Stupid Sexy Cryptids: [113-119] (Patreon)

113: Heroics

Galateya shifted the water out of the mud beneath and around them, solidifying it into crumbling chunks and dust and summoned another wave from Lake Crescent, this one warmer. The water cascaded over all three of them, washing away the dry dust. Then, the lake pulled the filth back into itself, leaving them clean and dripping.

"Much better," Sage declared, shaking herself like a dog. Water droplets flew in every direction, catching the sun in prismatic arcs.

Katherine wobbled to her feet, digital eyes flickering as she reoriented herself. "Maksym needs... assistance.”

“Alas,” Sage added. “Our poor, brave judge has fallen victim to foxnanigans."

"Go," Galateya said with a soft smile, happy that Keiy found someone to love. "Take care of him."

The cyborg nodded and stumbled toward Dax's unconscious form. She knelt beside him and pulled him into her embrace, tail curled around his body protectively. Then she zapped him with a finger poke.

The human yelped, blinking and opening his eyes. “Bleh. How long was I out?”

“Not long,” Katherine said, pulling him onto her lap. “Sit. Warm up. Relax. Wouldn’t want your soft, fragile flesh-frame to catch a cold.” She glared at Sage.

“What?” Sage asked. “He glitter-bombed me! I smelled his paws all over that sushi box. Devious human. T’was a smol revenge, just a single interaction, he'll be fine.”

“My revenge will be even greater!” Dax whispered dramatically, keeping his eyes closed to avoid staring at the Skinwalker. “Just you wait, dastardly fox, just you wait.”

“Looking forward to it.” Sage pulled her shirt and leggings back on, wringing out her red curls. "Alright, dragon-waifu. Time to catch the biggest golden goose of the century.”

“He’s not that… valuable,” Galateya huffed.

“Uh-huh. Sure, sure, he ain’t.” Sage hopped onto Galateya's back without asking permission, arms wrapping around her neck, legs locking around her waist. "Giddyup, my watery steed! Onward to victory!"

Galateya's scales and mane flushed orange-pink at the unexpected contact. The Skinwalker's body pressed against her back, warm and soft and entirely too distracting. 

Focus. Hunt. Ash.

She waved at the free gun unit nuzzling the human and strode into the lake, digitigrade legs carrying her deeper until the water reached her chest. Her Phase-shift responded to the lake, scales smoothing into hydrodynamic patterns. Gills opened along her neck. Her mane compressed into streamlined spines.

The water... welcomed her.

This wasn't like the frozen cafe. This wasn't fear or rage channeled through her Fractal Engine heart. This was simple affinity. Recognition. The lake knew her as kin, as a Taniwha, the song of the storm and tide.

Galateya reached out with her will and the water answered.

A current formed beneath her feet. It lifted her, carried her, accelerated her across the lake's surface like she weighed nothing. The shore blurred. Wind whipped past, carrying spray and the scent of pine.

Sage whooped in her ear. "WOOOOO! You're like a jet ski but sexy!"

The water bent to Galateya's desire, creating a smooth path forward. She leaned into the motion, letting the current build. The far shore approached rapidly.

They covered the distance in minutes. Galateya's feet touched the rocky beach on the opposite side, the current dissipating as she released her hold on the lake.

Sage dismounted reluctantly. "Aww, already? We should do that again sometime. Maybe get you a saddle. Ooh, shape some racing stripes!"

Galateya said nothing. Her mind churned with darker thoughts.

Broken gun bond. Conceptual damage. Court martial.

"Hey." Sage's freckles rearranged into concerned frowny faces. "Why do you look like someone just told you Christmas is cancelled?"

"I'm fine," Galateya lied.

"Nope." Sage stepped in front of her, blocking her path into the forest. "Try again. And this time without the obvious bullshit."

Galateya's jaw clenched. "We need to…"

"The hunt can wait thirty seconds." Sage crossed her arms. "Talk to me, T. What crawled up your butt and died?"

"Nothing crawled—" Galateya stopped herself. Her Justice sense ignited bright, cutting through her own deflection. 

Truth. She owed Sage the truth, especially after what they'd shared.

“It's very mean to use Skinwalker Charmchain on humans.”

Sage's ears folded down. “I'm aware and I won't do it again. I… I just want to have friends who are mentally strong enough to put up with me, honestly. I didn't even hit him with the full charm on purpose, just peeled back to my human shift and… yeah, I feel bad now. But at least it helped Katherine make a move. Did you see her pawing all over him? I'm sure he's happy now.”

Galateya sighed.

“What else is bothering you? That cannot be it,” Sage said. “Come on, hit me with the truth, T.”

"I broke her," Galateya whispered. "Katherine. Keiy. Whatever she calls herself now. I didn't just hurt her. I destroyed something fundamental. Our blood bond is gone. Completely severed. Do you understand what the Frontenachii will do if they find out I can permanently break blood bonds and free symbiote weapons?"

Sage's ears flattened. "Ah. Yeah. Dat sounds... problematic."

"Problematic?" Galateya laughed bitterly. "They'll dissect me. Study how I did it. Understand the effect, figure out defenses against it. Then Admiral Evelithria will splice me into her wall as punishment for sabotaging vital fleet property. I'll spend decades as living wallpaper, conscious but unable to move, watching as—"

“T-bun, you’re spiraling again,” the Skinwalker stated.

"How can I not spiral?!" Galateya's scales shifted through panicked blacks and icy whites. "My great-grandmother can read me like a book! One conversation with Legate Ixthia and she'll know! She'll know everything and then—"

"Then you lie," Sage said simply.

"I can't lie!"

"You can't lie convincingly," Sage corrected. "There's a difference. But you know what you CAN do? Misdirection. Partial truths. Strategic omissions." She tapped Galateya's chest. "You're Justice, right? Well, sometimes justice means protecting people from unjust systems. Even if you have to bend some rules to do it."

Galateya stared at the Skinwalker. "You want me to... what? Deceive my great-grandmother?"

“Your great-grandmother can't read your mind if you don't LET her."

"How do I not let her do that? She's a fucking Wendigo Archmage!”

A holoprojection flashed from the V-ring Sage was wearing, displaying Ash. “You freeze her. Or freeze your thoughts.”

“What?” Galateya blinked at her consort.

“Either we take out your grandmother,” Ash said. “Or you learn to freeze particular thoughts of yours. Or Sh–fff–Commander Xandria splits your mind. We’ll figure it out. Together. Promise.”

“Together,” Sage nodded, eyeing Ash. “Super together. I can help too. Cover you in foxy artifacts that’ll make you harder to scan, harder to see, harder to find. Etcetera. Also, I want in. Fully in. If you'll have me. Officially."

“Fully in as in…?”

“As in I want to date you both,” Sage said. “For as long as you can tolerate my stupid mind-melting face and heart.”

Galateya stared at the Skinwalker. At her honest sky-blue eyes. At the fourteen thousand fox souls swimming in their depths. At Raelle Knight, the human girl who'd chosen immortality within eternal daydream over oblivion.

Her Justice sense pinged.

Truth. Absolute truth. No deception. No manipulation. Just raw, vulnerable want.

"Okay," Galateya whispered.

"Okay?" Sage's freckles exploded into hearts. "Like, okay okay? Not 'okay let me think about it' but actual 'yes I want to date you' okay?"

"Yes." Galateya pulled the Skinwalker into a hug. "Yes to dating. Yes to figuring this out together. Yes to... us."

“Yes,” Ash said from the V-ring.

Sage let out a squeak-sob, burying her face in Galateya's neck. "Woot! I have a girlfriend. TWO girlfriends if we count Ash as a girlfriend. Which we should because he's pretty enough."

“Oi,” the hologram huffed. “I’m handsome, not pretty!”

“What?” Sage teased cheekily. “I don’t know what you’re hiding under the peak masculinity stick-on chin and fake-ass muscles!”

“Definitely not a girl,” Ash said.

“We’ll see what you’re hidin’ when I rip it off ya,” Sage swished her puffy tail.

“You’ll have to catch me first,” he said.

“We only lost an hour on your dastardly mud trap and feels bomb!” The fox bobbed. “Still plenty of time to dismantle you!”

“Such promises,” the human rolled his eyes.

. . .

Galateya and Sage sprinted into the forest, following Ash's trail. The scent was clear now, no false decoys messing up the direction. Just the gigachad frame's magitek signature and human smell leading north through the increasingly dense undergrowth.

"Getting close," Sage announced, nose twitching. "Maybe fifteen minutes ahead.”

"Good." Galateya's rifle hung ready at her side. "We—"

Something white and sticky hit her face.

"PTHHHT!" She clawed at the substance, struggling to free herself. It clung to her snout, her scales, her claws. "What the—"

"WEB!" Sage yelped, hopping back as another strand caught her shoulder. "SPIDER WEB! GAH! He’s got giant pet spiders! Why Chaddicus Rex? That's like my worst fear, getting eaten by spiders!”

“They're not giant spiders,” Ash clarified.

“Then what's with the webs?” Sage demanded.

“A slight impediment.” Ash shrugged. “Nobody is going to eat you.”

“Someone better eat me tonight.” Sage wiggled her eyebrows at Galateya, making the dragon frown and blush slightly with Japanese blossoms blooming across her mane.

Sage looked up.

More webs became visible in the trees above. Thick, ropey strands that stretched between trunks in elaborate geometric patterns. They descended in waves, coating branches, blocking paths, creating a three-dimensional maze of sticky filament.

A figure dropped from the canopy. Blue and red fabric. White eye lenses. A lanky human body wrapped in colorful fabric patterned after a comic book hero.

"HALT, EVILDOERS!" The spider-themed hero declared, firing webbing from wrist-mounted spinnerets.

Sage dodged left. Galateya dove right. The web splattered between them.

“Oh thank God, it's just a skinny dude in a spandex.” Sage laughed. She looked at her V-ring. “Arachinds-Man? Really?! When did we transmigrate to the fuckin’ Garvel universe?”

"Your pursuit ends here! In the sticky embrace of JUSTICE!" The hero declared.

“Justice? He’s really fucking with me with all this crap,” Galateya grumbled. 

“Come on, it's great,” Sage laughed and then got tangled up in a web. “Gah! Help, I’m a damsel in distress! It’s got my tail!”

She began flailing and got herself even more stuck.

“Curse you, Arachnids-Man!” She decried, wiggling furiously. “First we got delayed with mud wrestling and now it’s bondage! What’s next? Spanking? Watersports?!”

“What?! No! This is a PG villain capture scenario!” Arachnids-Man choked at her audacious words. “There’s no bondage!”

“I dunno, I feel pretty bound up and teased right now,” Sage purred. “You know what you are doing, Bondage-Man.”

“Please stop talking,” the hero blanched.

“You’ll have to gag me!” Sage shot back, making Arachnids-Man bubble with righteous indignation.

Galateya summoned her water affinity with a growl. A thick fog wall formed from ambient moisture, washing over the nearest web. The strands dissolved, but only slightly. Not enough to get through.

She compressed the cloud into a sword of absolute zero ice and began slicing through the webs. As Arachnids-Man fired another web at her and Galateya manifested an ice-shield, letting the web harmlessly smash against it. The subzero front of the shield made the sticky substance completely inert, rapidly turning it into crumbling dust.

The Taniwha manifested ice armor across her back and began chopping Sage free from the web.

“My savior Knight!” Sage slumped into Galateya’s embrace, mauling her with kisses. “Could have kept me there longer, you know. Steam me up real good!”

Another ice sword formed in Sage's grip.

“Here,” Teya said. “Help chop through.”

"Ooh, fancy!" Sage admired the weapon. "Very anime protagonist. I love it." Her hand became skeletal-flesh as she accepted the weapon. She attacked the nearest web with it.

"NOOOO!" Arachnids-Man wailed from above. "My webs! My beautiful, carefully constructed webs!"

"Sorry, spider-dude!" Sage called back, slicing through the next web in front of them. "But we've got places to be! Boyfriends to catch! Romantic confrontations and forest bonking to have!"

They fought through the webbed forest together. Galateya cut high, Sage cut low. Ice swords flashed in the dappled sunlight. Web sections fell, drifting away.

Unfortunately, there was an absurd amount of webbing and Arachnids-Man just kept making more, slowing them down and vanishing between trees. Galateya began throwing ice lances at him, but the Garvel hero was very quick and hard to hit.

The superhero had spent significant time preparing this obstacle course. Every tree featured multiple anchor points. Every gap held backup barriers. The moment they cleared one section, he would swing ahead and create more.

"This is taking FOREVER!" Galateya snarled, hacking through her twentieth web wall.

“I’ll get you, evildoers!” Arachnids-Man threatened from a distance.

"You planned this," Galateya complained. "The mud wrestling, Katherine, the lake—all clever delays. Time for this blasted web-labyrinth to be set up."

“Would you prefer me to trip over a rock and fall into your lap?” Ash asked. “I'm making the hunt more challenging. Isn't that what you wanted? For me to take it seriously? Go on, tell me that you aren't enjoying this.”

Galateya huffed, obliterating several webs with her tail and not answering her consort. 

The unexpected hunt delays and twists were bothersome and yet she couldn't lie to herself. Figuring out how to use her water affinity in new, interesting ways was.. fun. She wanted more. So much more of this. Fighting in a forest with a friend at her side felt… amazing, like she was born for it. The water sang in her blood, craved violence in the name of Justice.

"Strategic depth!" Sage commented, wrapping the chilly handle of her sword in parts of her shirt that she tore up, exposing her toned midriff. "Layered defenses! Classic military thinking! I'm impressed, aroused and annoyed simultaneously!"

Arachnids-Man fired another volley. Galateya sliced it from the air, ice sword leaving chilly steam trails. The hero retreated into the canopy, chattering about the "sanctity of proper webbing."

They pressed forward. Cut. Advance. Cut again. The forest gradually opened as they destroyed enough webs to create a path.

Sage's frustration mounted with each new web barrier as time passed. She sliced through another strand, then another. The superhero swung overhead, cackling about his "impenetrable defense."

"That's it!" Sage threw down her blade. "I'm done playing nice!"

The Skinwalker reached up and touched the choker around her neck. The artifact pulsed with eerie off-color rainbows and Sage simply... ceased to exist. Not invisible. Not hidden. Gone. Erased from local reality like someone had hit the delete button on her.

"Sage?" Galateya blinked, looking around. Not knowing where her partner was felt very unnerving to her senses.

"Still here," a voice whispered from somewhere nearby. "Gonna bondage his ass. Get ready with an ice spear."

Galateya relaxed slightly, nodded and stuck the ice sword into the ground, manifesting an ice-spear. She watched Arachnids-Man swing between branches, completely unaware of the predator stalking him.

Sage materialized directly behind the hero mid-swing, her arms wrapping around his neck in a chokehold. The sudden weight threw off his trajectory. They tumbled through the air together.

"SURPRISE, STICKY BOY!" Sage yelled in his ear. "Time for the hunter to become the huntee!"

"GACK—WHO—WHERE—" The hero flailed, trying to aim his web-shooters backward.

They crashed into a thick branch. Sage maintained her grip, legs wrapping around his torso. "What's wrong, spidey? Never been ambushed by a thirsty fox before?"

"Let—go—" He wheezed, clawing at her arms.

"Not until you stop being such a cockblock!" Sage tightened her hold. "Do you have ANY idea how hard it is to get quality alone time with your girlfriend when some spider keeps gluing my tail to shit?! DO YOU?!"

She punctuated the last word by slamming her bony fist into the side of his masked head. The hero's body went limp for a second before his hands scrabbled for purchase on the branch.

"You know what you need?" Sage grabbed his wrist-mounted web-shooter and aimed it at a nearby trunk. "A timeout! In your OWN sticky jail!"

She fired. White strands shot out, splattering across tree bark. She swung him around, using his own equipment to wrap him to the trunk. Around his chest. Around his arms. Around his legs.

"Staph! This is assault of a superhero!" He protested weakly. "There are LAWS!"

"Laws against being annoying?" Sage wrapped another layer around his torso. "Because buddy, you've been violating those ALL afternoon! Probably laws against webbing up national parks too. How many poor foxes are going to get stuck in your stupid ass webs? Wildlife trapping is like super illegal. Go back to New York buddy!”

“My webs dissolve after a few hours!” The hero whined.

She hopped off him, landing on the branch beside his cocooned form. Unfortunately, her tail had gotten tangled in the webbing during the wrapping process.

"Oh, come ON!" Sage tugged at the sticky strands. "Seriously? I just—GAH!"

She pulled harder. The webbing stretched but didn't break. Her movements only made it worse, wrapping more of her tail, then catching her left hand when she tried to free it.

"HA!" Arachnids-Man laughed. "Justice prevails! The villain gets stuck in her own trap."

"Suck my cunt," Sage's retort cut off as she lost her balance. She toppled sideways, and got fully stuck to the hero's webbing, ending up plastered against his cocooned form from the side.

Galateya hurled the ice lance.

It flew true, piercing through the webbing and Arachnids-Man's chest, securing him firmly to the trunk like a pinned bug. The hero let out a theatrical groan. "Not cool. Who will save New York from Doomsday if you put me on ice?"

"You know," Sage called out, wiggling vigorously against the hero, "if I'd known you were into this kind of thing, spider-boy, I would've suggested dinner first!"

"This is NOT—I don't date villains—would you STOP MOVING!" The hero protested.

"Can't help it!" Sage thrust harder. "My fox instincts say wiggle when trapped. Very biological. Very primal. You wouldn't understand with your gross spider-brains."

Arachnids-Man sputtered.

Galateya sighed and grabbed the ice sword.

"Oh good!" Sage perked up. "My lovely girlfriend's here to save me."

Galateya sliced Sage free of the web.

"Hey, web-head," Sage continued as Galateya pulled her free and froze the rest of the hero to the trunk. "Have you ever considered what your whole aesthetic is truly about? 'Oh look at me, I shoot white sticky stuff everywhere by thrusting my hands a lot!' Real subtle, buddy."

"What?! It's WEBBING!" The hero insisted. "Quit ruining my aesthetic with your terrible comments! It's for crime f-"

He fell silent as ice engulfed his head.

“Well done. You have defeated my second defender. It only took you an hour and six minutes,” Ash commented from the V-ring smugly.

"Wanna know what else takes an hour? Because I got a list and it starts with—" Sage began.

"We're resuming the hunt," Galateya interrupted, scales flushing bright pink as she pulled on Sage. "Come on."

"Spoilsport." Sage stretched, torn shirt riding up further. "One cannot rush the yearning arc. It violates narrative causality!" She added. "So, what's next on the menu of lavacious delights? Doctor Stranger? Because I can think of sooooo many lewd situations involving portals and…"

"No. You have to get through another supreme master of science and sorcery to reach me." Ash stated from the V-ring with a chortle.

"Science and sorcery?" Sage tilted her head. "Please tell me you did not hire a boring ol’ magician. I hate card tricks. They always hide the ace in the sleeve and it smells like old man wrist."

"Much worse," Ash promised. "Behold your Doom!"

114: DOOM!

I sat cross-legged in a small, mossy depression, chewing on a slightly squished bagel. It was part of the care package Dax had blessed me with a few hours ago.

Way to go, Dax, I thought, watching the holographic feed projected from my wristband.

My second-in-command, my best friend, the guy currently vigorously making out with a drunk, modded gun unit on the beach, had absolutely folded.

Dax had outed me. He had outed Shady. He had ranted out everything about the resistance and my second identity to a soul-hoarding fox wizard. 

I felt concerned about this development. Would the Skinwalker tell Galateya everything? 

No.

She’s keeping my secret, I realized as I re-evaluated the Skinwalker’s behavior. 

Sage is a gamer. She wants to see how this ends. She loves the nature of the game too much to spoil the big twist. Probably going to out me when she catches me though.

I resigned myself to this fate and watched as the two Omnid girls broke through the tree line into the clearing I’d designated as the Mid-Boss Arena.

"DOOM SEES YOU, PATHETIC HUNTERS OF MY LIEGE! DOOM WILL NOT PERMIT YOUR ADVANCE!." Professor Doomsday boasted, blocking their path.

He emerged from behind a Douglas fir, eight feet of magisteel green plating. The cape billowing behind him was attached to a small fan unit in the shoulder pads to ensure maximum dramatic flutter regardless of wind conditions.

On the Voicecast holo, Sage rolled her eyes at the comic book supervillain. "Professor Doomsday? Really dude?”

"Best I could do on short notice,” I replied to her. “He’s got tenure."

Sage chortled.

"SILENCE!" Doomsday roared, raising both gauntlets. Green energy crackled between his fingers. "You face the might of Laternia! Well, not actual Laternia. Metaphorical Laternia. The concept of Laternia as it exists in—DOOM DOES NOT NEED TO EXPLAIN DOOM'S REFERENCES!"

Galateya didn't hesitate. She threw an ice spear at the monologuing villain. Doomsday’s large hand snapped up, firing a compressed air blast that knocked the projectile into a tree.

"INFERIOR WEAPONS!" The gun unit bellowed. "DOOM'S ARSENAL IS SUPERIOR IN EVERY METRIC!"

Then, the green tank-man charged.

The massive villain pounded the earth, leaving little craters. 

"Easy on the landscaping there, buddy," I muttered.

Sage dodged left. Galateya rolled right.

"Split up!" Sage called out. "Pincer around!"

She tapped her choker and vanished.

Clever girl, I thought. Going for the backstab. Won't work with Doomsday though, he's thicc.

Galateya scrambled backward, hurling ice spears. They shattered against Doomsday's chest plate like glass ornaments.

"FUTILE!" Doomsday marched forward, eating the damage like it was a light snack. "FROZEN WATER IS NO MATCH FOR THE ALLOYED PERFECTION OF DOOM'S CHASSIS!"

On the feed, I saw the shimmer of Sage re-materializing directly behind the villain. She raised her ice sword.

"Sneak attack, bitch!"

The sword shattered against his neck.

Doomsday didn't turn around. His upper torso simply rotated a full one hundred and eighty degrees with a mechanical whirrrr-click.

"DOOM HAS SWIVEL CAPABILITIES!"

The backhand was brutal. It wasn’t a punch; it was a physics lesson. 

THWACK!

I winced as Sage went airborne, crashing through a blackberry bush and hitting a cedar tree.

"SAGE!" Galateya screamed.

"DOOM FINDS YOUR SNEAKING LACKING," the villain declared, rotating back to face the dragon. "DOOM EXPECTED MORE FROM AN ANCIENT WIZARD VIRGIN FOX. DISAPPOINTING."

"Oof," I muttered.

"You hurt her," Galateya hissed. The temperature dropped as a miniature snowstorm bloomed around her. Frost crept up Doomsday’s legs.

"DOOM MERELY APPLIED CORRECTIONAL VELOCITY," the gun unit countered, charging a palm blast. "NOW, SUBMIT. DOOM HAS A SCHEDULE. THERE ARE COUNTRIES TO RULE. RIVALS TO CRUSH. AFTERNOON TEA TO CONSUME."

Galateya charged. She slammed her shoulder into the metal giant. It was like watching a toddler tackle a fridge. Doomsday didn't budge. He just looked down.

"ARE YOU FINISHED HUGGING DOOM? DOOM IS NOT A HUGGER."

Sage crawled out of the bushes, looking disheveled. Her torn shirt had ridden up, revealing plentiful underboob. "Relax, T-bum, I’m a tough cookie. Ugh, Ashy, did you tell Doomsday that I’m a virgin?"

"Might have been Kawthy," I replied, wiping cream cheese from my lip. "She’s been spying on you two with the Seeker from a distance."

"Rude! The bird will pay for this treachery," Sage panted.

Doomsday grabbed Galateya by the shirt and yeeted her upward.

Galateya spun in the air, smashed through the branches and canopy and then... Massive, crystalline wings exploded from her back, manifesting out of nowhere into existence. They caught the sunlight, glittering with lethal beauty.

"Dang," I commented. "Dragon’s got wings."

"Yeah," Sage agreed, watching her girlfriend slowly glide down through the air. "Wowzah! Really jerking my heart here."

"DOOM DEMANDS YOU CEASE FLAPPING!" Doomsday roared. He raised a gauntlet, and a repulsive field expanded outward as a shimmering green bubble of force.

Galateya slammed into it, bounced off, and corrected. She began manifesting and throwing lances of absolute zero ice. They shattered harmlessly against Doomsday’s reinforced frame.

"DOOM'S ARMOR IS FORGED FROM THE CONCEPT OF STUBBORNNESS!" The villain roared. "AND RECYCLED FRIDGES. MOSTLY STUBBORNNESS."

Sage limped forward. "Okay. Ow. He’s got a hell of a backhand. T-babe, we can't brute force this. He's a damage sponge!"

"Wargh," Galateya snarled. "Sage, just go invisi-mode and chase after Ash!”

I prepared to get up just in case Sage did exactly this.

"And abandon you to Doomsday? No way, T!” Sage yelled back. "I bet my fox-ass Ash got another fooking cyborg boss that’s even tougher up ahead."

"Fox wisdom," I nodded via hologram. I did indeed have another gun unit waiting nearby.

"FUTURE BOSS IS INSIGNIFICANT!" Doomsday bellowed, doing a full 360-degree head spin to glare at Sage. "DOOM IS THE MAIN EVENT. DOOM IS THE FINAL BOSS. DOOM HAS PREPARED A THREE-HOUR POWERPOINT PRESENTATION ON WHY DOOM IS SUPERIOR, AND YOU WILL SIT AND WATCH IT!"

"Three hours?!" Sage made a dramatically shocked face. 

"It has graphs!" Doomsday promised. "And transition animations!"

"Unacceptable!" Sage reached into her pocket. "Pocket fox bone-dust!"

She flung glittering dust into Doomsday’s faceplate.

"ACK! MY OPTICAL SENSORS!" The giant stumbled back. "IT IS MILDLY GRITTY! THE INDIGNITY!"

"Now!" Sage yelled. "Hit him high!"

Galateya folded her wings and dove like a kinetic missile. She slammed into Doomsday's chest just as Sage slide-tackled his ankles from behind.

It worked. The metal tyrant tipped.

CRASH!

"HA!" Sage sat on his shin. "How's that, you tin can?"

Doomsday lay there. "DOOM IS MERELY INSPECTING THE CANOPY. YES. A LOVELY DORMANT ALDER. VERY SYMMETRICAL."

"Stay down!" Galateya landed on his chest, pinning his wrists with ice.

"FOOLS," Doomsday intoned calmly. "DOOM HAS JET THRUSTERS IN DOOM'S BUTT."

I stopped chewing. Did Kawathra really install—

FWOOOOSH!

Blue flame erupted from the rear of the armor. Doomsday rocket-propelled his lower half upward, spinning on his back like a break-dancing tank. Sage shrieked as she was launched into the shrubbery again. The ice shackles shattered.

Doomsday kipped up.

"DOOM IS AGILE!" He posed. "LIKE A GAZELLE. A GAZELLE MADE OF HATE AND TUNGSTEN."

"Ugh. Ash is probably building a house by now," Galateya groaned.

"Actually, I'm eating a salmon and cream cheese bagel," I chimed in via the hologram. "It's pretty good. You guys are really struggling with the mid-boss mechanics."

"He has butt-rockets, dude!" Sage yelled at me, crawling out of the thorns. "Who gives a gun unit butt-rockets?!"

"Kawathra was very inspired by anime," I shrugged.

"ENOUGH PRATTLE!" Doomsday charged a plasma ball. "PREPARE TO FACE THE WRATH OF DOOM'S 'GREEN AND MEAN' SETTING! IT IS SET TO 'OWIE'!"

Sage and Galateya exchanged a look.

“Aight,” Sage squinted at me. “Let’s see how your gun unit handles…”

Sage pulled out a rusted metal sphere from her pocket. "My Grenade of Minor Inconvenience."

She tossed it. It magnetized itself to Doomsday and began to vibrate.

“That does seem mildly inconvenient,” I said. 

"WHAT IS THIS?" Doomsday began to writhe. "IT IS... STICKY? NO. IT IS... ITCHY? DOOM CANNOT ITCH! DOOM IS PLATED!"

"It creates the phantom sensation of a tag in your underwear," Sage giggled.

"NO!" Doomsday thrashed, reaching for his lower back. "THE CHAFING! THE PSYCHOSOMATIC DISCOMFORT! DOOM IS MILDLY DISTRESSED!"

"Hit him now!" Sage yelled. “Make him go down!”

I watched as Galateya liquefied the ground. Doomsday sank to his chest, flailing against the imaginary itch. Then, she froze it solid, basically encased him in magical ice-crete.

Effective. I thought. But that’s not going to hold him forever.

"FOOLS!" Doomsday roared, vibrating. "DOOM WILL VIBRATE DOOM'S WAY OUT! GIVE DOOM FIVE MINUTES!"

Go Doomsday!

Sage ran up and slapped a sticker on his faceplate. A Hello Foxy sticker.

Another mildly inconvenient artifact?

"Activate Warding Seal of the absolute Cringe," Sage declared. "If you move in the next twenty-four hours, the curse plays 'Baby Shark' at three hundred decibels inside your head for the entire day! Mwa ha ha ha!"

Doomsday froze instantly. The threat was too great.

Could she actually do that? I had no idea.

"YOU VILLAIN," the gun unit whispered, sounding genuinely terrified. "DOOM YIELDS. DOOM WILL SULK HERE. SILENTLY."

"Let's go," Sage grabbed Galateya's hand.

They sprinted past the frozen villain.

"CURSE YOU, RICHARDS!" Doomsday shouted. "I MEAN, SAGE AND TEYA! I MEAN... DOOM WILL REMEMBER THIS!"

I watched them clear the clearing, heading toward my location.

"Did you really have a Cringe Seal?" Galateya asked on the feed.

"Nope. Just a sticker," Sage grinned. "But it totally worked on that titty."

"You are awful."

"I try."

“Sneaky fox,” I said. “But now you must face her…”

“Whom?” Sage bobbed. “Wander Woman? How many of these damn things do you have?”

“Just one more,” I said.

A crooked hut materialized between the trees ahead of the girs. Massive, mechanical chicken legs shifted under the weight of the structure.

"No," I heard Galateya groan. "No no no."

"Yo Ho Ho!" A wizened crone emerged in babushka-style clothing. "Baba Yaga sees foolish dragon and fox! Baba Yaga will grind your bones!"

"We seriously don't have time for this nonsense, screw off!" Galateya yelled.

"Respect your elders!" The crone shrieked, leaping into a giant mortar. She grabbed the pestle that looked like a painted anti-tank missile and began rowing through the air. "Baba Yaga demands respect! And toes! Fresh toes for my stew!"

I leaned back against a tree. “Welcome to the endgame, ladies.”

115: Dumplings

“No time for ‘effing toe-stew!" Galateya summoned several ice-throwing-stars.

The chicken legs bent and then the entire structure launched itself forward. The hut intercepted the stars Galateya threw with its thatched roof, shrugging off the attack like mild dandruff, magisteel plates becoming exposed under the dry grass.

“Who makes a steel-reinforced chicken leg house?!” Sage lamented. “This is all sorts of non-canon, dude!”

"That is a tactical dwelling," I commented.

“Why?” Sage yelped, dodging a pestle-swing that pulverized a boulder next to her head.

"Greater immersion," I replied.

“Immerion of what into what?” Sage whisper-hissed. “Why would you spend this much…”

“Testing,” I explained. “You’re test subjects. Kawathra is going to use these test fights to hammer out the kinks on the gun units.”

“That's not the kind of hammering I like,” Sage hissed. “I don't wanna be crushed by a chicken-legged house!”

Baba Yaga cackled, spinning the mortar around for another pass. "Run, little chickens! The oven is preheating! 450 degrees of doom!"

Galateya raised her paintball rifle, aiming for the Slavic witch, but Sage grabbed the barrel, pushing it down.

"Wait," Sage panted, eyes fixed on the flying senior citizen. "She's… She's roleplaying. These are gun units masquarading as specific characters designed by a bird! Look at the apron. It says 'Kiss the Cook' in comic sans."

"So?"

"We’ve been going about this all wrong, T! We don't need to fight Grandma," Sage grinned, a wicked idea forming. "We guilt-trip her."

Galateya blinked. "What?"

I raised an eyebrow.

Sage stepped forward and threw her ice sword to the ground. She clasped her hands together, widened her eyes until they were shimmering anime pools of sadness, and let her lip wobble.

"Babushka!" Sage wailed, dropping to her knees. "Oh, Babushka! We are so hungry!"

Baba Yaga froze mid-swing. "Hungry?"

"Starving!" Sage sobbed dramatically. "We have been hunting all day in this cruel forest! No food! No water! Just mean spiders and big robots hitting us! Look at Teya! She is wasting away! She is practically scales and bone!"

Galateya stood there, seven feet of muscular, healthy dragon-woman, looking confused. Sage kicked her shin.

"Ow—I mean... yes," Galateya slumped, trying to look frail. "So... weak. Need… uhhh..

“Borscht!" Sage sniffed the hut. “She needs to be fed a bucket of filling borscht for a healthy constitution!”

Baba Yaga faltered. The cackle dropped an octave, dying and shifting to concern. "No food? You are too thin. Stick figures! Disgraceful!"

"We wanted to visit," Sage lied through her teeth, fake tears streaming down her face. "But the big bad Doom-man kept us away! He didn't want us to taste your legendary cooking!"

"He... denied you sustenance?" Baba Yaga lowered the pestle. The Hut settled down behind her, chicken legs folding neatly like a resting bird. "Unacceptable. A growing fox needs protein. A dragon needs... whatever dragons eat. Coal? Villagers?"

“Whatever you can offer!” Sage stated, swatting Teya’s butt. “She’s an omnivore!”

"Very well!" Baba Yaga shoved away the pestle. "Come in!"

Before Galateya could calculate the tactical viability of retreating, the gun unit moved. One hand clamped onto the dragon’s wrist, the other snagged Sage by the scruff of her torn shirt.

"Wait, we have a hunt to—" Galateya began.

"Hunt later! Eat now! It's dinner time!"

The crone possessed the hydraulic grip strength of a trash compactor. She hauled them up the chicken-leg house, which lowered the front all the way down obligingly. The door slammed shut behind them, locking with a series of heavy, mechanical thuds, mag-locks engaging.

Inside, the hut was a confusing blend of Slavic folklore and high-tech weaponry. Bundles of drying herbs hung next to ammo belts. A black iron cauldron bubbled in the center heated by a glowing plasma coil. Doilies sat underneath heavy grenades on the mantle. It smelled intensely of dill, gunpowder, and cabbage.

“This isn't as immersive as I thought it would be,” Sage commented. “I’d like a refund.”

“No refunds,” I stated. “She’s obviously a modern Yaga with all of the amenities.”

"Sit!" Baba Yaga pointed a spoon at a rough wooden table. "Do not make Baba get the spoon of discipline!"

Sage scrambled into a wooden bench. "I love heavy-handed discipline, but I love food more. Hit me, Granny!"

“You love discipline?” Galateya sat down hesitantly next to the fox.

“You know the kind of discipline I’m talkin’ bout,” Sage wiggled her eyebrows.

"Sage, we are burning daylight." The dragon stated. “What’s the plan?”

"The plan is to enjoy dinner. It’s fine," Sage dismissed confidently, grabbing a fork. "We can catch him easy-peasy! I figured out to beat his dum’ guns. ‘Sides, look at this spread!"

The gun unit shoveled borscht into bowls the size of helmets. "Eat. Is good for scales. Makes fur shiny."

Galateya looked down at the red liquid. A dollop of sour cream floated in the center like a white island delivered from the Yaga’s wooden spoon. "Is this… fabricated soup?"

"EAT!" Baba Yaga slammed a loaf of black bread onto the table. It looked dense enough to be used as a blunt weapon. “Is not fabricated! I cooked it myself! What kind of Baba would I be if I didn’t have dinner ready for potential guests?”

Galateya cautiously took a sip. “Hrm. It’s... good. Warm. Hearty.

"See?" Sage commented after tipping the bowl into her fox-gullet. "Tactical dinner. Refueling the engine. Going to catch our prey right after!"

"More!" The crone dumped a mountain of pierogies onto Sage’s plate before she had even finished the soup. "You are too skinny. A stiff wind would blow you into next week. Eat the cheese ones. They settle on the hips."

The next fourty minutes was a massacre. Not of combatants, but of carbohydrates.

Every time Galateya tried to put down her fork, the Gun-Yaga was there, ladling more stew, slicing more sausage, offering more pierogi, pushing more bread. The gun unit hovered like a combat drone programmed solely for caloric distribution.

"I... I cannot," Galateya breathed, pushing her plate away. Her Justice sense was clearly occupied with arbitrating a dispute between her stomach and her now far too tight pants. "No more."

"Nonsense!" Baba Yaga cackled. "Dessert stomach is separate organ! Science says so!"

She produced a tray of honey cakes and a bowl of ice cream from the fridge.

"Sage," Galateya hissed, kicking the Skinwalker under the table. "We need to leave. Now. I’m going to freaking explode."

Sage groaned. The fox was slumped in her chair, one hand resting on a stomach that had expanded significantly. "But... honey cakes, T-babe. Dat crust looks divine."

“Yes,” I chortled via the v-ring. “Don't forget dessert!”

"You are supposed to be a hunter," Galateya whispered furiously. "Not a freaking garbage disposal."

"I contain many hungry foxes," Sage burped. "And currently, way too many yummy dumplings."

“Ughhhh,” Galateya let out, looking up at the skull filled with wildflowers centerpiece. 

“Defeated by dinner?” I asked her, expanding the hologram to project my image onto the bench next to her.

"You planned this," she accused, glaring at me. "You knew Sage could not resist free food!"

"Not really,” I shrugged. “Yaga makes dinner on her own, she’s programmed to be a Yaga. And you aren't prisoners of war. You are prisoners of care."

"Ugh. I regret not fighting her," Galateya grumbled, eyeing the honey cakes with fear. "Combat would have been cleaner. Less... filling."

"Eat the cake!" Baba Yaga roared, slamming the tray down. "Or Baba turns you into newts!"

"She can't actually do that," I commented, looking at the overfilled Omnids.

"I don't want to risk it," Sage reached for a cake with a trembling hand. "She has a very convincing aura.”

Galateya gave Sage a ‘what’ look.

“She’s like a grandmother I’ve never had!” Sage burped loudly. “There! Made some room! Hit me with the cakes n’ ice cream!”

Another ten minutes passed. The table became a wasteland of empty platters.

Galateya looked like she had swallowed a boulder. Even the workout fox drawing stretched to become rounder on her stomach.

Sage slid out of her chair and landed on the floor with a heavy thump. She lay on her back, groaning, her torn shirt revealing a very round, very full belly.

"Ugh," the Skinwalker moaned. "I have made a terrible tactical error."

"You think?" Galateya struggled to stand. Gravity seemed to have increased twofold inside the hut for the pair. "We have lost another hour. And gained… more than ten pounds."

"Worth it," Sage patted her distended stomach. "M’ little food babies. I shall name them Potato and Cheese."

I laughed. “Okay they're free to go now, Yaga.”

"Out!" Baba Yaga declared, shooing them with a broom. "You eat too much! You eat Baba out of house and home! Go! Exercise! Make room for next dinner! Chase your husband prince!"

The door locks unsealed. The chicken legs knelt again.

Galateya stumbled out into the fresh forest air, feeling sluggish. She looked down at Sage, who rolled from the hut into a pile of leaves, looking for all the world like a pregnant fox who had raided a bakery.

"We are never catching him now," Galateya lamented, leaning against a tree. "I can barely walk, let alone run."

"Don't look a gifted horse in the mouth," Sage wheezed from the leaves pile.

"What?"

"It's a saying," Sage grinned lazily, fighting a yawn. "Except in this case... don't look a gifted borscht in the mouth. Or the cauldron. Just... don't look at food ever again.” She burped. “Urrghhhh. My hunting days are over. Leave me here to digest."

"Get up," Galateya ordered, sounding like she barely had the energy to enforce it. "We have... ugh... to catch him."

"Ash wins," Sage declared, closing her eyes. "I accept defeat. Tell him I died doing what I loved. Eating dumplings."

I laughed. 

Galateya facepalmed. She then glared at me, looking like she refused to lose. Refused not to get the answers she was promised.

“Get on my back,” she snarled, sliding over to Sage.

“But… m’ digesting.”

“I’ll carry you, you can digest,” Galateya insisted.

“How can you even move?” Sage opened a single blue eye.

“I’ve compressed the food in my stomach using my control over water,” Galateya huffed. “And I’m accelerating internal digestion.”

“Mmmmkay, fine,” Sage relocated from the leaf pile onto Galateya’s back. "We're coming for that ass, Ash.” She added sleepily.

Galateya stubbornly plowed forward, directed by the half-asleep fox.

The forest began to slope upward, the soft loam giving way to unforgiving scree. Rocky outcroppings emerged from the soil. Ahead, a granite cliff face rose a few hundred feet.

“Fly us up!” Sage yawned.

“Urm,” Galateya let out. “I can’t fly up. Only down.”

“Too full?” I asked.

“No,” she huffed at me. “I’m… not experienced enough. Living in a tiny time bubble isn't exactly conducive to flying practice.”

“You’ll have to climb then,” I said.

Galateya gritted her teeth. “Fuck my life. Climbing. Climbing on a painfully full stomach with another Omnid on my back to boot. Slayer! You are really pushing my buttons, Ash!”

“In a good way, I hope,” I said.

“Totally,” Sage said sleepily. “She’s way hot and bothered.”

“Don’t make me drop you,” Galateya growled, starting the climb. Taniwha physiology didn’t seem like it was designed to operate at peak efficiency while containing more than nine thousand calories of Baba Yaga’s aggressive hospitality.

Omnid claws dug into stone. Digitigrade legs provided leverage. Galateya's tail helped with balance.

She scaled rapidly up, gaining ground. Closed the distance to the top.

They soon reached the halfway point. The view of the lake was lovely. 

"Hey!" I called from above them when they got closer to the top.

Galateya risked looking up. I was leaning over the edge, looking fresh and un-traumatized by baked goods.

"You guys look... dense," I commented, dangling a small glass vial between my fingers.

Galateya let out a deep snarl.

"We are going to catch you," Sage promised. "And then I am going to sit on your face until you understand the weight of being this stuffed!"

"Kinky." I nodded. "But I can't let you up here just yet. I have a lead to maintain. Also, Dax bought these at the prank shop and the label says 'Guaranteed to Clear a Room.' I want to see if it clears a cliff."

Sage’s ears and tail twitched. "Don't you fucking dare!”

"Fire in the hole!" I dropped the vial.

It fell in slow motion, spiraling down. Galateya didn't have a free hand to catch it. 

The vial smashed against a rock outcrop three feet above her face.

POOF.

"OH GOD," Sage gagged, burying her face in Galateya’s hair. "IT TASTES LIKE IT SMELLS! BLAWHHH."

Galateya’s eyes watered instantly. "Slayer's mercy!"

"It's in my nose!" Sage wailed. "My fox nose is THOUSAND times more sensitive than yours! I can smell the individual atoms of poop! Why, Ash?! Why?!"

"To motivate you!" I called down. "Climb faster or marinate in the 'Fart of the Void'!"

"I am going to murder you!" Galateya choked out, squeezing her eyes shut against the stinging gas. "Sage. Hold your breath."

"Way ahead of you," the fox sounded muffled. "I'm breathing through my ears. It's not working."

Galateya didn't climb. She surged. Rage, it turned out, was an excellent motivation. The desire to inflict violence on the man above overrode the carbohydrate lethargy. She clawed at the rock, ignoring proper form, practically tearing chunks of granite loose as she hauled herself upward to escape the cloud of smelly doom.

"Another one!" I announced, holding a second vial.

"NO!" Sage screamed.

This time, Galateya didn't falter. As the second vial dropped, she released her right hand, summoned a whip of water from the moisture in the air, and lashed out. The water caught the vial mid-air.

"Return to sender!" she roared.

With a flick of her wrist, she flung the vial back up over the lip of the cliff. The vial detonated against some rocks behind me.

"Ack!” I gagged as the smell hit me. Truly it was the worst kind of smell, an olfactory crime against humanity.

"Ha!" Sage cheered weakly. 

They crested the top of the cliff like a swamp monster emerging from the deep—sweaty, panting, and emanating a faint aura of Slavic dinner and death.

I ran back, hand in front of my face, coughing. "Dang, Dax really found the nuclear option."

Galateya hauled herself fully over the ledge and collapsed onto her knees. Sage rolled off her back and lay flat on the grass, staring at the sky.

"We... caught... you," Galateya panted, pointing a trembling finger at me.

"Technically," I wheezed, wiping tears from my eyes, "you have to touch me. Tag rules."

"I will tag you with a rock," Sage hissed from the ground.

I grinned, backing away toward the tree line. "Sorry ladies. The hunt isn't over until the timer hits zero or till you strip me."

“I’ll get you… just… you wait,” Galateya whined, heaving.

I turned and sprinted into the woods, detonating more stink bombs behind me.

116: Sagetopia

I crouched on a moss-covered ridge, monitoring the situation through the V-ring’s holographic display. Down below, the carnage of "Operation Carb-Load" was still in full effect.

Galateya lay sprawled on her back, limbs wide, looking less like a dragon-knight and more like a starfish that had given up on the concept of movement. Sage was curled into a fox-ball nearby, petting the dragon softly.

My victory seemed assured.

I had the high ground. I had a magitek frame built by a clever magpie that could help me bench-press a truck. I had a twenty-minute lead, now increasing with each stride. I delayed the duo, but didn't stop them.

Unfortunately for me, in about twenty more minutes, the scene changed.

Galateya sat up. It wasn’t a groggy, food-coma struggle. It was a snap. Beside her, Sage uncurled, her spine popping audibly. 

She shook herself, and I watched the lethargy vanish. Their stomach no longer looked massively spherical, only somewhat curvy. They were just like Shady, the alien, Omnid metabolism burning through calories like a nuclear furnace.

The girls stretched, adjusted their paintball rifle straps, looked at each other, nodded, and broke into a sprint.

They weren't jogging. They were hunting.

"Oh oh," I muttered. The servos in my suit whined as I accelerated. "Time to pick up the pace."

“Das right! Ya better run, Forest, run!” Sage hollered through the V-ring.

My strides ate up the forest floor, artificial muscles propelling me over fallen logs. I felt fast. I felt powerful.

I was deluding myself. I had no more gun units left to throw at them, no more friends nearby. Well, there was still Kawathra in the Corpse Seeker, but that would be going overboard, like bringing a tank to win a tennis match.

CRACK!

A lance of solid ice shattered the tree trunk inches from my face, showering my vision in bark dust. I skidded to a halt. Galateya stood on a ridge to my left, violet eyes burning. She didn't say a word. She just manifested another spear.

I scrambled away to my left.

THWACK. THWACK. THWACK.

A rhythmic staccato of paintball fire erupted from the underbrush, trailing and then hitting me. Orange hexagons flared into existence around my midsection as the hexasuit beneath my armor absorbed the kinetic impact.

Thirty minutes later, the feeling of invincibility became replaced by the distinct sensation of being a sheepdog's favorite chew toy. 

The magitek frame didn't get tired, but my human body inside it was starting to feel the strain. Almost six hours of evading had taken their toll. I was starting to slow down, to make mistakes. Plus, half of my mind was deeply preoccupied with my space venture, the Slayer’s Sword capital ship nearly in my grasp.

Galateya emerged from the left, scales shifting to black-silver. Her mane had compressed itself into sharp crystal spines. 

Sage appeared from the right on all fours. Red fur bristling. Tail swishing. Sky-blue eyes reflecting the dying rays of sunset like polished gems.

They had me cornered.

The forest edge pressed close on all sides, trees forming a natural arena. I could try to run, but which direction? 

Wait.

Every attempt to deviate for the past hour was met with immediate, violent correction. I realised that I was being funneled into a narrowing valley ahead where the trees grew too close together and the light seemed to die.

I looked closer at the treeline. The shadows were wrong. Too deep. The light filtering through the canopy had taken on a strange quality—not quite sunset orange, not quite twilight purple. Something was really off about the valley they had chased me into, the edges skewered by another… unexpected dimension.

The colorful paintball hits I'd accumulated over the hunt emitted a faint bioluminescence. Like I'd been marked. Tagged. Claimed.

The air tasted metallic, like old rot and also deeply wrong on some fundamental level. What was going on?

"Nowhere left to run," Galateya announced, raising her rifle.

"Trapped like a sad, glowing mouse," Sage added, a devious grin spreading across her vulpine features. "A disco mouse. A rave mouse. You're basically a walking glow stick, bro."

Something felt VERY orchestrated about this forest. They totally herded me here.

Toward...

Toward what? …Darkfall?

I swallowed nervously and backed toward the far edge of the clearing, keeping both hunters in my peripheral vision. The forest between the cliffs looked way too gloomy and foggy. Unnaturally so. The trees grew closer together, branches interlocking to block the dying light.

Then I saw something odd. A symbol.

Carved into a tree trunk. Simple. Geometric. A stylized fox head composed of angular lines and curves. 

“The fuck?” I uttered.

“Keep moving.” Sage growled somewhere nearby.

I spun. She wasn’t there. Only Galateya stood visible, rifle aimed at me, her figure dark. “Keep running!” She snarled.

Not wanting to become even more painted, I ran down into the ravine between jagged cliffs.

The trees featured more freaky symbols. Fox-themed, old, grimy Christmas decorations hanging from branches on crude twine. Fox skulls. Tiny wooden carvings. Bone fragments arranged in spiral patterns. They dangled and swayed in a breeze.

“Very Briar Witch aesthetic,” I noted. “Except foxes instead of stick figures.”

“Spooked yet?” Sage whispered from somewhere VERY close, almost as if she was right by my ear. 

Maybe she was. I swatted the air and hit nothing.

"You led me here," I stated, "this wasn't a random pursuit. This is the edge of Darkfall valley."

"Clever boy! Give the glowing man-stick a prize! What gave it away?" Sage giggled from the darkness.

"The clearing. The timing. The way the shadows are off somehow. The—" I gestured at the symbols. "—blindingly obvious 'WELCOME TO MY MURDER FOREST’ vibes."

“Keep going!” Sage stated. “Experience the full Sagetopia adventure! Complete with gift shop and commemorative t-shirts! Well, no gift shop. Or t-shirts. I'll give you a personalized shirt later, after I uncover your real size. Here we mostly have terror. But like, fun terror! Go on!”

An invisible hand shoved me forward. 

I decided to go for it, curious to see what the magic fox made here and made my way deeper into the foggy gloom.

Bone chimes clacked together with a dry, hollow sound. Crude carvings of foxes and foxes made from reeds and straw were nailed to the trees—some with too many eyes, some with none. It looked less like a national park and more like the set of a horror movie where the found footage is the only survivor.

A massive archway loomed ahead, constructed from driftwood and rusted car parts lashed together with glowing red wire. A sign swung creakily from the apex.

SAGETOPIA

Population: 14’255

I stared at the sign. The letters looked like they were painted on with fresh blood. My mind prickled for a second and the numbers rearranged themselves to 14’257.

“Magical counter?” I asked.

“Yus. It counts souls,” Sage stated. “Just added you and Teya to the skulk.”

I stepped under the gate. The air inside Sagetopia was heavy, charged with a static that made the hairs on my arms stand up beneath the hexasuit.

The foggy forest suddenly came alive. Shadows stretched across the dirt path. Long, distorted shadows that didn't match the trees.

Then, the shadows detached themselves.

Eyes bloomed all around me. Dozens of them. Glowing in the darkness between the trees. Silver-blue like Sage's, yellows, browns, greens, grays. Watching. 

They moved in small circles, drifting patterns, following random movements.

"What the fuck?" I asked.

"The magic of Sagetopia!" the invisible Skinwalker announced with theatrical pride. "My domain! My territory! My lovely, creepy, totally-not-concerning home base! Population: me, fourteen thousand fox souls, and whatever unfortunate fools wander in looking for directions! Ke Ke Ke."

"Your... domain? I thought that your domain was your tower?"

"The tower was the beginning, the alpha test! This is the beta! Every cryptid needs a swank, secret lair, see," Sage explained, voice circling to my left. Galateya mirrored the motion from my right, boxing me in. "Vampires have castles with dramatic architecture. Dragons have mountains with treasure hoards. I have—” She paused dramatically. “—an abandoned logging camp I've been slowly converting into my personal foxxxy playground! Very DIY. Very Pinterest-core. Spooky aesthetic on a budget!"

The eyes in the fog multiplied. Thirty. Fifty. Hundreds. Thousands. More appearing every second. They didn't blink. Didn't close. Just stared with unwavering intensity.

"Those aren't real animals," I observed.

"Nope!" Sage chirped. "Fox souls! Manifestations! Echoes! The collective skulk making itself known! They're curious about you, A-chad. Very curious. Wondering if you taste as good as you smell. Spoiler alert—you smell like panic, paint, and sadge life choices. Yummy-licious!"

I took another step. My heel hit something solid.

A sign. Wooden. Weathered. Erected at the forest edge like a threshold marker. Carved letters spelled out a warning in rough script:

Private property of Skulk Co.

Trespassers Will Be Eaten

Survivors Will Be Questioned  

Questions Will Involve Teeth

Gift Shop Closed

We Apologize For The Inconvenience

"Charming," I muttered.

"I thought so!" Sage bounded nearby. "Made it myself! Very welcoming energy! Really sets the tone! I was gonna add 'Free WiFi' but then I remembered I don't have WiFi out here. Or electricity. Or plumbing. Really need to work on the amenities. Maybe all of you and your many friends and minions with hands can help.”

“Sure,” I said with a small shudder.

The darkness swallowed me as I walked deeper in. The symbols grew denser—carved into every trunk, hanging from every branch. More fox skulls. Wooden talismans. Bone wind chimes all around.

And the ocean of fox eyes followed.

I moved faster. The magitek frame kept my gait smooth, but my human brain screamed increasingly urgent warnings about bad decisions and horror movie logic.

Buildings emerged from the gloom.

Shacks. Cabins. Rustic wooden structures in various states of decay. Some merely very weathered, paint peeling and roofs sagging. Others actively collapsing, walls tilted at unhealthy angles, windows shattered into jagged teeth. All covered in the same fox symbols. Carved. Painted. Burned into the wood.

An abandoned village. Or the corpse of one. Radiating foxness, pure and absolute.

The main path led between two rows of buildings toward a central square. I saw more symbols there. Larger ones. Painted on the ground in spiraling patterns. A crude map? A summoning circle? An elaborate fox-themed hopscotch court? It was hard to tell in the darkness and fog.

Movement in my peripheral vision.

Fox-shaped shadows sliding between the buildings, something between solid and transparent. They moved wrong too, too flowy, wobbly, like foxes made from ferromagnetic liquid and static.

"Take him apart!" Sage ordered.

One of the fox-shadows suddenly lunged at me without sound.

I yelped as a shadow passed through me. My HUD glitched, colors inverting, depth perception vanishing into a wash of white noise.

CRUNCH.

Galateya didn't tag me. She didn't ask me to surrender. She drop-kicked me in the back.

The impact was heavy. My hexasuit flared brilliant gold, absorbing the kinetic force of the kick. I flew forward, crashing into a pile of rusted tractor parts.

More shadows passed through me, disorienting me, glitching the hud.

Another attack. From behind this time. Then, as I tried to clear my vision something grabbed the oversized chin and face and yanked hard. The prosthetic tore free with a ripping sound, coming off my face.

"Fuck—" I gasped.

I stumbled forward, kneading my aching face and blinking. Without the hud viewscreen I could no longer see in the dark as well. The abandoned village became a hundred times as eerie, practically submerged in wisps of silver fog dancing between the dead buildings and trees.

Somewhere in the darkness, Sage's voice echoed with glee. "Got THE CHIN! Someone lost his magnificent chin! Oh no! How will you look brooding and excessively masculine now?!"

Galateya was on me. She drove an ice sword directly into the joint of my left pauldron. With a savage twist and a roar of effort, she wrenched the magisteel plate free with dark dragonclaws. Metal shrieked. Sparks flew.

"Hey! That's a rental!" I shouted.

“Liar!” Galateya accused. “Kawathra made it for you!”

"The billing department is closed!" Invisible Sage yelled, leaping onto my chest.

Invisible claws grabbed the edge of the chest piece. "Heave!"

They pulled together, the fox from the front, the dragon from the back. The magnetic seals whined and failed. My chest armor was ripped away and tossed into the darkness.

The shoulder plating tore away. Then the arm guards. The shadows and the two Omnids worked in coordinated attacks. Systematic. Methodical. Like pack hunters taking down prey too large for any single predator. Or like teenagers at a punk rock concert doing a reverse crowd-surf.

I tried to fight back. Threw an elbow at one shadow. My fist passed through it like smoke. Claws raked my side, making the hexagonal shield flash erratically.

"STRIP! STRIP! STRIP!" Sage chanted from the darkness. "The foxes demand tribute! Show us your yummy human musculature!"

117: Darkfall

The gigachad frame groaned. The back panel came off. Then the leg guards. 

Piece by piece, the magitek frame was dismantled around me. They two cryptids reduced my armor to scrap with absolutely ruthless efficiency.

Then they came for the hexasuit. The hexasuit didn’t last long since it relied on an external battery strapped to my back which Sage tore away with a giggle.

Sharp claws obliterated, tore off the unpowered suit in a few minutes, leaving me in the dark village square wearing nothing but my sweat-soaked workout clothes and the neural interface headband. The dismembered frame pieces lay scattered around me, glowing with accumulated paintball residue like some kind of rejected Transformers corpse.

I was breathing hard now. Beat up from escaping and fighting. The adrenaline crash hit like a freight train made of exhaustion.

The ocean of shadowy fox-shadows circled. Glowing eyes forming a ring of judgment. Waiting.

For what?

I turned slowly, trying to track all the threats at once. They moved too fast. Blinked in and out of existence. Appeared behind me when I looked forward, flanked me when I faced backward.

A shack to my left stood slightly less ruined than the others. The door hung open, crooked on one remaining hinge. Darkness inside. But also... moonlight?

“Run,” Sage whispered. “Or we’ll peel off your skin next.”

I ran for it, heart pounding madly.

The spiral of fox-shadows parted, letting me through. Almost encouraging. Herding me toward my final destination, my resting place.

I burst through the door.

The interior was… just as freaky as the exterior.

Dead television sets covered every surface. Stacked against walls stop each other. Piled in corners. Hanging from the ceiling on chains. Hundreds of TVs. All different sizes, different eras. Cathode ray tubes from the seventies. Flat screens from the two thousands. Tiny portable sets. Every screen dark. 

And the rotting walls…

Covered in symbols. The same fox markings from outside, but denser. More frantic. Carved deep into the wood. Scratched with claws. Painted in dark streaks. Overlapping each other. Layers upon layers. Years of marking territory. Claiming space.

The roof had long ago collapsed in the center and been cleared out. Moonlight poured through the hole—bright, pure, ridiculously clear. It illuminated a space that should have been pitch black like a sinkhole cavern of the deep sea.

I ran for it and settled under the rays of moonlight, panting furiously.

My back hit the far wall covered in TVs. Nowhere left to run. The door behind me showed only darkness, the village square vanished. Replaced by... something else. Like some kind of a hungry, abyssal void. Just watching. Waiting for the ending arc where the hapless protagonist dies.

Footsteps.

Slow. Deliberate. Claws clicking against rotted floorboards.

Sage emerged from the shadows to my right. Not the cute, playful Skinwalker from earlier. This version moved like liquid death. All predator. All hunger.

She smiled. Too many teeth. Too sharp. Fingers shaped like long, bony, saw blades.

Then she giggled, ruining the theme entirely. "Dude. Your face. Oh my god. You look like you just realized you left the stove on. Except the stove is your life and the house is on fire and the fire department is also foxes."

"Sage—" I started.

"Shh shh shh." She waved a claw dismissively. "We caught you! Fair and square! Well, unfair and triangle-shaped if we're being technical about the geometry of how my fox army and us dismantled your robot suit, but who's counting?"

Then, she lunged.

Her claws found my mundane clothes, ripping holes in them and pulling. Within seconds, I was fully naked, wearing only the frantically flickering Neural Interface headband. 

"Much better!" Sage announced. "Now you look properly defeated! Very vulnerable! Should I get the trophy photo?"

She pulled out a small phone and slid next to me and nuzzled the side of my face, the shutter clicking.

Then she spun through the air.

Her hands pressed against my chest. Pushed me down.

"All that running," Sage murmured, leaning in close. Her nose traced my collarbone. "All that clever planning. All those tricks and traps and distractions. The glitter bomb—inspired, by the way. Very petty. I respect petty."

She inhaled deeply.

"And you still ended up here, in my house. Caught. Cornered. Mine. Forever."

Her tongue emerged. It was long, rough like a cat's but flexible as a serpent. It dragged across my neck, tasting the accumulated six hours of sweat. I shuddered. Partly from the weirdness. Mostly from exhaustion. Maybe a little from fear. Hopefully, the Skinwalker wasn’t going to eat me.

She looked bony and fleshy and slightly furry, not radiating the mind-melting attraction that destroyed Dax.

"Mmm," Sage made an appreciative sound. "Human smeared in exhaustion and fear. The good stuff. This is premium material, A-chad. Top shelf. Five thousand and two stars on Yelp. Would lick again."

"Thanks," I let out, panting. “I—”

"Shh." Another lick, this one across my jaw. "You lost the hunt. Winners make the rules. Losers get licked. Them's the breaks. And my rule is—" She pressed closer, pinning me completely against the rotting floor. "—I get to enjoy my prize. But don't worry! I'm a generous fox. I'll share with my T-bun."

Movement to my left. Galateya arrived on all fours, scales reflecting moonlight in prismatic patterns. Her digitigrade legs had shifted into something more bestial. Tail swishing. Mane of crystalline red-pink flowers sparkling. Eyes glowing inner violet light, like two galactic constellations.

She approached slowly. Predator evaluating prey. Then she settled into a crouch just a few feet away, watching. Waiting. Tail swishing. Panting. Drooling slightly, mouth open, tongue out.

"Hi T-bun," Sage called without looking away from me. "You look like you're enjoying the show. Very intense leering happening over there."

Galateya said nothing. Just watched. Scales shifting through reds, golds and pinks like a living, breathing sunset.

“Let’s bring in some… illumination,” Sage snapped her claws.

Hundreds of TV screens suddenly came on, flickered with static, fox eyes appearing and fading away. 

Sage's tongue made another pass across my chest, collecting more sweat. "Mmmmm… You taste like victory. Like defeat. Like a human who ran himself ragged trying to outsmart the fox." She grinned looking at my face. "Spoiler alert—doesn't work! The skuls always wins. It's like rock-paper-scissors except fox beats everything including gun. He he he."

Her hands moved to my sides, bony claws pricking but not breaking skin. 

She looked and smelled like a walking, rotting corpse, fox skull glistening, sunken orbs glowing blue in dark depths.

"Fine," I admitted. "You caught me. I surrender.”

“It was a good chase,” Sage nodded. “Right T-bum?”

“The… best,” Galateya let out with a bone-deep growl.

“Why does this place feel like reality is held together with duct tape and hope? And why are the TVs on when there's no power?" I asked.

Sage's skull bloomed with a bit more red-orange fur, making her look slightly more alive. "Oh! You noticed! Good eye, A-chad! Welcome to my greatest achievement!" She spread her arms, encompassing the shack. "Sagetopia isn't just a creepy abandoned village. It's a localized Astral anomaly!"

"We’re in Darkfall, yes?"

"Yess. Darkfall Valley," Sage affirmed, one claw tracing circles on my chest. "Where the land drops away into the misty abyss. We’re inside it. At a lovely pocket at the North-Western edge."

“What is Darkfall exactly, Miss Wizard?” I asked, shuddering as she licked me again.

"It's a sinkhole!" Sage explained, "Not a geological one. An Astral sinkhole. The boundary between reality and the Astral plane is thinner there. Entropy is higher. Magic works easier. It's why the whole area has those weird vibes…”

The TVs flickered again, static forming patterns. Fox faces. Running shapes. Eyes watching.

"I studied it," Sage continued. "Since I ate my first fox, I mapped the valley's properties. Measured the Astral thinning. Figured out how it worked. Then I… found this rustic place and began to make it mine." She grinned, exposed flesh pulling back from too-white teeth. "Took me years to get it right. But now Sagetopia is extra-magical and extra-mine. The Astral bleeds through. My foxes can manifest as shadows. The TVs pick up... other channels, peer into other dimensions, function like Astral radios."

"Other channels?"

"Echoes," Sage said. "Memories. Dreams bleeding through the thin spots. Mostly mine. Sometimes visitors. The Astral doesn't really distinguish between past, present, and future when the boundary gets weak enough. Sometimes it picks up broadcasts from Omnithornia. Omnid TV shows, news, that sorta thing. Interdimensional television at its finest!"

I stared at the flickering screens. One showed a forest. Another displayed a city street. A third featured what looked like a cosplay convention. The images shifted and changed, unstable.

"So this whole place is—"

"A carefully constructed pocket of personal chaos!" Sage finished proudly. "My lair. My safe space where I can let fourteen thousand fox souls run wild without worrying about scaring the normies." Her tongue emerged again, dragging across my stomach. "And right now, you're caught in the middle of it. How does it feel?"

"Weird," I admitted. "Like being inside someone's fever dream."

"Accurate!" Sage giggled. "Now. Where were we? Oh right. Victory licking."

Her tongue traced my collarbone again, rough and warm. I shuddered. The sensation was strange but not unpleasant. Just... different. Very different from Shady and Nexxali.

Movement to my left drew my attention. Galateya had crept closer. She watched Sage lick me with intense focus.

"Don't be shy, T-bun," Sage called without stopping her exploration of my neck. "Come taste! He's delicious! So sweaty! Very defeated! Peak prey flavor!"

Galateya hesitated, tail curling uncertainly.

"It's fine," Sage encouraged. "We won together. We share the prize together. Come on. I can smell your want from here. Stop being a noble dragon and be a hungry dragon."

The Taniwha's eyes met mine. I saw the question there. The uncertainty. The desire fighting with propriety and shy inexperience.

I nodded slightly. “Go ahead, you’ve won, earned it. Lick away.” 

Permission. Consent. Whatever she needed to hear without words.

Galateya moved.

She approached on all fours, muscles coiled beneath shifting scales. When she reached me, she rose up on her hind legs, one clawed hand pressing against the wall beside my head. Her face came close. Close enough to feel her breath, hot and carrying a faint scent of a tropical thunderstorm.

Her tongue emerged. More draconic. Broad and soft. It dragged across my other shoulder, tasting me cautiously.

Galateya made a small, happy sound. Her scales rippled with colors like firework explosions.

"See?" Sage grinned. "Told you. Premium human. Free range. Organically terrified."

Now I had two cryptids licking me. One on each side. Sage's tongue rapidly painted wet trails across my skin. Galateya's movements were more exploratory, uncertain but eager. Learning. Testing the ground.

The mossy floor beneath Galateya began to change.

I noticed it when Galateya's tongue traced along my jaw. Where her body touched the rotted floorboards, green emerged. Soft and vibrant-green moss spread from the contact point, growing rapidly, covering the decay like a living carpet. The rough, rotting wood beneath me became soft and comfortable.

"Mmm," Sage hummed against my neck. "Someone's getting excited. Reality-bending already, T? We've barely started the noms."

“Urhm.” Galateya pulled back, looking down at the expanding moss and then at Sage. "I didn't—I wasn't trying to—"

"Shh." Sage kissed the dragon's snout. "Let it happen. This place is skewed with entropy to the brim. It responds to your reality-rearranging magic. To emotion. To desire. That's the whole point, it’s my little, personal, almost-dungeon. Let your Phase-shift play. Let it grow. I’m kind of shit at growing stuff… but you. You’re a Taniwha. You can make this place look nice for us, not just creepy as fuck."

The moss continued spreading from painting Galateya in radial waves like emerald fire, transforming the decrepit shack interior into a greenhouse. Black mold turned to green blossoms, engulfing the walls. Small flowers bloomed—the same alien hybrid species from Galateya's mane, now manifesting in the environment.

"Incredible," I breathed.

Sage bit my neck. 

Galateya's scales flushed pink. The flowers bloomed brighter. Colorful grasses exploded in the corners. Tree roots became alive creaked across and up the walls. Little flowers filled the wall cracks.

Sage laughed and kissed Galateya fiercely and then tore her shirt open with a claw, making the dragon girl yelp and cover her exposed chest. "T-bun, you’re like a mood ring that affects reality!"

She pulled off her “PUSSY EATS U” shirt, exposing her breasts. They weren’t covered in skin, looked like the Dr. Gray’s Body World exhibition that I went to see in Seattle a few years ago.

118: The Sea of Tranquility

"Teasing makes the flowers prettier!" Sage demonstrated by running her claws lightly down Galateya's naked spine. The Taniwha shuddered. A cascade of blue roses erupted along the far wall. "See? Gorgeous! We should tease her constantly! Swank up the decor!"

Galateya growled without menace. She grabbed Sage by the scruff and pulled the Skinwalker into a deep and intense claiming.

I watched, mesmerized, as the two cryptids made out above me. Sage's skeletal form began shifting, flesh reformating over bone, fur replacing rot. Galateya's scales shimmered through every color in the spectrum. The moss around us grew thicker, softer, spreading to carpet the entire floor.

When they broke apart, both were breathing hard.

"Mmmm." Sage panted. 

She turned back to me, looking like a recently deceased fox now. Serenity and warmth and attraction dripped from her like little sparks, making my heartbeat accelerate.

“Can you tune it down for a bit?” I asked. “I’m almost done.”

“Almost done what?” Sage tilted her head, the face losing skin and once again becoming bonier.

“Almost done with my work. I should have both of my minds soon and then you’ll be free to blast me with as much of your Charmchain as you want to.”

“Really?” Sage’s eyes lit up with pure, liquid happiness. “You can handle all of me?”

“Pretty sure that I can,” I said. “Shady did a number on me when I was a kid.”

“Shady?” Galateya asked. “What?”

“Xandy,” I said. “Shady. Starshady. My best friend. My girlfriend. When I was seven, I wandered off into the fog, went down the rickety stairwell leading from my grandad’s old mansion to Darkfall valley and met her there. At least I think that’s what happened. My memories of that time are fuzzy as fuck… I think that she’s haunted me in my dreams too, because I’ve several different memories of us meeting and I have no idea which one’s fucking real.”

“Starshady,” Galateya let out. “Princess Aquillianne. Commander Xandria is the runaway Princess being chased by the entire fleet… Abyss!”

“Yep.” I nodded.

“You…” Galateya stared at me with a wide open mouth, naked chest heaving and drawing my eyes to the undulating scales of ever-shifting textures. “You’re the…”

“Yep,” I confirmed her guess. “Sorry gals. The big show is about to begin. Please don’t distract me for the next bit. You can ask me anything after it’s done. Anything at all. As many questions as you want to, not just one each. You two earned it today. Especially you, Teya. You didn’t give up, didn’t back down, didn’t stop.”

“Okay,” Galateya mewled. “T-thank you.”

I focused all of my attention on another me inhabiting the Frontenachii capital ship. 

“We can make out while you do your thing.” Sage nodded. “Actually… no. I want to see exactly what you’re doing out there, Emperor. Her claws dug into the sides of my head, drawing blood. Then she licked her claw and grabbed the Neural Interface. “Amplify. Connect. Intercept, bind transmission. Display!”

The TV screens flickered with thousands of fox eyes and then the static cleared, displaying the interior of the Frontenachii warship.

Galateya gasped. Sage smiled triumphantly.

Whatever Darkfall and Sagetopia did, it actually helped the broadcast between the two bodies, amplified the connection to the Nth degree, made it incredibly easy to be in two places at once.

A lightbulb ignited in my head. An idea.

“Sage?”

“Mmmm, yes?”

“If you can receive signals from Omnithornia, could you send one back?”

“Mmmmm… maybe? I’ve never tried. It’d have to be a pretty powerful signal to get all the way from here to…”

“It’ll be a worldwide-Voicecast transmission, sent from the Frontenachii capital ship,” I said.

“Oh.” The Skinwalker blinked. “Then… yes. I think I’ll be able to push it through the Astral. The skulk will amplify the transmission and cast it through Darkfall to Omnithornia. Yep, yep. On it, my Emperor.” She snapped her fingers. “Amplify signal! Cast to Omnithornia! Trust all your broadcast needs to Sagetopia and Co!”

The TVs around us began to thrum, sparks and electric currents dancing between antennae. 

. . .

The Slayer’s Sword shuddered, sparks raining from the ceiling, massive runes igniting across the dark metal walls.

A massive hexagon erupted from the floor with a sound of metal grinding against metal. The thing was at least four feet in diameter, composed of black metal and blinking bits. As it rose, mechanisms clicked and whirred and a metal handle extended from the top.

Nexxali moved immediately. Her hands wrapped around the handle. She pulled, muscles straining beneath her hexasuit.

The ship's core came free.

The pradavarian serval girl staggered backward, hissing. She adjusted her grip and began dragging it toward Seeker 008-Alpha. The Seeker's body peeled open obligingly, revealing its red crystalline interior.

Nexxali heaved the massive core up the stairs, each step accompanied by the banging of metal ship core edges against crystal. She disappeared into the Seeker's interior.

The serval emerged a moment later, panting from the exertion. She stood at the top of the Seeker's stairs, golden eyes meeting mine across the command deck.

Then she saluted.

It was a lovely, full military salute—hand raised to her forehead, chest out, expression solemn. Recognition of sacrifice. Acknowledgment of the dead Captain standing at the ship's controls.

"It's been an honor, my Emperor," she called out. "Give 'em hell!"

I returned the salute as best I could with a gun unit frame that was only half-responding to me. "Take care of them for me."

"Always." Nexxali grinned, showing all her teeth. Then her expression softened slightly. "Thank you for teaching me what love feels like."

The words hit harder than Shady's execution shot. I wanted to say something profound back, something worthy of the moment, but all that came out was: "Love you too, Nexy. I'll see you later."

She laughed and sent me an air kiss. Then she disappeared back into Seeker 008-Alpha's interior.

The door folded shut.

I watched through flickering sensors as the Seeker's segments rippled and then it vanished from where it stood with a sonic boom of displaced air.

And then I was alone on the empty ship. Well… almost alone.

On a holographic monitor a surviving pair of Shady-copies stared up at me, as if they somehow knew that I was here with them. They were probably connected to Shady via her hooks or whatever.

The pair of doomed Shadies stood in some kind of a dim maintenance corridor, naked and blood-splattered, bodies bubbling, silver eyes reflecting the flickering runes. One of them tilted her skull-face at that particular angle Shady used when she was trying to figure something out. The other waved.

They could definitely somehow sense me. Across the entire ship, through metal and crystal and the Astral Fountain contamination spreading like cancer through Slayer's Sword's infrastructure, they knew I was watching. 

"Do it," I said, even though they couldn't hear me. Even though my voice was coming from a barely-functioning gun unit frame in a dead body on a dying ship. "Finish it."

As if responding to my command, both Shadies reached for each other. Their movements were gentle regardless of what they were about to do. Claws found throats. Silver eyes met in understanding, maybe even affection—two fragments of the same shattered soul recognizing each other in their final moment of life as brief as that of a mayfly.

They bit down simultaneously.

The holo flickered and died as their bodies detonated into wriggling, black tentacles.

More systems failed around me, more displays winking away. More of the ship devoured itself from the inside out as Astral Fountains bloomed in corridors and chambers blossoming throughout its massive structure.

[WARNING: CATASTROPHIC SYSTEM FAILURE!]

[SHIP OVERMIND: OFFLINE]

[LIFE SUPPORT: OFFLINE]

[WEAPON SYSTEMS: OFFLINE]

[TRANSIT GATES: OFFLINE]

[TRACTOR BEAM: OFFLINE]

[DIMENSIONAL ANCHORS: COMPROMISED]

[COMMS: COMPROMISED]

[STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY: 43%]

The alerts flared in cascades of red text flashing from the holo panels of the command deck. I could barely see them through the static. My connection to the gun unit frame was thread-thin now, stretched across two hundred thousand miles like a rubber band pulled to its breaking point, held together only thanks to the syntropy-reinforcing shields of the command deck.

Thankfully, whatever Sage was doing on her end in Sagetopia helped massively, didn’t allow the signal to decay completely.

I stumbled toward the empty captain's chair like a drunken sailor, my limbs refusing to respond properly, my vision wiking off and on.

The wheel… Manual control that the Avatar of the Slayer’s Sword had blessed me with before her departure.

Not a fancy holographic interface. Not an AI-driven navigation system. An actual physical steering wheel, crystalline and gold-veined, mounted on a column that had emerged from the deck plating like a flower blooming from concrete.

I grabbed it with both of my gun-unit hands.

The moon.

I could see it through the command deck's viewport—a pale disc hanging against the black, crater-marked and beautiful. Humanity's oldest companion. The thing poets had written about for thousands of years. Much closer than the Earth.

Did the ship have enough power to reach it?

It was worth to try, to completely deprive the Third Fleet of its biggest vessel, to make a statement.

My hands tightened on the wheel. Through the failing neural interface, I felt the ship respond—massive thrusters firing, adjusting our trajectory. It was like trying to steer a mountain. Ten kilometers of celesteel, crystalline biomechanical architecture, reactor cores the size of buildings, hundreds of decks.

All of it turning… slowly, ponderously, toward the moon.

There were flickers of transmission notifications from other ships. Probably demands to know what was going on, orders for me to stop. I wasn’t going to stop. Nobody could stop me now.

The wheel felt solid under my deteriorating grip. Real. Physical. A throwback to ancient naval vessels, when captains actually steered their ships instead of delegating to computer systems. Someone, probably the original Frontenachii engineers, had included it as a failsafe. A way to pilot Slayer's Sword when everything else went to hell.

Through the static eating my vision, I studied the control column. The wheel itself was obvious enough, but below it were three hexagonal levers that glowed faintly in the dying light of the command deck. My gun unit sensors managed to parse the runes etched around each one.

[Thrust] [Pitch] [Yaw]

Simple. Elegant. Exactly what you'd need for manual navigation.

I pressed my palm against the thrust lever. It thrummed against my synthetic skin, responding to the contact. Through the neural feedback, barely holding me together now, I felt the ship's massive reactor cores surge with power, watched a miniature hologram of the gargantuan ship light up with flares from behind.

The viewport showed the moon growing larger.

Not fast enough.

I needed more speed. More momentum. Ten kilometers of corrupted warship had to hit hard enough to make a statement. Hard enough that everyone on Earth would see it. Hard enough that the Frontenachii fleet would understand exactly what happened to their precious capital ship.

My eyes found a secondary interface beside the thrust control—a hexagonal depression with runes that roughly translated to "acceleration." The kind of thing you'd use when running from a superior force, consequences be damned.

Perfect.

I pressed it.

The ship lurched forward. My barely functional gun unit frame couldn't maintain balance. I collapsed against the captain's chair, hands still gripping the wheel like a drowning man clutching driftwood.

[REACTOR CORES: 147% CAPACITY]

[WARNING: STRUCTURAL STRESS BEYOND DESIGN PARAMETERS]

[CATASTROPHIC FAILURE IMMINENT]

The alerts were almost funny. Catastrophic failure was the entire point.

[WARNING: COLLISION COURSE DETECTED]

[RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE COURSE CORRECTION!]

The dying holographic panels warned me. But there was no life there, no ship AI stopping me.

Through the viewport, the moon grew massive. Individual craters resolved themselves from the gray landscape—Tycho, Copernicus, the Sea of Tranquility where humans had planted their first flag. All of it rushing toward me at velocities that would have been terrifying if I wasn't already dead.

I spotted a device hanging from the side of the wheel and grabbed it. Here we go, that’s it. My gun unit eyes took a moment to translate the runes. 

Probably the exact microphone that the Admiral used to threaten the Earth with. She probably sat on this crystal throne, feeling all mighty and superior when she spoke to the humans she saw as bugs on the planet’s surface. Now it was my turn to speak.

My barely responding fingers closed around the device. Like the wheel it wasn’t a complex piece of magitek. A crystalline cylinder with a hexagonal activation stud at the base. Press once for internal comms, twice for fleet-wide broadcast, three times for a System-wide announcement according to the instruction tags flashing in my gun unit’s eyes.

I pressed it three times.

[SYSTEM-WIDE V-CAST ACTIVATED]

[ROUTING THROUGH ALL AVAILABLE FLEET CHANNELS, WARSHIPS, GUN UNITS AND CORPSE SEEKERS!]

[WARNING: SIGNAL DEGRADATION AT 39%]

The static in my vision intensified, but I could still see enough. The moon filled the viewport completely now, its cratered surface rushing toward me like the ground during a skydive. How long did I have? Thirty seconds? Twenty?

I lifted the microphone to where my mouth would be if this body had a working mouth. It didn't matter. My dead mouth was under my gunshot-cracked mask which had an embedded speaker in it.

119: The Emperor Speaks to All

"This is the Emperor of Earth, speaking from the bridge of the Frontenachii Third Fleet capital ship Slayer’s Sword." My voice distorted by the mask modulator, corrupted by failing systems, echoing through the dead deck sounded nothing like Ash the unemployed electrical engineer. It sounded like something ancient and terrible. Something... eldritch and half-alive. "Admiral Evelithria Frontenachii. Third Fleet Command. Legates. Empress Aconia herself, if you're listening. Citizens and children of Omnithornia. I want you to understand exactly what's happening right now."

Through the viewport, the moon's surface resolved into stunning clarity. I could see the shadows in the craters, the way sunlight caught the edges of mountain ranges that had stood unchanged for billions of years. Beautiful. Terrifying. Inevitable.

"The Frontenachii Dominion came to my Earth thinking you'd found another resource to harvest. Another planet of dumb primitives who'd submit to your systematic torture… Feeding your endless appetite for suffering. You looked at eight billion humans down below and saw inventory. Saw future servants. Saw meat."

My hands tightened on the wheel, keeping the ship on its inevitable collision course.

"You were wrong."

Static burst across the transmission. I powered through it.

"Princess Aquillianne Quantivia Frontenachii came to my Earth… millennia ago via a time gate created by her Aunt Zexxia,” I lied. “Not to harvest. Not to terrorise, but to lead. To create something better than the nightmare civilization the Frontenachii Aegis built. She found friendship. She found love. She found people who saw her as a person rather than a weapon for the Frontenachii bloodline."

The moon was close. So close.

"When Shady refused to compromise, refused to surrender this Earth to be devoured, Admiral Evelithria ordered her execution. Her own niece. No evidence. No trial. No mercy. Just murder, resurrection, and plans of psychic torture. That was your mistake. That was the moment you proved everything Lissander Fox said about you was true. That underneath all your talk of uplifting lesser species and protecting the Omniverse, you're just predators who've systematized cruelty into an industrial process."

My connection to the gun unit frame was failing catastrophically now. I could barely feel my fingers. Could barely see through the static consuming my sensors. I kept talking, spitting out the words.

"I wield the Slayer's Sword now. I could turn its weapons towards the other Frontenachii ships, unmake all of the Omnids in the Third Fleet," I bluffed with a bubbling voice. "I could carve up the moon into lovely chunks and decimate your entire fleet, cast all of you into the unforgiving depths of space, use the tractor beam to send all of your immortality bracelets into the sun. But I won't... Because I am NOT like you. I am not a mass murderer, not a torturer, not a monster. Instead, I'm going to break your sword, shatter it over my knee to show you my power."

The moon filled the viewscreen, ready to embrace me.

"This is for every blood-bound gun unit, every warship, every pradavarian and every dragon commander enslaved to the ambitions of Frontenachii High Command. This is for my Princess," I snarled. "For every prad male who was ordered to die on your Entertainment Decks while you fed on his terror," I continued, my voice fracturing across the failing transmission. "For every human man, woman and child you compartmentalized into wall art. For every soul you ground down into magical components. For every species you 'uplifted' into slavery while calling it salvation."

Mare Tranquillitatis stretched before me like a dark sea frozen in stone.

"You built an empire on suffering and called it civilization! You systematized torture and called it necessary. You enslaved entire species and called it protection. But suffering isn't strength. Fear isn't power. Control isn't love."

My gun unit fingers adjusted the wheel one final time. 

Perfect trajectory. Right into the Sea of Tranquility. How poetic.

"Fear is incredibly effective at short-term control. You've built an Empire on that principle. But love?" I laughed, and it came out distorted, wrong, twisted. "You have no idea what love is. Don't worry. I'm going to bend you over my knee and… teach ALL OF YOU to love humanity!"

The Sea of Tranquility filled the screen. Named by ancient astronomers who thought the dark patches on the moon were bodies of water. How wrong they'd been. How ironic the name felt now, as I brought down a comet of a Frontenachii warship upon it.

Down there, humanity landed our little Apollo 11 in 1969. It would be a shame if it got knocked over or turned to slag, but then again Sea of Tranquility was over 500 miles wide and I was aimed at the other side of it, not the place where the Apollo 11 lander had found its final resting place.

The reactor cores surged one final time.

Ten kilometers of mass moving at orbital velocities would assuredly hit the moon like the fist of an angry god.

The gun unit frame accelerated its processors to the max, time slowing to a crawl.

The nose of Slayer's Sword smashed into the surface of Mare Tranquillitatis.

The forward sections—already horrifically compromised by Shady’s Astral Fountains—didn't so much impact as cease to exist. Matter converted to plasma in microseconds, temperatures spiking to millions of degrees. The shockwave propagated backward through the ship's crystalline structure faster than sound, and my accelerated perception caught every detail in total glory.

Whatever Sage had done by amplifying the signal seemed to burn me into this final moment, skewered physical reality somehow, allowing me to witness the absolute devastation I had unleashed.

The forward hull crumpled like aluminum foil. Celesteel segments and reinforced panels—designed to withstand fleet combat and dimensional transit—shattered into glittering fragments that tumbled away into the lunar sky. Each piece caught the sun's light, refracting it into lovely rainbow patterns, the final throes of a ten-kilometer warship.

Through the still somewhat intact magitek cameras and viewscreen holos and TVs on Sagetopia’s inn wall, I watched reality tear asunder.

The Astral Fountains blooming throughout the ship's infrastructure, met the kinetic apocalypse head-on. Where physics and entropy collided, space itself tore and screamed. Black tendrils erupted from ruptured corridors, writhing against the plasma and shockwave like living things trying to escape their prison. They reached for anything, nothing, everything—grasping at the fabric of reality as it was ripped away from them.

Deck by deck, the ship died around me.

I saw Entertainment Decks, the cursed torture labyrinth that had broken so many lives, collapse in on itself. The carefully maintained ward networks that had kept its horrors contained failed catastrophically, the alien monstrosities igniting and burning to ashes. The walls folded like paper, crushed between the moon's unyielding surface and the momentum of billions of tons of warship architecture. Every hook, every chain, every pool, every instrument of systematic suffering was obliterated in a fraction of a second.

The spliced humans altered with Thrall crystalloid infection pernantly imprisoned within the walls ignited, burning away, finally free from their eternal damnation.

Good.

The reactor cores went next. Six massive dragonheart reactors, each the size of a cathedral, each containing power equivalent to a small star. When the shockwave reached them, they didn't just fail—they detonated. Orange-yellow light brighter than the sun itself burst through the ship's dying hull in brilliant lances that punched through kilometers of corrupted structure.

My gun unit frame's optical sensors overloaded, flooded with radiation across every spectrum. White light shot through with streaks of gold and crimson—the stolen hearts of dragons dying in their own flames.

The explosion propagated outward from each reactor simultaneously. The force met in the middle sections of the ship, creating interference patterns of pure destruction. Matter simply ceased to exist where those wavefronts collided, leaving voids that collapsed in on themselves with sounds my sensors and Sage’s TV walls couldn't properly translate—frequencies existing somewhere in between as a grinding roar that felt like the universe screaming.

The Captain goes down with the ship. 

I was the Slayer’s Sword captain for about five minutes total, but I certainly made it count.

The command deck, a dragon-hoard domain reinforced by the last functioning ward networks, secured with a thousand artifacts buried in its walls, wrapped in layer upon layer of protective enchantments, held for precious seconds longer than the rest of the ship. I felt it through the dying neural interface, the way the extra-reinforced walls strained against forces that could crack planets. The golden veins that pulsed with power went dark one by one, each failure registering as a spike of static feedback through my disintegrating connection.

The viewport shattered inward. A spider web of cracks that spread across the transparent magitek material in fractal patterns. Each crack glowed with the light of the explosions outside, refracting the apocalypse into a thousand smaller versions of itself. It was beautiful, in the way disasters can be beautiful when you're far enough from them to appreciate the aesthetics without experiencing the terror and pain.

Every magitek holo-screen winked away, reality catching fire as the viewcast artifacts detonated one by one.

The blood-red and black captain's chair beneath me began to fragment. Crystalline segments cracked with sounds like ice breaking on a frozen lake. The wheel in my hands shattered from the all-shearing impact blastwave. Then my hands came apart, Kawathra-designed, reinforced hexasuit tearing, breaking, blood flying through the air as my day-old, dead body double disintegrated.

Then the entire gun body and crystalline neural network holding onto my consciousness came apart.

I felt every connection sever as ragged tears, synaptic pathways ripping apart under forces they were never designed to withstand. The gun unit's crystalline matrix that had housed my awareness shattered into cascading fragments, each one carrying a tiny piece of my perception as it spun away into the void.

For a single moment I existed not as a human, but something liminal, something between two places. A surreal line drawn in the Astral Ocean between the Earth and the Moon with the power of Sanguine’s skulk of fourteen thousand fox souls. 

Through a single camera lens piece and neural Astral broadcaster that somehow survived the destruction of my gun unit body I saw a blue sphere hanging in the starry void, visible through a gargantuan shear of the Slayer's Sword hull being ripped in half by the devastating impact.

My Earth. The planet I was fighting for.

Hanging there in the black, two hundred thousand miles distant, a blue-white living world wrapped in swirling clouds. I could see the Pacific Northwest—just barely, through the atmospheric haze—a green-brown smudge on the edge of the terminator line where the day met night.

Then the wave of all consuming flames caught up with the camera lens and I saw nothing at all.

. . .

The liminal tether snapped. Sage choked, heaving and panting and let go of my forehead.

I blinked. 

Every TV around us winked out.

Above us, a flicker of light ignited on the moon at the right side of the Sea of Tranquility, like a small firecracker going off, like a new star being born in the night sky.

“Holy shit,” Sage breathed out, staring up at the moon with me and Galateya. “Hooooly fucking sheeeeeeeet.”

Galateya’s eyes filled with tears, claws digging into my hand. “You…” She breathed out. “You dedicated it to me too, right? The dragon… The d-dragon enslaved to the ambitions of Frontenachii High Command?”

“Yep.” I nodded. “That was for you, Teya.”

Galateya hugged me tightly, burying her face into my neck. Sage giggled nervously, making room for Teya.

The two Omnid girls heard and saw everything, the message of the Emperor of Humanity booming across every television in Sagetopia. They and every human on Earth, every Frontenachii Commander, every pradavarian soldier, every gun unit and Corpse Seeker heard it.

“You… you destroyed the Slayer’s Sword,” Galateya birthed the words after a minute of gaping at me. “Leviathan’s cunt! What the fuck. What the fucking fuck. How?! HOW?” She shook me.

“Creative application of Incarnator duplication,” I shrugged. “Turns out nearly-souless Omnid corpses make great ward-disrupting bombs.”

“Jesus Christ,” Sage hissed out, her face foxing up and then turning entirely human. “Oh my God.”

“WAT THE / FUCK” Her cheeks spelled out in dark freckles.

She stared at me very intently. “I cannot believe this. I just can’t. I saw it all, amplified the signal as much as I could… and I still can’t even. I’m going to fucking explode from the ‘can’t even’ right now.”

“Nobody,” Galateya agreed, her entire body trembling. “Fucking nobody managed to do anything like that to the Frontenachii in the history of the Aegis Dominion. They’re going to… fuck. I’ve no idea what the fuck the Admiral is going to do.”

“What do you think she’ll do?” I asked.

“Yeah, T-bun,” Sage said. “What’s the… proper procedure here?”

“Uhhh…” Galateya wiped tears from her face. “The Third Fleet is basically headless now. The Legates are going to vote on what to do next, coordinating the next step via the fleet V-cast network. The Legates aren’t going to let this insult stand. I’m… kind of very worried that they’re going to nuke a few major cities or at the very least splice every Earth leader and general as revenge.”

The TV flickered again, fox eyes dancing between static. 

“Noppers,” Sage said.

“What do you mean… noppers?” Galateya looked at the cheeky fox.

“I cast our Emperor’s lovely transmission straight to the Omnid capital, Cradlefall! Let’s see what’s going on in Omnithornia,” Sage snapped her fingers again. Several screens ignited with static, focusing and then…

On the nearest screen and a few others a dragon girl with a red, crystalline mane appeared in a black and white suit with a cross-sword in a silver circle logo behind her. The header above read [ONN: Breaking News! Frontenachii crimes expos…]

“This just in!” she said in a distinctive, serious and sharp tone of a news anchor. “We’ve received a broadcast from the Frontenachii Third Fleet. The speech of the Emperor of Earth who just destroyed the Frontenachii capital ship Slayer's Sword! Our Seers and Scrutimancers confirmed the transmission as 100% authentic. It confirms the existence of the Frontenachii Empire invasion force and their interdimensional crimes previously exposed by Lissander Fox, a first year student at Skyfall Academy. The Omnithornian Senate is currently voting on censuring the Frontenachii Dominion Aegis…”