

"Constantine," she said finally.

"Constantine?"

"Constantine Belthys." She lifted her chin. "It sounds appropriately masculine and has gravitas. Plus… my half of my last name there… because you’re my… consort."

"Constantine Belthys." Ash tested the words. "I like it. Sounds like someone who could date a dragon without embarrassing himself."

"Don't push it."

He grinned. "One more thing. Can you come as yourself? Your dragon self?"

"You want me visible as an Omnid? Why?"

"Yeah. I know it's asking a lot, but if we're going to sell this relationship to your great-grandmother, she needs to see you comfortable in your own form. Not hiding behind a human disguise."

"The humans will stare."

"And? They've all seen aliens on TV." He offered his arm. "Besides, you're gorgeous. Let them stare."

Galateya's mane traitorously bloomed with more cherry blossoms. She took his arm after a moment's hesitation. "Fine. But if anyone hostiles us, I'm blaming you."

"Eh, you’re immortal and I’m… mostly bulletproof if Kawathra is to be believed.”

They walked to the red Jeep parked in the overgrown driveway. Keiy bounded after them with magisteel gear clicks.

Her Fractal Engine heart thrummed madly, backstabbingly pulling up the memory of the igniting Astral fire from this morning. 

He opened the passenger door for her.

Galateya climbed in, her tail coiling around her feet. Keiy hopped into the back seat, settling on the leather with magisteel clicks of her leg gears.

Galateya watched the Pacific Northwest forest roll past, thick with pine and cedar, contemplating things. What angle was he working? Where did she fit in the plans of his Circle?

They reached downtown Cascade in no time at all. The familiar storefronts lined the main street, painted ladies in various states of weathered Art Nouveau charm. Galateya recognized the building they stopped at.

“Same place, hum?” She asked. “Books and Nooks?”

“You liked it there, right?” Ash asked.

“Yes.” Galateya nodded.

The Victorian building looked the same as before with its purple and black paint and cosy tower. Except now Galateya approached it as herself, not hidden behind her human Phase-shift.

"Ready?" he asked.

Galateya smoothed her pink dress. Her scales had settled into soft purples threaded with silver. Cherry blossoms still dotted her mane. She probably looked absurd to the locals. A dragon in lolita fashion. An outsider. A far-too-damn-vibrant alien, a target for hate and fear she really didn’t want to sense in the Astral.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she muttered.

85: A Most Dangerous Date

Keiy hopped out of the back seat, following them like a devoted puppy. A puppy who could unleash gunfire at a moment’s notice.

They entered together. The bell above the door chimed. Marya looked up from behind the counter and her mouth fell open.

"Holy shit," the barista breathed out. “A freaking alien in my cafe. No freakin’ way.”

She recomposed herself quickly as Ash and Galateya approached the counter. 

Marya's eyes tracked them with the careful attention of someone trying not to stare too obviously.

"Welcome to Books and Nooks," she said, her voice only slightly higher than normal. 

Strangely enough, the barista didn’t radiate surprise, shock, fear, or hatred as the Taniwha expected, unlike the other human customers staring at her from the cafe innards. 

She radiated… irritation? The kind of irritation one might project at a… small pest? 

Galateya chose not to question the woman’s offputting emotional landscape. Some humans were weird. She was, after all, on a ‘date’ with a particularly weird human who also didn’t behave correctly around Omnids.

"Um. Table for two? And... one spider?” The barista asked.

"Three, our gun-spidey will have a seat too," Constantine answered the barista. 

Keiy's eyes brightened. "I do not require sustenance, but I appreciate the acknowledgment of my personhood."

Marya blinked. "R-right. Okay. Sure. Talking spider. Cool. Very cool… Sit anywhere you'd like. I'll be right over to take your order."

Galateya watched the barista's gaze flicker between Constantine's ridiculous handsomeness and her own scaled form. No recognition registered in those brown eyes. The fabricated face with sunglasses, extra height and her dragon appearance created enough distance from their previous visit.

They settled into a booth on the first floor, tucked into a corner where bookshelves formed a small alcove of privacy, facing a large window. Keiy positioned herself across their table, the trio of red eyes flickering at them.

"Comfortable?" Her assigned consort asked.

"Relatively." Galateya sighed. "Still waiting for someone to throw something at us."

"Give it time," he said lightly. "The day is young."

Galateya tasted something in the words behind the joke. An expectation of some sort? 

Marya appeared at their booth, notepad in hand. Her professional smile had mostly returned. "What can I get you folks? And, um, what should I call you? I mean, if you have names. Which you probably do. Obviously."

"I am Lord Constantine Belthys," Ash said smoothly. "And this is my lovely dragon, Lady Selene."

Galateya nodded, feeling a bit of warmth in her chest. Ash used her middle name to introduce her. Even if that name belonged to the mother whom she’d never met, it was… something. A nice gesture?

"Right. Pleasure to meet you both." Marya's pen hovered over her notepad. "What would you like?"

"A latte," Constantine said. "And a croissant.”

Galateya scanned the menu quickly. "Earl Grey tea. Hot. With honey."

Different from the chai latte she'd ordered last time. Yay for the unnerving conspiracy biz. Her pink mane bloomed a few dark blue flowers due to the lie. 

"Coming right up." Marya retreated toward the counter with visible relief, still radiating mild irritation.

Constantine leaned back in the booth, orange eyes drifting to the shelves. "So. Books."

"Books," Galateya echoed flatly.

"You mentioned reading romance novels. I want to hear more about what you actually enjoyed. Not just the genre. Tell me about your favourite series."

She studied him. The request felt genuine, unconnected to whatever performance they were supposed to be conducting. Or perhaps that was the real skill in deception—making calculated interest appear authentic. 

For a human, Ashcroft was ridiculously hard to read.

Her mane and scales shifted slightly to thoughtful lavender. "Belle and the Monster," she said finally. 

"Oh? What's it about?"

"A human girl who falls in love with a Skinwalker." The words came easier than expected. "He's cursed to hunt and kill, but she sees past his nature to who he really is underneath. They fix up his… cursed domain and build a life together."

Constantine tilted his head. "A Skinwalker… Omnid?”

“Yes.” Galateya nodded. “They’re like… Expert shapeshifters. One of the Omnitypes from our homeworld. They can wear other creatures' skins and become them. Perfect mimicry. Irresistible charm."

"Mimicry? Like your Phase-shift?"

"No. Much more… morally complicated." Her tail twitched beneath the table, mane darkening. "Most Skinwalkers are... not good people. They hunt. They deceive. They view other beings as… costumes. Some work as assassins for the Frontenachii. Others operate independently, running their own criminal enterprises. Many of their clans oppose the Frontenachii, run their own Omnicorps.”

“Do they have colony worlds too then?”

“Yes.” Galateya nodded. “They do. Unlike the Taniwha, Skinwalkers generally have no moral compass. They are dangerous because by their nature they must devour souls to gain new forms and powers.”

"I see. So the Skinwalker in your books..."

"He was different. He was weakened by the curse, bound to his domain, constantly starving. He spent centuries suffering and slowly dying." Galateya's voice softened. "Lisabelle found him in his Estate. Everyone else who entered his domain ended up dead, but she… didn’t."

“Oh? How’d she survive?”

“His domain was cursed by a Wendigo Archmage,” Galateya explained. “The clever, trickster Wendigo planted an artifact that slowly bloomed in his garden. A rose of terror. A… dungeon core.”

“A dungeon core?”

“Yeah.” Galateya relaxed slightly, her voice settling into the comfortable rhythm of an avid reader discussing a beloved story. "The cursed artifact fed on fear and gradually turned his domain into a dungeon of terror. Anyone who entered the domain became trapped within its boundary, their fear sustaining the curse. The Skinwalker couldn't remove it himself—the Wendigo Archmage was very clever and bound the rose to his soul. But Lisabelle..."

Her scales rippled through soft pinks and lavenders as she spoke. "Lisabelle wasn't afraid. She saw the estate as beautiful. Saw him as someone worth knowing. Her lack of fear didn’t allow the dungeon to snap her mind and so… together they worked to cleanse the entire domain."

Constantine leaned forward slightly. "How long did it take them?"

"Three years. Eight books." Galateya's claws traced the wood grain of the table. "Each book focused on a different part of the massive, dimensionally-twisted estate they restored together, overcoming various horrific dungeon sentinels and clever terrors manifested by the rose, an entire legion of ghosts trapped there over centuries. The greenhouse in book two. The library in book three. The ballroom in book five. And so forth."

"And they fell in love during all this restoration work?"

"Yes," Galateya said, "he taught her magic. She taught him how to be gentle again. How to trust. How to believe he could be more than the soul-eating monster everyone else saw."

Marya returned with their drinks and snacks, setting them down carefully before rapidly retreating again. Galateya wrapped her clawed hands around the teacup, feeling the warmth seep through.

"The series ends with them clearing the dungeon, freeing the domain from the rose and getting married," she continued. "Running the estate together.”

“She turned him into a human?” I wondered.

“What? No, you cannot turn an Omnid into a human. He… simply chose to use his nature differently. To protect rather than hunt. To love rather than consume."

"Sounds like a good ending."

"It was." Galateya stared into her tea. "You know, I used to read those books and picture myself as the protagonist… Lisabelle. Trapped in a time bubble with hateful Instructors, waiting to be free… to find someone to build a future with."

She paused, her scales darkening to slate gray threaded with dull copper. She let go of her tea and put her claws on the table, leaning back and closing her eyes in lamentation. 

"But now I know Yulia gave me those books for a reason. Doctor Iowsh selected them on purpose. Every story about humans and Omnids finding common ground. Every tale of outcasts building something together." Her voice carried a hollow quality. "Even the stories I loved were… lies. Designed to make me more… amenable to humans."

"Does knowing that change how you feel about the stories?" Ash asked, his hand reaching out to cover hers.

"I don't know." Galateya's mane shifted to wilted flowers and then bloomed again at the gesture of possible affection. "The emotions were real when I read them. The hope was real. But was any of it actually mine? Or was I just responding to programming?"

"Does it matter?"

She looked up sharply. "Of course it matters. If every preference, every dream, every—"

Keiy's head snapped toward the window so fast her articulated legs scraped against the booth's vinyl seat. Her triangular eyes blazed bright red, scanner beams flashing across the wall and window.

"Vehicle arrival!" the gun unit announced, sounding clipped and urgent. "Packard sedan. Nineteen thirty-seven model. Six occupants exiting. Armed with projectile weapons! Second vehicle—rented moving van! Additional occupants with more weapons. Threat assessment: critical!”

Galateya's head swiveled to the large window beside them. Through the glass, she watched men emerge from the old car. They moved in with a slightly uncanny wobble, spreading out to cover multiple angles of approach.

The moving truck's rear door slammed open. More figures jumped out, tommy guns gripped in pale hands.

"Thralls!" Keiy's voice pitched higher. "Armed crystalloids!"

The symbiote launched herself across the table, folding mid-leap into her weapon-form configuration. Galateya's hands closed around the gun's frame instinctively as Keiy settled into her grip.

"Galya! Hide the gun," Ash ordered suddenly, sounding far too much like himself. "Human form! Now!"

Galateya's scales flashed brilliant orange, mane shifting to jagged spikes. "Why? I can handle—"

"Look at the truck!"

Her eyes tracked to the larger vehicle. Two thralls remained behind, standing guard over something big in the cargo area. Several red barrels with warning labels. Industrial size. A clock-like device taped to its top, wires snaking down into the container's depths.

"That’s a bomb," Constantine said. "They're not here for a firefight. They're here to make a statement. If you reveal yourself as an Omnid Knight, start firing, someone triggers that bomb and this entire block goes up. Hide the gun under the table, bide your time!"

Galateya's jaw clenched. Her training screamed at her to act, to eliminate the threat. But… Ash was right. Any combat would escalate to detonation.

She exhaled, forcefully focusing her Phase-shift.

Her scales melted. Dragon features smoothed into human skin. Seven feet compressed to six. Claws retracted into normal fingers. Her mane turned into jet black hair. The pink dress adjusted itself as her body reconfigured, fabric flowing over smaller human curves.

She slid Keiy under the table, positioning the gun unit on her lap beneath the concealing tablecloth. Keiy's metallic body felt cold against her human skin.

“I asked Kawartha for backup. Her Seeker should be here… soon,” Keiy whispered from under the table.

The bell above the cafe door chimed.

Men poured through the entrance in a coordinated rush. Six of them, all carrying Thompson submachine guns. Their faces shared the same waxy pallor. The same flat, gray eyes. 

Trails! Reanimated corpses piloted by vampire consciousness.

Marya froze. A customer near the counter dove behind a bookshelf. Another patron choked, dropping their drink.

The thralls spread out, covering exits and windows. Two positioned themselves near the counter. One blocked the stairway to the tower reading room. The others maintained firing lanes across the main floor.

Then the head vampire entered.

A girl who looked perhaps twenty. Pale skin that seemed to drink the light rather than reflect it. Gray eyes. Long black hair pulled into twin braids tied with red ribbons. She wore a vintage red and black dress, all lace and velvet, something from the nineteen-twenties.

"Good morning, valued customers of Books and Nooks," the girl announced, her voice carrying an affected cheekiness. "My name is… Count Chocula, and you are all now my hostages."

She curtsied formally.

"Please remain seated," Count Chocula continued, gesturing to her thralls. "My associates have been instructed to maintain order. Any attempt to flee or contact authorities will result in... unpleasantness. We have a bomb in the van outside, you see. Enough explosives to level this charming establishment and half of Cascade in one fell swoop."

Marya choked behind the counter. A elderly man in the corner reading nook clutched his book like a shield.

Count Chocula's gray eyes swept the cafe, cataloging each patron. Her gaze lingered on Constantine for a moment, then moved to Galateya.

"Ah, lovely," the vampire said, her smile revealing teeth just slightly too sharp. "A couple on a date. How… romantic."

The clock tower looming above a gothic church in the window struck twelve.

86: Shroud of Death

I glanced at the digital watch strapped to my wrist. Twelve PM exactly. Right on schedule.

The forest clearing around us held that particular ethereal quality of noon light filtering through Pacific Northwest pine. Seeker Kappa sat behind us. Blood-red segments gleamed in the dappled sunlight. Nexxali stood to my left, her Marshal Commandant uniform pristine, ears rotating slowly as she monitored our surroundings. 

Shady stood to my right.

Princess Aquillianne Quantivia Frontenachii wore regalia Kawathra had cooked up for her yesterday. The diamondust dress caught every photon that touched it, refracting light into cascading rainbows that spilled across the forest floor. Diamond chains wrapped around her antlers, each link a work of art, each surface a mirror. Her skull features held an aristocratic severity, the playful Shady retreated behind layers of royal protocol.

Reality folded.

A shear in reality created a massive dimensional gate wreathed in black edges. The enemy Seeker emerged from it.

It was massive. Easily ten times Kappa's size. Blood-red crystalline segments stretched across the clearing, each section pulsing with internal light. The centipede's form plowed through the trees with thousands of blade-like legs, looming over us like the Titanic in Jim Camaroon’s film.

The gargantuan Seeker stopped about thirty feet before plowing right through us.

A section of the creature's head peeled back. Crystalline segments rotated, revealing an opening. A stairwell unfolded from the interior, each step forming from liquid crystal that hardened into ornate shapes. Gold filigree traced patterns along the railings, the only decoration on the otherwise utilitarian vessel.

Admiral Evelithria Frontenachii descended the stairs with regal grace.

Taller than Shady by at least a foot, every line of her form screamed predator. The black armor she had threatened the Earth in covered her body, with crown-like black spikes extending from a dark feathered mane.

I stood perfectly still, maintaining the Emperor persona. The ceremonial armor Kawathra had printed gleamed red and gold, a gold mask framing my face topped by a gold crown of thorns.

The Admiral's silver eyes swept across our small gathering. Cataloging. Assessing. Calculating. Then they settled on Shady.

"Niece," the Admiral said. 

"Aunt Evely," Shady replied.

The Admiral's silver eyes shifted to me. Evaluated. Dismissed. Her attention returned to Shady.

"You've caused considerable disruption," the Admiral said. "The family is... concerned."

"The family can shove their concerns up their collective posterior," Shady replied sweetly.

Nexxali frowned.

The Admiral tilted her head, looking like a predatory bird. "That tone is beneath you, Aquillianne. You are a Princess of the Frontenachii. Daughter of Arrennia and Quintus. Great-great-granddaughter of Empress Aconia herself. Your bloodline carries weight."

"My bloodline can also get bent."

"Aquillianne."

"What?" Shady's antlers caught the light, diamond chains chiming softly. "You came all this way to lecture me about proper royal decorum? To remind me of family obligations? Save it. I know why you're here."

The Admiral's silver eyes narrowed. "Then you'll make this easy. End this childish game. Give me back the keys and I will permit you to take control of one of my smaller ships for your  Bloodline Trial.”

“How do you know that it was me?” Shady asked.

The Admiral took three steps closer. Her digitigrade legs moved with clicks of shifting armor plates across the forest floor. "Our Scruts told me that your Astral signature was present at the Citadel during the breach."

Shady's claws flexed at her sides. "And? Astral signatures can be fake.”

"Starshade. You will return what you took." The Admiral's voice held no threat, just a statement of fact. 

"I have no clue where your keys are," Shady said.

The Admiral's claws extended. Not aggressive, just... present. Each talon gleamed like polished obsidian, sharp enough to carve through bone. "Do not play games with me, child. You were there. You took them."

"Maybe someone framed me. Ever think of that?"

"Don’t try to deceive me, spawnling. Your Astral signature is scrambled, your soul sheared." The Admiral's silver eyes blazed brighter. "This alone is confirmation you're hiding something. An act of that magnitude requires either desperation or guilt. Which is it?"

I remained motionless, watching, listening.

"You'd violate your own niece's mind?" Shady asked. Her tone shifted, acquiring hurt she didn't need to fake. "Tear through my memories? Rip apart my consciousness to find information I don't have?"

"If necessary." The Admiral's voice held no apology. "You're family, Aquillianne. I would prefer to avoid such measures. But the keys matter more than your comfort. More than your privacy. More than our relationship."

Shady huffed.

The Admiral took another step closer. Now only ten feet separated them. “Do you understand? This isn't about control. This isn't about power. This is about survival. We need those keys to keep going. Every day, billions of Earths are extinguished, uncountable souls are ground by entropy, consumed by ever-blooming dungeons. It is our mission to liberate, to save, to protect…"

Shady's diamond chains chimed as she shifted her stance. "You really believe that shit?”

"Of course I believe it!" The Admiral's voice resonated sharply through the clearing. "I've spent years maintaining the Third fleet, enlisting prads, building citadels, protecting our colonies. Ensuring our family's mission. I will not allow some misguided rebellion to compromise everything we've built."

"Misguided rebellion," Shady repeated. The words came out flat. "Is that what you think this is?"

"What else would I call it?" The Admiral spread her arms, encompassing the clearing, the Seekers, the planet itself. "You fled to a magically weak, resource world. You bonded yourself to a primitive Administrator. You sabotaged your own Astral signature to avoid detection. These are not the actions of a rational mind. Shady, it’s time to grow up. Please."

Nexxali's ear twitched. I caught the movement in my peripheral vision, noted the tension building in the Marshal's shoulders. She wanted to speak. Wanted to defend Shady. But she stayed silent.

"No. I listened to Lissander Fox's podcast," Shady said. "Lampshade Talk. He told the truth about our operations. About what we really do to harvested populations. About the uncategorized compartmentalization. The flesh batteries, the magitek experiments. The systematic torture of children. All of it."

The Admiral's silver eyes dimmed slightly. "Lissander Fox is a terrorist. His 'truths' are propaganda designed to undermine family cohesion. He is clearly employed by a competing Omnicorp! You know this, Aquillianne. Whatever nonsense he revealed on that podcast is fabrication, lies, half-truths designed to…"

"What if they weren't lies?"

“Shady. The Omniverse is far crueler than you can possibly imagine, and we are doing what's necessary to survive in it." The Admiral's voice carried no hesitation. "Our methods ensure Frontenachii dominance. Ensure that we, unlike countless others, will not fade into extinction. Ensure that we uplift lesser species to help them survive in our periphery. Is that so wrong?"

"Yes," Shady said simply.

"Then you have been led astray by our enemies." The Admiral sighed. "But that changes nothing. The keys, Aquillianne. Where are they?"

"I told you. I don't know."

"You were at the Citadel. Your signature proves it."

"So what? Maybe I was there. Maybe I wasn't. Maybe someone copied my signature and wore it like a costume. Skinwalkers are good at that sort of shit."

The Admiral stared at her niece. Several seconds passed. A bird called somewhere in the canopy. Wind moved through the trees, carrying the scent of ocean salt mixed with pine.

"You truly claim ignorance," the Admiral said finally. "You truly expect me to believe that you, a Princess trained in Astral manipulation, somehow lost track of the most important artifacts in our civilization."

"Believe what you want, Aunt Evely. I can't give you what I don't have."

"Then," the Admiral said, "we proceed to less pleasant options. Because those keys cannot be replaced. Cannot be reproduced. Cannot be bypassed. They're anchored to bloodline authentication, tied directly to the Master Builders' soul signatures. If you truly don't know where they are..." She paused. "If you truly don't know, then I'll tear through your mind until I find the memories you're hiding. The ones you buried to protect whatever foolish principles Lissander Fox planted in your head."

Shady's antlers drooped slightly. The diamond chains caught the motion, refracting the light with a thousand sparkling flashes.

"You're saying you'll vaporize me and interrogate my soul during resurrection."

“Yes.”

"So those are my choices," she said. "Submit to psychic dissection. Or submit to psychic dissection after death."

"Yes."

"Family values at their finest."

"This is bigger than family, Aquillianne! This is species survival. A multitude of colonies depends on those keys remaining secure and accessible. Surely, you understand that?"

Shady's silver eyes met her aunt's. Something passed between them, some communication I couldn't parse. Old history. Shared knowledge. The weight of bloodline and obligation.

"How long do I have to decide?" Shady asked.

"I’ve already given you three days to consider things while our Scruts gathered more evidence. You're deciding RIGHT now." The Admiral stated coldly. "I came here personally as... family. To give you the opportunity to cooperate, to step away from this path of folly. But my patience has limits, niece. And we've reached them."

The Admiral's silver eyes held no warmth. No familial recognition. Just the cold assessment of an obstacle that needed removal.

Shady lifted her chin, diamond chains singing softly. "Before you go all murder-y on me, there's something you should know. This world isn't unclaimed. It was given to me."

"Given?" The Admiral's tone flattened. "By whom?"

"Aunt Zexxia."

The name hung in the air between them.

"Zexxia granted me dominion over this Earth," Shady continued. Her voice gained strength. "She opened the Mothman gate here. She showed me how to cultivate this entire planet. How to guide its magical communities. I've been here, Aunt Evely. Not just hiding. Ruling. Just as she intended."

"Zexxia lost her mind." The Admiral's response came sharp and immediate. "Evidence of her treason emerged after her death as her magic-chains failed. Our Scrutimancers learned that she betrayed our principles. She sold gate access to our enemies. Multiple fronts, multiple buyers. The Empress herself reviewed the intelligence."

Shady blinked. This was unexpected information. "What… evidence?"

"Transaction records. Witness testimony from her own no longer bound kobolds across a thousand colony worlds. Correspondence with rival clans and Omnicorps." The Admiral counted each point on her claws. "Your beloved aunt was plotting against the Empress. Against our entire bloodline. Whatever arrangement she made with you regarding this planet died with her credibility."

"She..." Shady's conviction wavered. 

"She wanted power." The Admiral stated. "She saw an opportunity to sell unique gate access to other Omnids and enemies of our Empire. The Empress had no choice but to sanction her. Your great-aunt was a traitor who would have destroyed us all for profit."

Shady swallowed.

“I… I've spent millennia cultivating magical communities on this Earth. Building networks. Establishing hierarchies. I have wizards, Aunt Evely. Heroes. Villains. An entire magical ecosystem that answers to me!” Shady said, sounding desperate.

"Wizards." The Admiral's tone suggested she'd just heard a child insist on the existence of fairy tales. "On a Grade-3 resource world with a barely functional Astral? Don’t make me laugh."

"Yes." Shady gestured to me. "My Emperor can attest to it! He leads many magical communities. He knows the leaders personally. We have established local power structures. Everything Zexxia and I built together over millennia!"

The Admiral's silver eyes flicked to me. Dismissed me again. Returned to Shady.

"None of that matters,” she said simply. 

"None of it?" Shady's voice rose. "I've built something from nothing. Created exactly what Zexxia envisioned. A magical world under Frontenachii protection. A world ready for—"

"A few parlor tricks on a backwater planet." The Admiral cut her off. "Even if you managed to train some humans to manipulate this weak Astral field, even if you established some crude hierarchy of magical practitioners, it changes nothing. You still took the keys. You still betrayed your bloodline. You still need to answer for your crimes."

"But the cultivation of—"

"Means nothing!" The Admiral's deafening bark resonated through the clearing. Birds fled from nearby trees. "Do you understand, Aquillianne? Your little project here is irrelevant. Meaningless. A distraction from what actually matters. The keys secure the stability of our entire Empire. Every colony world could come threat if we do not retrieve them. Every resurrection facility. Every strategic resource. And you took them."

Shady trembled. "I told you. I don't have them."

"Then tell me where they are."

"I don't know!"

"Liar!" The Admiral's voice dropped to something deadly. "Your Astral signature was present at the Citadel. The temporal markers match. The Master Builders died exactly when you arrived. The keys vanished exactly when you fled. Every piece of evidence points to you. And now you stand before me, your mind deliberately scrambled to hide the truth, spinning fantasies about wizard communities and arcane cultivation projects!"

"It's not fantasy!" Shady's composure cracked further. "I've been ruling this planet. Building infrastructure. Zexxia gave me specific instructions. She wanted Earth developed as—"

"As what?" The Admiral interrupted. "As a private fiefdom? As a backup plan for when her treachery was discovered? As somewhere to hide stolen artifacts?" Her claws extended fully now. Each one caught the light, sharp enough to carve through diamond. "Whatever Zexxia promised you, whatever delusions she fed you, they died with her. You're alone now, Aquillianne. No aunt to protect you. No gate to escape through. Just you, this pathetic, primitive planet, and the consequences of your childish choices!"

The temperature in the clearing seemed to drop. 

Commander Sillicia was right. The Admiral’s mind was made up. The train could not escape its track. There was only one path forward. Shady’s death.

Shady took a step back. "Aunt Evely! Please. Just listen. If you'd look at what I've built… You'd understand that this planet has value. That even if Zexxia sold gate access to other Omnids her vision—"

"Had merit enough for me to consider clemency?" The Admiral finished the thought. "No. Because none of it matters. You're stalling, Aquillianne. Buying time. Hoping I'll be swayed by sentiment or impressed by your alleged accomplishments. I am neither sentimental nor easily impressed."

“Aunt Evely.”

“I’m sorry, Starshade. I hate to do this, but you’ve left me no choice,” the Admiral exhaled. 

She turned to Nexxali. The Marshal remained rooted to her spot throughout the entire exchange, a statue in uniform.

"Marshal Commandant," the Admiral said simply. "Execute the Princess and her Kobold Administrator if the location of keys isn't revealed in twenty seconds."

Nexxali's hand moved to her weapon. Her movements were mechanical, obedient to her Blood pact. No hesitation. No emotion in her feline expression shadowed by her black cap featuring the Frontenachii elk skull pin.

The gun lifted slowly.

"Aunt Evely, please!" Shady's voice broke. "I'm your niece. Your family. Doesn't that mean anything to you?!"

"It means I'll ensure your resurrection is handled properly." The Admiral's tone suggested she was discussing filing paperwork. "Your incarnation will be pliable, cooperative. Will understand duty. Will serve the family and our mission as intended. I'll overwrite you myself."

The gun barrel pointed at Shady's head. Nexxali's finger rested on the trigger. Her eyes held no recognition. No mercy. Just the blank focus of a living weapon executing its function.

"Time's up, darling," the Admiral stated.

Shady flashed from where she stood, tried to run. It didn’t help her. Nexxali’s hand blurred in the air like a whip. Gunfire sounded across the clearing. 

Shady didn’t get far, couldn’t move faster than Nexxali’s preternatural aim of a skilled executioner and the railgun bullet.

A sudden catastrophic detonation of Wendigo skull, brain matter and blood spraying, tearing diamond chains fluttering through the air, glittering and sparkling.

The diamondust dress caught the spray, refracting blood into a thousand crimson prisms. Her body remained standing for a heartbeat, two, then collapsed forward. Seven feet of royal, dead Wendigo hitting the forest floor with a wet, final sound.

The gun barrel rotated. Smooth. Inevitable.

It pointed at my head next. Nexxali's amber eyes met mine. Empty. Hollow. A soldier following orders.

“Don’t move,” she ordered with a resonant voice. The same, beautiful voice that sang to us yesterday about pasta.

Her finger pressed the trigger.

Bang.

87: Tits Up

I blinked.

One would think that death would be more... final. More conclusive. The kind of experience you don't walk away from thinking "huh, that was neat."

Instead, I sat in a Books and Nooks café booth, alive and breathing, watching a theatrical vampire girl in vintage red and black lace lecture hostages about the coming age of crystalloid supremacy.

The gunshot still echoed in my memory. Nexxali's amber eyes, empty and obedient. The barrel aimed at my head. The squeeze of the trigger. 

Darkness.

Except that happened to someone else. To a fabricated meat puppet in a forest clearing miles away connected to me via an alien neutral interface tech mod Kawartha cooked up.

The Emperor of Earth had just taken a bullet for his excellent performance of standing around like an idiot.

Meanwhile, Ashcroft Clifford aka Constantine Belthys sat perfectly alive beside his dragon date, processing the cognitive dissonance of experiencing death secondhand.

My plan ticked forward. Inevitable. Mechanical. Unstoppable. Beautiful in its terrible precision.

Count Chocula paced between the cafe tables, gesturing grandly with one pale hand. Her vintage red and black dress swished with each movement, red ribbons in her braids bouncing.

"You see, my dear captives," she announced, "this is merely the beginning! Today, Cascade. Tomorrow, Seattle. Within the month, the entire Pacific Northwest will bow before the crystalloid collective! We will push back the Wendigo scum, take what belongs to us!"

I stared. Galateya stared harder.

"We are the future," Count Chocula continued. "Eternal! Unchanging! Superior to your fragile meat-bodies with their ridiculous need for oxygen and bathroom breaks!"

One of the thralls nodded solemnly from his position by the door.

"No more will we hide in the shadows, scurrying like rats! No more will we pretend to be your equals! The Wendigo invaders forced our hand, forced us to come out into the open, and left us no choice but to act!" She spun dramatically, dress flaring. "We are BETTER! We are EVOLVED! We are the next step in species evolution! Also, we have excellent dental plans!"

I raised my hand.

“Yes?” Count Chocula asked, staring at me with glowing, blood-red and silver eyes.

“Why does a vampire need… a dental plan?" I asked. “Aren’t you guys perfect and immortal or something?”

"IRRELEVANT!" she shrieked. "The point is we HAVE one! Which is more than your primitive human society offers!"

Ash, why are you antagonizing the crazy vampires? Galateya’s expression stated.

Marya's knuckles had gone white on the counter edge, her face looking awfully pale. Unnaturally pale like… wet bone.

"Furthermore," Count Chocula proclaimed, "we shall establish a new order starting with Cascade, with this cafe! A crystalloid empire spanning—"

"What the SHIT?" Marya's far too loud voice cut through the monologue like a chainsaw through butter. "No, NO, NO! What the FUCK, you fucking backstabbing FUCKS! This wasn't part of our deal!"

The cafe went silent.

Count Chocula's head swiveled toward the barista. "Deal? I don't recall making any deals with food."

"FOOD?!" Marya's voice pitched up several octaves. "You crystalline cunt, this cafe is OUR territory! OURS!”

Count Chocula blinked slowly. "What?”

"Agripiux!" Marya snarled. "We had a deal with Agripiux Noxxagam!"

The vampire girl's glowing eyes narrowed. "Who? What deal?”

“Agripiux Noxxagam, you crystalline brainlet! Your grandfather! The deal not to fuck with each other’s busness in Cascade!”

“Thrall Seven," Count Chocula interrupted, gesturing lazily to one of her gunmen. "Please tape up this crazy meatsickle. I don't have time for insane food service workers. I have a dramatic monologue to conclude!”

The thrall moved toward Marya, pulling a roll of duct tape from his pocket.

Marya's lips pulled back from her teeth in a snarl. "You really shouldn't have done that."

That's when things got properly weird.

Marya's face contorted. Not in fear or anger, but wrong. Horribly wrong. Her jaw dislocated with a wet crack. Bones shifted beneath skin, reshaping, restructuring. Her body began to unfold.

That's the only word for it. Unfold. Like origami in reverse, each fold revealing layers that shouldn't exist within human anatomy.

White bone-flesh erupted through her clothes. Her spine extended, vertebrae multiplying, creating a towering form. Brown fur sprouted in patches, mixing with exposed bone that gleamed like wet ivory. Her arms elongated, fingers fusing and separating into blade configurations.

Where Marya the barista had stood a second ago, a massive, inside-out wolf-thing now towered. Seven feet of horrid, wet bone, inverted muscle, and brown mane. Her face stretched into something between canine and human, jaw filled with teeth that looked designed for maximum carnage. One arm ended in a sword of bone. 

“Freeze!” She barked with a resonant voice.

The patrons inhabiting the cafe froze, their eyes turning glassy. The order pounded against my head, making the Frontend of my mind obediently freeze. The Backend went berserk.

Fuck. Fucking fuck!

Every plan has variables. Contingencies you can't predict. Factors that exist outside your careful calculations. Things that suddenly go tits up.

Of course Cascade had more magical bullshit lurking in its population. What else should I have expected? 

A Wendigo under my bed? Vampires in my driveway? An alien fleet dropping the moon? A cat girl and then a dragon invading my house? The pattern was established. I should have expected this exact, dastardly twist of the universe kicking me in the balls.

Obviously, the local coffee shop would be run by some kind of supernatural entity.

Obviously, the nice, pretty girl I hung out with at my grandfather's funeral was a fleshy wolf thing. I even joked about her being a werewolf like an idiot a few days ago. 

Fan-freaking-tastic. 

The prize for amazing intuition and also for being the biggest idiot goes to Ash, the Emperor of Earth.

The inverted wolf-thing moved with a speed that turned motion into abstraction. One moment she stood behind the counter. The next she'd crossed the cafe floor and her bone-blade arm punched clean through Count Chocula's chest.

Count Chocula looked down at the sword protruding from her sternum in disappointment. 

My expression probably matched how she felt. 

I was supposed to stop the vampires and appear as a hero to the Legate but my thunder was stolen by… an unexpected magical creature.

Chocula didn't die, flailing and clawing at the sword like a bug pinned to a display wall by a metal needle, her pretty dress torn.

I mentally groaned.

I should have staged the whole vampire hostage situation in Costco instead. Costco never disappoints. Surely the local Costo wasn’t being run by fucking… oh I don’t know. Fucking Slenderman or something? 

The inverted-wolf-thing growled, an unnervingly deep sound that vibrated through my chest cavity. She transformed her other arm into an oversized hammer made from bone. 

The hammer configuration came down on Count Chocula's skull with the force of a freight train.

The vampire girl’s head crumpled. Marya-thing didn't stop. She pounded again. Again. Each impact compacted, obliterated  her target, sent blood and guts flying everywhere.

"Crystalline fucks," the wolf-creature snarled in a voice that retained small traces of Marya's cadence. 

"What the fuck is she?” I breathed out.

"Skinwalker!" Galateya whisper-hissed, human hand digging into mine. “She's a fucking Skinwalker Omnid!”

The thralls reacted slowly as they were designed to. Six tommy guns lifted. Aimed. 

The guns had no bullets. Like their vampire leader the thralls were completely harmless, scary only to a clueless outside observer. Fake just like the bomb…

I looked through the window. Another massive, wet, skeletal monstrosity… err Skimwalker was there. In a blink, it had torn through the thralls in the moving truck and ripped apart my lovely, theatrical bomb.

Marya-wolf grabbed Count Chocula’s remains by an ankle, swung her like a baseball bat, and smashed her through the nearest thrall, then the other.

This was fine. Everything was fine. My meticulously planned fake hostage situation had merely been intercepted by a territorial coffee-slinging Skinwalker. Totally salvageable. 

The thralls crumpled under her assault, spraying juices. They were weak gun units filled with ground down, rotting, expired meat from Yumland, were designed to break specifically by my gigachad fists.

Under the table, Keiy's black metal body hummed ever so slightly. Recording. Every embarrassing moment of my disaster-date probably getting transmitted directly to Legate Ixthia's personal files.

I should have just taken Galateya to the beach. Yep. A nice… secluded beach… hostage situation. 

The second Skinwalker casually entered through the front door. 

This one wore a different form, shorter but equally nightmare-inducing. Brown fur mixed with exposed bone structure. His glistening, horrid face-skull was something like a bear fused to a porcupine. Many pointy bits. 

"Mare," the male Skinwalker said. "We have a problem."

"No shit, Fennel," Marya demolished the last thrall with her bone-hammer. “Fucking vamps went back on our deal.”

"Not that problem." Fennel held up a chunk of the bomb casing. "This is fake. The whole setup. This isn’t a real bomb, it’s an old, half disassembled clock from Radioshack with a bunch of exposed wires. The barrels in the van are empty. Their guns are empty too. No bullets.”

The inside-out-bear lifted a Tommy gun and pulled the trigger. A click.

And I would have gotten away with it if too, it wasn’t for meddling Skinwalker teens!

“What?” Marya blinked.

Her wet bone skull turned slowly toward the frozen patrons. Scanning. Searching.

Glowing, orange eyes locked onto me and Galateya.

"You," she said.

I pretended to be paralyzed, thinking about how to get out of this situation. I needed to know more about the local Skinwalkers to act.

“Me?” Galateya asked.

“You’re a Taniwha,” Mariya said accusingly. 

“Yes, yes I am,” Galateya let go of her human form, rapidly blossoming back to an extra tall, extra curvy dragon. “And you’re Skinwalkers.” 

She pulled Keiy from under the table.

"A gun unit," Fennel observed. "Frontenachii military hardware. A rather interesting accessory for a couple on a date."

“Your boy-toy smells like a gun too,” Mare sniffed. “Half human, half gun? You into that sorta freaky shit, huh?”

I felt my carefully constructed plan crumbling like wet cardboard. 

The vampires were supposed to attack. Count Chocula was supposed to hold up a fake trigger moniloguing for twenty minutes. I was supposed to bravely grab the trigger, crush it with my manly fists and punch her head off. Teya was supposed to use Keiy to shoot the thralls. 

Instead, I had angry Skinwalkers. Hooray.

“Why are you here, dragon? Speak up!” Mare growled, her words dimensionally-sheared, featuring a pitch of Charmchain magic.

“I’m on a date,” Galateya said simply, glancing at me with a look of pure, unconcealed disappointment.

Sorry Teya. You were supposed to declare yourself as an Omnid Knight and help me save everyone in the cafe and collect vampire bits to rise in rank in Division 881. Your Legate great-grandma was supposed to watch the live recording and be impressed. The local news channel was supposed to showcase humans and aliens working together to solve a vampire hostage situation. Keiy's broadcast was supposed to show that I definitely wasn't the Emperor of Earth working with the disobedient Princess.

The Frontend of my mind submitted to the order. The back of my mind formulated the necessary words.

“Yes. A lovely date,” I said. “We just came here for coffee and a nice quiet morning.”

"Quiet morning." Marya-wolf laughed. "Right. That's why you're wearing a gun-unit hexasuit frame and your date walked in as a full dragon. Super low-key. Seriously, what’s with the overly-muscular hexasuit?”

"The hexasuit is medical," I lied. "Old injury. Helps with my back."

"Your back."

"Yes. Very painful. Chronic. Doctors said I needed support."

"Uh-huh." Marya waved her serrated blade-arm. "And I suppose the dragon girlfriend is also medical? Emotional support Omnid?"

"She's very supportive," I agreed. “She made me a delicious breakfast this morning.”

Galateya kicked my shin under the table. I spared her a glance. She looked extra-mad.

The Bear-Skinwalker paced beside us. "Here's what I think happened. I think you set up this fake attack. Made fake vampires, dressed them in vintage clothes, gave them prop guns. Created a scenario where you could expose us."

"I had no idea that you people were Skinwalkers" I said.

Galateya nodded. “We came here for a date,” she repeated. “I… like books.”

"Yea right. This is exactly the kind of thing a clever Omnid would do. Create a false threat. Swoop in to save the day. Make the locals grateful for alien protection." Mare hissed.

"I'm not an Omnid," I protested.

"No, but she is." The bone-blade pointed at Galateya. "And you're clearly her kobold, her pet human. Her propaganda tool."

"I am not a propaganda tool!"

"Then explain the fake bomb. Explain the empty guns."

I couldn't. Not without revealing the plan. Not with Keiy recording every word.

Ugh. What a mess I got myself into.