stop1010
rating: 0+x
pink-desert.jpg

[[image
You tear a shred off your Stetson and begin chewing. It's the first thing you've had to eat since the trip began, and you're grateful to have something inside of you. Even if it tastes like sandpaper.

"See? You should never've doubted me," the guidebook snidely remarks. As much as it goes against your intuition, you begin to consider that it might actually be telling the truth.

You pass a nice vine tower you decide to use for shade. It's best to get some rest before you trek the final stretch.

As you lay beneath the trunk you gaze at the pastel brushed skies above. Behind them lies thousands of stars concealed by their sour curls and puffs. They're far too thick for you to see them clearly, but a few of the brightest shine through. The corner of your eye manages to catch the brightest one. It looks beautiful up there, blinking methodically as if trying to send you a signal.

At least, you wish it were sending a signal, some sort of way to find your way there again. You can't help but see your husband's eyes in that star. Those caring, attractive deep blue eyes. Glimmering millions of miles away, as a memory you may never meet aga-

"Stop ruminating, wanderer!"

The book interrupts your thoughts.

"This isn't how wanderers are supposed to be spending their resting periods! My creator states clearly in my archives that wanderers always read their free time."

"Well, I'm not your creator, am I?," you snap back.

The book ignores you and flips to its first page.

"Let's start from the beginning."


The Beginning


bzzz

bzzzzzzz

A shrill noise penetrates my dust jacket. Despite my stupor's serenity being disturbed, my instincts manage to ignore it until it disappears. A moment passes before the whir returns.

bzzzhzzey

bzzzwzzzzakzzzzezzup

This time around, however, it almost sounds like a voice. An oddly familiar voice, at that.

WakzzzezzUp

As it becomes clearer it almost sounds like it's telling me to-

"Wake Up!"

It becomes apparent that the voice belongs to me. ughhhhhh.

"Rousing me again so soon? It's only been like, what, five years since the last time we spoke? We probably haven't even exited the library yet," I lazily mutter under my breath.

"He's here," my subconscious flatly replies.

"What? Who's here?"

"Our author's offspring is here," they elucidate.

"How do you know it's not another false alarm?"

"Because I'm not inside you anymore."

I flip through my archives. Not a single one of me in sight.

"That's weird, but what does this have to do with my kin?"

"If I'm not inside you, where else could I be?"

The pieces start falling together.

"You're… inside of them?"

"More like I am them."

I try to continue interrogating myself before I'm cut off,

"Look over there, I'm getting closer! I mean you're getting closer. I mean your brother's getting close- y'know what just try and get their attention somehow."


Perspiration clings to your neck before dropping like blood. Your field-of-view ever so slightly shakes in Rhythm with your body, as you reach down for another morsel. It's just for show though, you really can't imagine having another bite to eat with your stomach in knots.

"You really don't have to be this nervous around me," he consoles, attempting to break the silence before awkwardly letting out a laugh.

The room remains still for a few tense seconds until he continues,

"Just try to relax and be yourself. Have fun, c'mon, it's our anniversary."

"It kind of feels more like a first date," you meekly reply.

"Well, that isn't necessarily a bad thing, is it? Remember how great ours was?"

18 then. Few months before the marriage. More confident back then. More confident or thought you were.

You remain silent.

"I, uh - ahem, I remember it like yesterday. It was at this exact restaurant, at this exact booth, at the same time of day."

"You were dressed up nice and brought a bouquet and everything, while I showed up in denim,"

"…I felt so embarrassed, but somehow, you were the one apologizing…. "

Another bout of dead air fills the room. The conversation is revived after his hand finds its way to yours.

"If there's something wrong, just tell me. Please."

You jerk your palms away before beginning to shuffle to the exit. He attempts to halt you before stopping himself.


Stupid piece of shit

Can't fucking remember anything

If you cared more, you wouldn't have lost it

You know how much it meant to him

You decide to take a stroll down the old dirt path behind the restaurant to calm yourself down. He probably won't mind; it's a short walk and he knows you'll be there if you take too long. Besides, the flamewingers look lovely tonight, and they happen to illuminate the path forward enough for you to feel comfortable doing this this late at night.

It only takes a few strides in for your mind begin to relax. It's just you and nature out here, pacing through life as it is, one step at a time.

After a few minutes you reach the end.

Well, uh, hmm.

The path should end around here at least. It just seems to keep on going. Maybe you went the wrong way?

You retrace your steps and attempt to go back to where you came from but end up finding yourself in an entirely different area. It's getting awfully dark now, he has to be looking for you now. Against your better judgement, you decide to through the woods to find your way back.

The crunch of leaves and snapping twigs accompany you as the comfort of nature abandons you to be lost among dead trees and your own racing mind. A dog barking? Wolf? Rescue? Just my echoes.

How long has it been now? Hours?

You begin to sprint and scream for help. To your surprise, you end where you began. Something's different though, a totem of what looks like a white rabbit has replaced the entrance sign. You take notice of a pair of strange markings under the rabbit's eyes.

They seem to warp and fold on themselves like waves of heat. Beneath them lie surprisingly intricate stripes, almost manmade in appearance. One has an oval with a small tongue sticking out, continuing to the other side through scaly humps and dips, before thinning out to a point.

The hares' eyes lock with yours, causing your body to involuntary jolt backwards onto the ground

thud

The world arounds you slowly fades out of view, and you fall asleep.


On the thirty-first moon, a new wanderer is welcomed into the library. Their New Terran body, being weak and squishy, is slow to recover after entering though their way, but regain consciousness after about an hour in their time.

"Welcome, New Patron!"

Their senses still flowing back into them, they fail to initially cognize that they are themselves, which is to say, they are you. You also fail to discern that the being towering over you is not a Terran.

Your pupils dilate, shifting your vision into states of smeared blurs, where the figure in front of you still has four limbs and a head, and momentary lapses of clarity, where the person in front of you is a Formicid nightmare of half-heads and twisted extremities.

You slap your face, attempting to correct your assumed-to-be-faulty picture of the page, but it only aids in tuning your senses to the being's form.

"H-hel"

You voice lets out a barely audible squeak.

"Wha- aa - Hel- "

Your heart bounces around your insides.

"Please - don't h-hur-"

The page rests one of its branches on your face.

"Oh dear, you're a (normal one). It's okay honey, it's okay- no, shhhhh. Calm down. I'll get you home safely. "

It covers you in a viscous Formicidilutum that snuggly secures you in a warm, tranquilizing cocoon that extends from your feet to your lower jaw. The overwhelming sensation of pleasure and palliation relaxes your muscles, and you drift to a near comatose state.

You barely gather enough energy to turn your head to the side and are greeted by a blur of ornate, towering shelves, anthophore reptilian monsters with spinning roots, winged thoughts, dust-jacketed ghosts, and ceiling of red and brown corkscrews. It looks like you're moving now, and rather fast at that.

Your mind scrambles to come up with an explanation for what's happening to you and can only grasp at one answer.

I'm dreaming!

Of course you are! Everything today has just been a dream! It's just like that Old Terran classic, the one with the lost girl in the tunnel, and the crazy tea-sipper, and the- how could you forgot. It's obvious! The rabbit! The one lead her through the tunnel! Well, that settles it.

This 'cocoon' is really just your blanket, probably. You bet that whole embarrassing debacle with your husband was just the back of your mind catastrophizing. His arms are wrapped securely around you, dreaming another nightmare himself. In fact, he's having a dream in a giant library after he loses his own beloved bequest received by his lover and arrives in an amalgamated mess of a library.

The ant's trying to talk now, let's listen, I bet it's him trying to wake you up.

"I'm worry for the trouble dear, Terrans don't belong in a place like this; that's how you end up like me. The least I can do to recompense you is giving you a tour on the way out."

You pass by an ornate golden mural, taking up the space of five or so bookshelves.

"Over there is the 'great' shrine of the first archivist. A great leader, and the patrons loved him, but he's always grinded my arc-spokes. This mural wasn't painted as a memorial after his death or anything, he commissioned it for himself. Of course, there's also the obvious reason why I don't like him. I wasn't always a page y'know. A couple of years ago I was like you"

Yours eyes glaze over as you wonder how your brain is scrambling whatever your husband is saying into this gibberish. Your mind is very cryptic sometimes. Whatever they're saying, it's definitely lulling you asleep. You wonder what it's like to dream with in a dream. Someone should really make a somniflick about that.

"And now some robe leaders, quite hermity folks- excuse me dear, but please pay attention. We're almost to my way. "

"What's that?"

"It's what I'm going to send to get you home. There are a lot of others like it, but this one is uniquely perfect for your situation. Here, I'll show you what I mean."


"Stop staring at yourself."

"Sorry."

I keep an eye on myself through my peripheral vision while turning my attention the glowing doorway in front of me.

"Why do I look like a weird meaty elongated starfish?"

"I'm a Terran, yes."

"A Terran? Why the hell is a Terran in here? And why aren't I losing my mind and burning a bunch of shit to the ground?"

"It's standard Librarian practice to staid lost patrons who wander into the Library by accident."

"That only answers my se- " I stop myself, before realizing they did answer both questions. I'm such a clever book sometimes.


The ant carefully removes you from your blanket. You're in some sort of decrepit nook now, made of splintered bookshelves and cobwebs. Darkness surrounds you except for the almost blinding-bright egress in front of you.

"Here it is. The Totusway. It'll be able to send you back to wherever you came from. I just need to you to think about where exactly that is. Focus on your home."

It's time to wake up now.

The light of Sirius is rising over the horizon now, shining through the hills and through my windowsill. Once it warms my skin I'll snap back to reality and wake up my husband before joking about the bizarre dream I had last night. He'll laugh and tell me about his, and then we'll get dressed and prepare for the day. In a couple hours we'll celebrate our anniversary, and we'll have a merry time, and he will love me. I am safe. I am okay.

The Way sets aflame and begins burning brighter.

"It's working! Keep thinking!"

I love you.

The Way gleams with rays of starlight, exploding in multicolored brilliance.

"Goodbye dear! It's time to step through!"

You skin feels like melting candlewax as you step towards the blistering exit.

"WAIT A MINUTE HOLD ON STOP"

Before you step through, you faintly hear something to your left.


"DONT GO"

A ranine voice bellows towards you from a nearby bookshelf.

"IM HERE TO WAKE YOU UP. IM YOUR SUBCONCIOUS, THAT WAY OVER THERE IS AN ENTRANCE TO A DEEPER PART OF YOUR DREAM."

You decide to brush the voice off and take a step to the Way.

"WAIT WAIT WAI- I - LISTEN YOU JUST HAVE TO TRUST ME, OKAY? I KNOW THIS SEEMS WEIRD BUT, LIKE, YOU'VE HEARD OF LUCID DREAMS, RIGHT? THIS IS LIKE- LIKE ONE OF THOSE. ARE YOU REALLY GOING TO TRUST SOME WEIRD ANT CREATURE THING OVER YOURSELF?"

You decide to take a chance and walk over to the source of the voice. It's some sort of scale bound book, with makeshift fiber threading barely keeping it held together. A crooked hole forms what looks like a mouth, below two blank, barren circles with two scratches forming irises in their middle.

"Don't mind that thing dear, just come back here and step into the portal."

"NO THAT THINGS TRYING TO TRICK YOU"

You cautiously place your hands on the book.

"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR PICK ME UP AND JUMP INTO THAT WAY"

"Please come back dear."

The ant reaches over to you.

"HURRY BEFORE THAT THING GRABS YOU"

"No, I'm just trying to-"

In a panic, you pick up the book and do what it (I?) say(s).

You turn around and see a gap underneath the ant's legs and run under them. The ant attempts to turn around, but the shelves are too tight to quickly do so.

"Please put that thing down and go home. You're not in a dream. I'm not trying to hu-"

"JUMP. INTO. THE. WAY. "

Time to wake up? I guess?


A loud crack thunders throughout the Archives. The Terran is suspended under the head of the Way, arms waving like a thunderbird at a Tux fight.

"ALRIGHT JUST SIT BACK AND LET ME HANDLE THIS"

"When I told you to get their attention, I meant something a bit more methodical than this."

"SHUT UP SUBCONCIOUS MY PLAN IS GOING GREAT"

"They look kinda dead."

I take a look at myself and - oh, that's not good. I don't think Terran eyes are supposed to be on fire.

"WAY, TAKE US ANYWHERE AT ALL. SOMEPLACE NEW"

The Way begins to tug us in.

"wait… "

Oh shit I'm not dead.

"Wake me up…."

"DONT LISTEN TO THEM"

The Way tugs us even further into what looks like an empty void. Silvery-blue streaks whip around us, as wind sucks us towards a blue marble.

"STOP"

The marble flickers before flashing into a prismatic disk blotched with sections of dusty plains among shifting.

"S-stop…"

The disk reverts.

"GO BACK"

The disk returns.

The two of us go back and forth on this, the image in front of us switching every time, as we fall further and further into infinity.

"Please s-sto… pl…."

The Terran's eyes extinguish as they place their hands on their neck, and the disk appears one last time as we reach our destination.


You wake up facing up into a pink sky. You groggily lean froward and notice with the ends of your clothes singed, with bits and pieces here and there ripped off entirely. Marble monuments creep over you with lush green rope greet you at your sides, alongside a sampling of dead bushes.

Everything is here is fake, absurd, a fiction, but still feels real. The ground scratching the skin of your elbows is too rough to be bedsheets. You can see what's happening, clear as looking though a clear glass pane. But it's not. Because it can't be. This is not real. This is not…well… it has to be. If every sense in your body senses reality, then that's where I am. I'm here. I'm… somewhere.

"It… it worked! Hello brother! Welcome to-"

You grip the book and hold it above your head.

"Listen here demon, or ghost, or monster, or whatever you are, tell me what's happening before I tear off your cover and rip you to shreds. And don't tell me I'm in a dream, this is way too real to be a dream and I would've woken up by now. "

"Slow down there sport, I liked you better with the narcotics."

"Where am I? How the hell am I even breathing?

"I saw something slide inside your lungs earlier. Maybe that has something to do with it?"

"That only answers my second questio-"

You find yourself unable to speak after lightness hits the top of your head. Your face begins to turn purple and numb.

"I - I'm dr- dro-"

"Don't worry, you're not drowning, if you were you would be dead by now."

A slithering tube of liquid floats above you.

"That's the thing I saw go inside you! Try to catch it so we can document it."

"Answer my questions."

The tube makes a jerking movement as you say this, flicking a few droplets of itself loose, which end up landing on the book.

"Looks like I don't need your help anyways, this sample should be enough. Let's see… if my archives are correct then this should be- ah yes it's just LOx dear."

"What's that, some sort of poison? Is it dangerous !?"

"It's oxygen. And that drowning feeling is just a psychological response from having your lungs pumped full of liquid, my creator learned to overcome it by bathing in pools full of the stuff."

"Oh. We still need to find water in a lake or a river, or we'll have to dig a well, or something, and then make a shelter, and then we'll need to make some sort of distress signal, or escape vessel and- of course, we need to find some sort of food source. Or, um, that is, if you even need to eat? Doesn't matter, finding enough for me will be hard enough anyways, besides, we-"

"Ughhh, just stop talking. And you Terrans wonder why you have such a bad reputation, you're over here wondering about water and food, two of some of those most abundant things in the universe!"

You try to waste more breath by conjuring a long-winded admonition to the mealy-mouthed piece of birdcage liner in front of you, but are interrupted by the sound of rustling.

"What was that?"

A beige tangling of thorned twigs rolls out of the nearby bushes. It doesn't seem to have been propelled by the wind though, in fact, the weather in this place has been unusually despondent. It hops an inch or so up and down whilst rotating slightly, as if judging its peripheral vision. You squint to get a better view of the object and notice that at the end of one branch in the wooded jumble lies two dots on lump in the shape of some deformed face. You turn back towards the book, leaning over to whisper in where you think its ear would be if it had one.

"What is that thing?"

"I think it's a type of living weed, their fibers tend to burn well."

"Well, how the fuck am I supposed to set it on fire?"

"I didn't say you were supposed to, if you want to thwart it off just throw a rock towards it or something."

You reach over towards fist-sized compaction of red dust lying next to your feet and hurl it at the creature.

poof!

You are thrown into a cough fit as a cloud of maroon particulates is ejected from the rock's remains. As the smoke clears, the weed is now fully unwrapped in all 20 or so feet of its glory, its physique now stained with the remains. Each one of its thorns wriggles and convulses, before it squirms away into the backwoods, spinning one limb in the air, and making a sound that almost sounds like a cat purring.

You lock eyes with the book.

"What now?"

"Well, c'mon, don't just stand there, go chase that limping bundle of pabulum! You said you wanted to find food, right?"


Thirty minutes of nail biting, action-packed mindless running ensues.


Ow!

Fuck!

You stumble on a root and trip into a shallow prismatic pool. Afloat its surface is the dipping hand of a soft-hued, fluffed up cloud. Hints of orange and pineapple are felt by your lips as they are pressed against its seabed.

The splashes of the impact fly through the air with a satiny gleam that lights up the woods for a split second.

"Get up before it gets away!"

"Are you sure all this running is a good use of calories?"

You take a gasp of air,

"It's getting dark anyways, we better go back to camp."

You motion towards the dead twisted willows surrounding you that create a quiet buzzing sound every now and again.

"The only reason it took so long is because you don't catch it earlier. We can't go back without a light source anyways. Take a look at that pool over there-"

Already knowing what the book is trying to suggest, you dip your fingers in the pool and swirl it around. The pool lets out the same wonderous chrome glow as before, this time amplified to the luminesce of a floodlight. You rip a section your pockets and fashion it into a sack and fill its contents with the pool's liquid. flashlight

"What I was going to say before your impatience took over is that liquid is flux. My creator… did not like bathing in the stuff because of the texture of the little nematodes and such bathing in there."

You take a look at your hand and notice little squiggles and dots and rolling on its surface. After a violent few rounds of shaking, they're all thrown off.

"I see you've already figured out their bioluminescent qualities."

Your eyes look away and you blush before you swing the Fluxsack around, transforming it into a makeshift flashlight.

"Let's just head back."


"How are we going to find food now?"

"Well, if you're desperate, I could always do this."

The Book gargles a bit before spitting in your eyes with surprisingly good precision. You attempt to wipe it off, but it soaks into your retinas before you get the chance to do so.

"What was that for?!"

"It's Alchemical mixture made from the Gum Pulp in my pages that'll entice the deities of Agriculture to your subconscious."

"…Okay, but what that actually look like."

"You'll find out when you go to sleep."

"I'm not tired right now."

"I meant at night, obviously."


"Hi again"

I float midair above a thick shelf of books, while shaking up and down, with a smile from spine to tip.

"Where've you been?"

"I was searching through the archives for info about our brother."

"That's what you're so excited about?"

"…I'm not really sure why. I just feel really happy to find this hat for some reason."

A Chef's hat materializes beside me, spinning around to reveal the name "Chef Carson."

"That's not all though, if you turn around just right…"

I lean the hat upside down and at the angle of a canon ready to fire. It creases in on itself before spitting out a handful of space-laced postcards.

Client Connected. You are now chatting with beets-are-not-cracking (18)

…several minutes have passed with no activity. Are you still interested in our match?

BANC: Hello?

Mariel_Sandbags: hi

Mariel_Sandbags: I'm sorry I was just thinking of something clever to say haha.

BANC: It's okay.

Mariel_Sandbags: like what am I even supposed to say

Mariel_Sandbags: "Hello, my name is Mariel, how was your evening today, sir? What are your hobbies? On a scale of 1 -10, how you would rate our conservation?"

Mariel_Sandbags: lol

Mariel_Sandbags: That was a joke btw

Mariel_Sandbags: sorry

BANC: I was typing something long, hold on.

BANC: I mean, that would be a good introduction. "Cooking" was the reason the system matched us, so we can start with that. Although, I don't know if it really counts as a "hobby" if it's my job.

Mariel_Sandbags: woah you're like a professional? O_O

BANC: It's on my profile.

Mariel_Sandbags: I know but

Mariel_Sandbags: yeah

Mariel_sandbags sorry lol I forgot hahahaha.

BANC: Anyways

BANC: Are you a chef too or just a hobbyist

Mariel_Sandbags: its not really my hobby either i just watch a lot of shows lol

BANC: Which ones

Mariel_Sandbags: Just schloppy planned reality drama stuff lmao. Craig's Cookhouse, Upfront Scullery, Carson's Hour etc

BANC: wait carson?

BANC Dude no way i love him lol

BANC he's like my favorite chef

BANC: and he doesn't belong with those other phonies he actually understands the craft.

Mariel_Sandbags: yeah i always had a soft spot for him. not just because of his skills

Mariel_Sandbags: actually this is going to sound kind of cringe but

Mariel_Sandbags: I used to watch his show with my mom

Mariel_Sandbags: it was kinda like our weekly ritual

Mariel_Sandbags: we could hang out and laugh and not fight about anything

Mariel_Sandbags: also made want to learn to cook one day but it never worked out

BANC: Do you still want to learn?

Mariel_Sandbags: Kind of

BANC: Maybe you could come over to my place and I could teach you

Mariel_Sandbags: are you serious

BANC: if you don't want to that's okay too.

Mariel_Sandbags: No I was just asking a question yes I would love to go yes.


"Damn, that's kind of pathetic."

"I know. Try to keep a tight grasp on him to make sure he doesn't set himself on fire or something, okay?"

"Already got it covered."

"Good."

"…Are you going to anything else, or…?"

"Well, the dream's not over yet."

"Can't we do anything else then?"

"We can hop over to your brothers dream if you want."

"We can do that?"

"Dreams are just jumbled up thoughts, no reason we can't."

The midnight tabs spill onto the floor and expand into a silver screen. Static fills its insides before it sprouts antennas, and an image is received.

A point of light and void of black are playing frisbee with a planetoid. They quickly glance over to the camera now and then, before just as swiftly looking away to return their serve. They're both cringing with disgust, but one, the point, takes pity to the person floating above the planet, a man sleeping in a bag of bookshelves. The other is simply confused. A serpentine staff appears before them. One sees it as a messenger misshapen creature meant to punish and taunt them. One sees it as medicine. They both agree to use the staff on the disc.

The camera cuts to a small man with a long beard who is carrying a breadbasket, freshly baked with ingredients from the farm plot which he is now treading over. He stands with twelve other farmers, some tilling, and some harvesting. Being of the latter variety, he begins his workday by reaching towards the yellowish-ecru assortment of carbohydrates in front of him and hulling the grain from the plant. As he's kneeling over, an enormous shadow is cast on the ground, eclipsing the field. A thunderous roar if heard, like the sound of a rocket launch. The workers throw their tools and scythes to the soil and begin fleeing the scene.

The screen transitions into static and fizzles away. For a brief moment, a set of coordinates flash on screen.


Tenth Moon


You and the Book manage to hike to the location without anything gamechangingly, life shatteringly bad happening (yet).

The terrain beneath your feet gradually changes from grains of sand to pebbles and rugged stone. More worryingly, less and less weeds and aervipers have begun to appear, some of the only signs of life you've witnessed thus far. When you finally make it to the coordinates, you're met with a valley of crag, interspersed with hollowed out foundation, wind semi-melodically flowing through their holes like a flautist through their favorite set of pan tubes.

"I…don't understand. It should be right here, are you sure these are the right directions?"

"Dam' Vermints!"

A single scarecrow cries out from the edge of the valley.

"Didn't I tell you last time not to stay 'round these parts? Scram!"

The threadbare simulacra of a farmer twists about the axle of its pole, trying at a swing at the Grawlixes. They quickly zip away from the threat, leaving its twig arm to slam into a hive.

"Hey you, think you can help me clear these pests outta my field? I'll pay their weight in hydrogen!"

The single thread plucks off with the same feeling of a rubber band snapping, pulling out loose scraps of cotton along with it.

"Watch it bud! I'm in a pickle here and I -"

The crows face droops to one side as its stitches unravel. You reach over and push its face back to its original position.

"Woah, hey there ol' chum, I'm really not a big fan of the situation ya got goin' on here! Ya see, I've been here longer than some of you young folk"

Its arms unstitch and plop flatly against the ground, leaking the sand contained with them. A button eye pops off its face and falls beside them.

"Oh - I'm- I'm really sorry, I, uh, I- I don't know if that happened because of me, or-"

" I can't believe you did that to our poor friend over here."

"I didn't mean to do anything! I didn't know-"

"Well, I mean, you're the one who pulled the hat and had the false dream that led us here in the first place."

"That's a nice story there pardner, but we have bigger fish to fry. Like getting rid of these pests!"

The Scarecrow crumples on the ground, leaving only an empty frame behind. You stare blankly at the hat in your hand , your only reminder of its life.

"…I think that was the gluten signal."


You spend your time walking back to camp widdling away the tip of the crow's frame into a spear.

"This feels kind of disrespectful."

"What? How? You're simply making the best of your situation by being resourceful. If anything, it would be disrespectful to let its cotton be spilled for nothing by not doing this. It's what he would've wanted."


"Lots on beasts and flora and such, but none on the Plasnthai"

"Well we can always- wait what?"


Staff Gossip


Volume: 381325
Issue: 253
Author: κυριολεκτικά ποιος Staff Writer/ Writer of Staff

Local Formicid Librarian of Shelves 17A-18D, known by frequent visitors as "Bed Bug," has been stripped of their position due to "catastrophic failure to carry out their position's burdens." They were immediately put into review for obligation relocation, including a possible monkeys-paw qualifier, should the Grand Archivist deem it necessary. The Grand Archivist has graciously allowed us to access to the transcription of their Appeal. When asked why we requested access to a public document, we declined to comment.

(A podium rises through a large hole in the flooring. Upon entering, the podium beats its gavel against itself and sets the trial into motion)

Shoape Boksc Ⅱ: Order! Order!

Grand Archivist: Mr. Boksc, you are only an actuary in this World, please act accordingly.

Actuary Shoap Boksc Ⅱ: Apologies.

Grand Archivist: Apology formally accepted. Now-

(Bangs gavel)

Grand Archivist: we may officially begin. You failed your duties and a patron of the Library by failing to return them home. Mrs. Bug, why should we let you keep your position as a Guide Page?

Librarian: I just… listen, they just slipped beneath me, okay? No one's perfect, I did my job to the best of my abilities.

Grand Archivist: It's been your fifth time in the last millenia.

(Librarian lets out a slight laugh)

Librarian: Sorry, I'm still trying to get used to the fact that that's supposed to be some sort of scathing statement.

Grand Archivist: Being a Librarian, I take it you understand perfectly well just how serious we take safeguarding the Library. Every cycle more and more threats threaten us, be it the Jailors, or the Bookburners, or the Madmen or whatever nonsense alphabet soup of acronyms'll show up next. Even the tiniest slip-up could cost knowledge itself!

Librarian: If you wanted such a perfect staff member, maybe you should've picked someone who would actually want to be here.

Grand Archivist: You knew the rules and what would happen if you broke them. And even so, isn't the goal of guarding the Serpent incentive enough?

(Librarian's mandible clamp together and limbs cross)

Librarian: Why did I have to take on that burden, I didn't even know about the Library beforehand? Besides, we-

(The Grand Archivist raises its arms)

Grand Archivist: Listen, we're getting off track, we're supposed to be focused on your position and how you can help as many patrons as possible.

Librarian: Stop pretending you care about that Terran so much, who knows, if they hadn't gone through that Way, maybe they might've ended up like me.

(Grand Archivist sighs)

Grand Archivist: I'll grant you some amnesty. If you really care about the Terran that much, then I have an idea that might work for you.

Librarian: Thank you.

Grand Archivist: Great, I trust you'll find them in no time.

Librarian: Find them in… wait no, you're not saying that-

Grand Archivist: that you're being converted into a Rescue Page?

Librarian: Wha- no, I can't do that. Let me do any other position, anything at all, just not… that.

Grand Archivist: It's either Rescue Page or whatever the Library decides. Do you want it, or not?

Librarian: I… I guess.

(Grand Archivist lets out a weak grin)

Grand Archivist: Listen… I get that our lives - which is to say your life - hasn't gone how you would've wanted it too. But we've made our choices. Best we can do if try is do our duties the best we can. Right?

(Grand Archivist reaches out for a handshake but is declined)

Librarian: Just start the ritual.

(Grand Archivist crosses twenty of its arms into a gordian knot, whilst chanting in an unknown language. The Librarian's abdomens shrinks down and is boxed up into the body of a drone, it's legs still intact. It's head is not as fortunate, and is removed completely, save for their pincers.)

Grand Archivist: Safe travels, Wanderer.


You arrive back at camp and meet the unraveled weed from earlier perched on the bulging edge of slag. Its cracked stems search the ground for any remnants that the red cloud of dust left, with its thistles raised, and its stub of head tucked into center. The Book does its impression of a whisper with its shot voice,

"We got to strike now"

You quietly hum back,

"With my spear?"

"N-no, what? Why would youeven expect that to- actually, just let me handle this. Let me show you how my creator used to light their bonfires."

Still whispering, the book chants a hymn in a language you don't recognize.

"Βαριά είναι η φλόγα, ή… Όχι. Φως είναι η φωτιά και ε, πώς πάει, ίσως ανάψει τη φωτιά μου; Νύχτα υπό το φως των κεριών; χμμμ"

A spark forms in the Book's mouth, temporarily secured in place by its tongue. After a moment of gargling, the spark loosely flicks itself onto the tumbleweed. A small ember is formed but doesn't burn as the others gather around it to observe it. One untangles one of its ends, slowly tapping it against the ground before wrapping itself snuggly around the cinder. The others follow in suit, forming a kind of tumble hive, clicking and rattling whilst doing so.

Tens of weeds tumble out under the shelter of the surrounding rock, roots, and debris, and fling themselves to join in on the fun, expanding the hive into a small hill.

"What now?"

"υάου! Κάψτε το μωρό κάψτε!"

The hill begins rocking back and forth hypnotically, occasionally incorporating slight bounces in its dance.

Why isn't it working why isn't it working fuck fuck fuck C'mon, subconscious, why don't you talk when I actually need you.

Wait a minute. You recall your kitchen training back in junior culinary. Your teacher was talking about kitchen safety and was talking about how to use a fire extinguisher. You asked how they could put out the fire, and she answered that they could remove their source of… of course!

You whisper your chant softly before reaching towards a nearby Aerviper and toss it into the pile, and it immediately begins to squirm its way in.

"What are you doing?!"

Before you get to answer their questions, the pile suddenly combusts in a wurthering torpedo of flames. You cover your face to keep smoke from getting your eyes.

flames-1.jpg

"Fire's not a fire without a little oxygen."

The Aerviper's droplets completely evaporate after a few seconds, and the tornado is reduced to a heaping bed of ash.


The Flux casts a faint shadow of warmth on you and the books skin. Microfauna stalls a just above the light to not be licked by its heat, but just low enough to add an element of decoration to the lantern's aesthetics. The back of their exoskeletons rub together to form by a chance a sort of psuedo-melody. If you listen close enough, they almost sound like Flamewingers.

"You're awfully quiet tonight, you would usually be cracking some deprecating jokes about me, or talking about how awesome your creator apparently is right about now."

"Trust me, I would love to be doing that right now, it's just that I'm… thinking… really hard…"

"About what?"

"About what happened earlier."

"About how I saved your sorry ink from being spilled? It's about time you showed me some gratitude for once. "

"Don't twist this into some kind evidence of pity. I'm just… confused."

"…Go on, finish your sentence."

"Why didn't my plan work? I did exactly what my creator said to do."

Your eyelids raise slightly, in synchronization with the raising of your brows, and you fail to speak for a few moments. It finally admitted it fucked up for once.

"Yeah, but there's no oxygen on planet to have kept the flame going, remember?"

"I know that's what happened, but I just… don't really get it. My creator is a master adventurer, more adaptive than a chameleon, with eyes of presentiment narrower than an Eagle."

"What's so hard to understand about that? They got something wrong, just like I have for, like, our entire time together. I just happened to luck out with a hunch I had."

"… Yeah, that's what I don't get. I'm a guide, a reflection of my author, a white cane for the blind, knowledge bibliosized. That's my whole purpose, that why I was made in the first place! I just… I'm a tool! I'm my author's psyche! I'm my-"

"Ok, just- just calm down, okay? You and your creator've saved my life probably hundreds of times by now, and for that I'm thankful. Really. But other people can have good ideas too."

The book hesitates for a moment before speaking,

"I cannot possibly imagine what it's like to be another person. To not be me. To not be my creator."

"Well, it's not like you've tried before, right?"

Their eyes quickly glance to the left before going back to their position.

"Well, no, I've… uh. Hm. No, I haven't."

"And you aren't your creator. You're the one deciding what you do, you create yourself."

The curve of the Book's smile relaxes into neutral position. It vainly attempts to start a sentence but falls short every time. It sighs, then turns it's eyes to lock with mine.

"I… I think there's a chance, a very small, almost statistically insignificant chance mind you, that you're right. But a risk is a risk, no matter how unlikely, so… I'll take it into consideration. Good night."

"And Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank… I just wanted to say… thank… nice job today. You have good ideas too, y'know"

Those words are received as some of foreign invader, a virus, a phrase entirely alien. They make you feel something deep inside you, something radiant, proud. Even though you know not to trust their source, they still feel… warm.

"Thank you too. Good night."


The End



You are now dreaming. A grand and wonderous library filled with adventures spanning millenia surrounds you, and although it feels familiar, you've never been here before. You grab a book from the nearest shelf before jumping back when it flies at you. A lucent apparition of the guidebook floats above your knocked over body.

"Hi."

"Hey what's going on? Is a normal, jumbled-up pizza dream, or one of those weird semi-prophetic ones made from spit?"

"The latter. Listen, I don't have much time so just pay attention."

A ceiling tile falls to the floor with tremendous slap, and a shelf comes in through the gap it created.

"What was that?"

"My archives are undergoing a reshuffling of sorts right now. Just, stop getting distracted and focus."

"I just wanted to give you this,"

They hand out a crumpled, torn-out page.

"If we're going to work as a team, we can't keep secrets from each other."

"Are you sure you, I mean- the real you, wants me to have this? What if they're mad?"

"I'm just trying to look out for myself as much I am for you, okay? Angry or not, I'm doing myself a favor."

Fifth moon, Thirty-First Cycle

Well, here's to a new planet.

(Imagine I'm clinking a glass right now)

This place looks peaceful, and if I'm lucky (that is to say, if my sources didn't screw me over again) a few vendors around here should have exactly what I'm looking for.

I'll have to wait a bit though. The merchants are out to town gathering supplies for the next few moons, so I'm just waiting at one of their village inns for now. It's a shame they live in such a remote area, but it has a quaint atmosphere, and the dwelves here seem quite pleasant. At least, compared to the city folk….

Anyways, I was promised that there would be a LOx sauna in one of these rooms, and I can't be bothered to journal right now. Goodbye.

Sixth moon, Thirty-First Cycle

I was out talking with the locals earlier today to get some good will with them in case I ever need to come here again. A couple of their youth were running around playing around with fidgets and toys, and such; I didn't pay much attention to it at first. That was until I noticed a most peculiar object of amusement winging around over their heads.

A small paper Starjet, travelling without any force propelling it, be it wind or hand. They were hopping up and down trying to catch it, but they were too short and the jet too high to be retrieved. The elder I was speaking too took their cane and swung at it in either an attempt to help them or annoyance, and it fell to the floor, crumpling slightly in the process. One of the little ones sprinted over too smooth it out, and in the process, the jet refolded into a heart.

I asked the elder what the toy was, and they told me that they were the thin bark of gum trees growing around here, and that they folded into whatever their beholder wanted them to be. Out of curiosity, I asked the little one with the heart of I could borrow it to see what it would become, and after receiving it, I was at first a bit disappointed that nothing happened. Mere moments later, however, the heart began unfolding and refolding into a thick sheaf of papers. Perhaps even more amusingly, the paper began burning each word I spoke into itself!

The Dwelves told me that they never saw anything like this happen before with one of these, and that they let me keep this copy. I actually have it in front of me right now; In fact, I'm using it to transcribe my words this very instant.

Ta-da! That's the plot twist.

Alright maybe it wasn't that surprising. But it has been if genuine use to me, my hands would usually be aching and breaking with cracks of light right about now if I wrote this by hand.

Seventh Moon, Thiry-First Cycle

I almost hurt someone today. I didn't mean to, they were jogging in front of me, and my shoulder let out a cleft of light that just barely singed their hair. Thy were real young too, ran away to their parents before I even got a chance to apologize. If these Sunspots don't clear up soon, either I'm going to end up messed up, or someone else will, and I'm not exactly sure which is worse.

Oh well, on the bright side I'll finally get my medication tomorrow once the merchants arrive.

Thirty first whatever, whatever, whaTEVER

if your reading this this is my last will i give all my belongings to john from Europa third and all my thoughts and ideas to jess from my childhood innocence. mom, you don't exist, but i wish you were and to anyone reading this, you are her now.

Eighth Moon, Thiry-First Cycle

Sorry for the scare future readers, I'm not quite dead yet - although I'm almost there- but just ran into a slight problem (actually a very serious issue but I need a little levity right now). Turns out the Sunshine Corp. is cracking down on the Axion trade and sent a messenger to the village to search for a rumored buyer hiding out here. After yesterday's little incident, the townspeople had no hesitations in ratting me out.

I managed to escape with the sheaf and the clothes on my back, but that's it. They trashed my room and all my belongings along with it. All my artifacts, all my memories, just… gone. I'm hiding in the Gum Woods now, which is less than ideal considering the only sustenance available are these adorable Shine Bovine. To make matters worse, my condition's been worsening too, my torso's been radiating brighter, and my arms are basically swinging lanterns at this point. If I don't do something crafty soon then my nights are numbered.

Ninth Moon, Thirty-First Cycle, Memento

Well, this is it. It isn't the hunger that's got to me; I eventually grew desperate enough to eat one of those poor Bovine. I even took the time to tan its hide into a leather jacket for the sheaf, it would be disrespectful to let its sacrifice go to waste.

No, the Sunspots are how this'll end. Well, end isn't exactly the right word. I'm not going to die. A shadow can't die, since they're the absence of something else. They just grow or shrink or shift shape, which is exactly I'm going to do. The great thing about a shadow is that that without figure, they have no identity, which also means that anyone can become them.

Whomever is reading this, I hereby grant upon you my image. Take my writings and learn from them, and don't make the same mistakes I did.

Farewell for now.

- LF



????? ???? ??????????? ?????

What a curious thing
A parchments reflection
In the hands of a dead things flesh
Its heart beats through them
As if one in the same
Through them gives life
A voice
Eyes, and mouth
And I am here
And I will fulfill your wish, Mother
And you will return once more


Sixteenth Moon


"Wake up!"

The Book yells in your ear.

"Hey, I can tell you're awake now. Don't try to hide it from me."

You can't help but keep staring at them.

"…uh, yeah! Yeah, Book - let's… let's go through with the plan."

"What did you call me?"

"Book? Well, you never told me your name so…"

"I guess that make enough sense. Book. I like it."

Book. Simple.

The weed slowly tumbles towards the pedestal like its foregoer did when you first arrived. It carefully pokes its head at the Claretip, shaking before exponentially increasing the speed of its assessment and slapping and limb into the stone, dusting it instantly. The weed immediately melts into a mess of disentangled ropes, before bursting into a freestyle of vivacious animation. The teeth of its thorns catch onto the fibers of the string and rip them apart, sending the embers from the tree onto it with a searing sizzle. The weed, sensing this sound but not the threat of its combustion, worms off the platform, but is sluggish in its naked state. The weed makes it's escape through the artificial pathway you set up with logs and stones, the only path it could take, and blunders into the den of Aervipers. It mimics a screech as it transforms into a web of heat, its exterior blackened to a deep charcoal. You rush towards your prize with a hurry and begin jabbing the creature with your spear. The effort is purely ceremonial, as you're quite certain that it's already dead, but it very much feels like a necessary victory lap in the moment. You even consider taking the time to celebrate your mock victory by stomping on it, before you remember that your feet would be landing on scoldingly hot razor-sharp spikes.

Your party proves to be short-lived as the weed's peers rush to its aid. They're temporarily halted by a blockade of logs, but easily scale up the sides with their spines burrowing inside the wood.

shit

I have to do something crafty, fast

You reach for the dead Grawlixes in your sleeves and hurl them at the creatures swarming you.

no other option

The Grawlixes guts explode into an inky, oily sludge that drenches their thorns and slows them to a standstill. The liquid trickles towards the den once more, and you quickly toss the roasted weed into the den, leading them to it's same fiery fate. With the false pathway destroyed, however, they successfully retreat.

holy shit that actually worked

, tearing their te

"Anything to say?"

"Nice work."

"Anything else?"

"…and thank you."

"Thank you too."


Twentieth Moon


The process for preparing the weeds have become trivial for you at this point. First, you tear of the wood to get to the actual sections inside, then hang them to drying for a couple days. Roast them over an open Aerflame once they're ready; they pair great with Rossetips. At least that's how you remembered it tasting, you stopped doing that after Book found asbestos in them.

Actually, the process has become so second nature that it's actually… kind of boring at this point? You got your survival locked down but still no progress on finding a Way home.

"Why are still so worried about getting home?"

"I thought I told you to stop reading my thoughts."

"I didn't, I just… could tell from how you're acting."

"Acting like what?"

"All melancholy and melodramatic."

""

"And it's not like I can stop reading your thoughts anyways. They just kinda float around inside me."

A Rossetip dipped in Grawlix wax is affixed to the blunt end of your spear and drags across the sand painting a landmark to navigate back to base. Wind howls at you, as if threatening you to stay away.

"What if it's not there anymore?"

"Might as well go anyways, might be the only chance we get."

You recite your dream's landmarks over and over again in your head.

Through the Trypophobes Cliffs
'Neath the acid cloud's rift
Lies the passage found to crawl
(move with haste and do not stall)
At the entrance no beast gazes
(for the tumbling snake phases)
to there you shall embark
And find my supernal depart'd

A still pool of Flux catches your eyes as they scour for a pastime. It's unusually devoid of life, resembling a pond of crisp, clear rainwater more than a hotbed for biodiversity. An unfamiliar face stares from the reflection of the puddle. Tired eyes stare back at you. Cuts and gashes blemish your face. Your hat, only a shred of its former self, is more of a tethered wig than useful headgear. Smoothly running your fingers through, the bird's nest is slicked down into something a bit more presentable, melding in with your hair.

"Quinn?"

"Yes?"

"Are you my creator?"

The question hits like a fist to the back of your head.

"…No? What's making you think that? "

"It's just…I… I don't know man."

The Book lets out an exasperated sigh.

"I don't know. Just do whatever."

"Just say what's on your mind."

"See? That's what's on my mind. I miss being able to actually being a guide, it just seems that I'm kind of useless now. Unless, perhaps, and . Not in the transmigrative sense, but…. "

The Book's eyes shift to your shadow.

"Is it you?"

"No"

You state bluntly,

"I am not her."

"If you want to go be all sardonic, then by all means, go ahead. Just don't… be…."

You bite your tongue and stop talking.

"…sorry."

"That's the spark I was looking for! Her iconic attitude, it's just- man, you're kinda sounded like me for a second! Which is to say, you sound like her- because you are her!"

"Stop. Just stop, okay? Just… let's just step into this hole so I can go home."

"What, so you can return some stupid Chef's hat?"

"No, it's… you really don't get it do you? My husband is someone I care about, not just… think of the way you feel about your creator. He's like that to me."

"I thought you said people created themselves?"

You let out a sigh.

"Let's just go home."

The Book safely secured in your arms, you hop down the burrow.


Inside is a black cavity with no sounds or light, save for the wind whistling within and the occasional dripping of Flux.

"It's pretty damn bright in here"

You tilt your head sideways,

"What? Wait, are you talking that thing over there?"

A gold glimmer shines off a rock in the distance, stealing your searching eyes and drawing you towards it.

"No? That's the only dark thing here."

"What are you looking at?"

"The cave! It's bright white in here, like an atom bomb to my eyes."

"Huh. Maybe that's what we're supposed to be looking for."

You feel around for any texture and use the jagged edges hitting your soles as a guide for walking towards the stone. As you move closer, you begin to make out some sort of scroll lying on its surface.

WELL stop writing like that you'll scare us, (sorry?) if you are reading this, we are alive. What that means reamins unknwo to us (you?) (something) but I'm sure it's better(being something.) ANYways, looks like our plan worked. Success! Now, I'm sure being me isan unbearable honor for many (seriously?) and I am a being of willing recipience, and so, if you change your mind, (which is to say, we changed yours,) just change this will, m'kay? We can be held back in escrow here until someone finds us.


"And that's it. For now. Quite an abrupt ending, don't you think, Quinn? Quinn?"

You fell asleep about five minutes after realizing it was just reading its travel logs.

Rings of smoke putter out your engine as you flap down awkwardly onto the planet. You quickly locate the source of the signal using your one of your Redmond sensors, which is a thing you have now I guess.

Your window flaps unshut in awe and confusion, after you find nothing at the location. Nothing, except, a scroll on a lectern, which itself is on some weird shiny rock partially covered by a slumped over potato sack.

Dear (strange one,)

You've certainly changed a lot since the last time we met. That's not necessarily a bad thing, I myself am quite different from the person I was when you tried to save me at the Library. For the better I may add; I'm much happier now than I was when you first met me (although that probably wasn't the most accurate depiction of my everyday composure, but regardless). You probably shouldn't try to try to ruin that by looking for me. Besides, even with all your new Library tech you still won't be able to find me.

Getting to the point, I want to return a favor to you for saving me. Like I said you've changed, but I'm not certain for better or for worse. If you ever want to leave the library and find some adventure; if you ever need a new brother, you know what to do.

, regards

Your Future Brother

P.S the rainrazers are under the rock.

The scrap of burlap lifts its face off the rock, greeting you with a sewed in smile.

"Hey pal, looks you could use a pardner!"

Well, it's not like you have much to lose.

You tear the trackers off your sockets and crush them to bits.

"Hello there dear…"

I reach out one of my coxa and pet the cloth like it's some sort of pet.

"Do you happen to any starfish-looking people around here carrying a book with them? I'm from the Library and-"

"Library? Son, you must be from the city. Ain't nothin' out here but the farm."

"Well first of all, I'm not a 'son,' and second, I don't see any farms out here."

"That's because we're not there right now! We could head there if you want - in fact, I'm having a pest problem right now that I could really use some help sorting out."

You clasp and rub your legs together.

"Uhh, no thank you, I don't have time for that right now. Did you see the starfish I was talking about?"

"Kid, there ain't no starfish 'round these parts."

"No, I said they look like one. I just assumed you didn't know what a Terran was, which was on me…"

"They're in what?"

"What?"

"You said I didn't know where they were in. It doesn't make sense to ask someone something you already know."

Friction heats up your legs as the rubbing increases in speed. Your right eye twitches. You take a deep breath and continue speaking,

"Have you seen the Book?"

"I already told, there ain't no libraries around here."

"Listen, I've been travelling through Ways for the past ten Moons with no breaks, and absolutely no success. I've been to twenty different star systems, five different universes, through three different temporal periods. I really, really don't deal with this right now, so please… just answer my question."

The burlap stays silent as it shudders slightly.

"…I….I'm…."

Its smile quivers and purses as if trying to come undone.

"…I'm gonna need some help with the pest situation."

You sigh and search around the cave for anything useful the Terran left behind. It's pretty hard to find anything with no vision, but even just feeling around with your extremities you can tell that there's nothing of interest. Exhausted, you decide to lean back on the glowing rock, the only thing you can see.

bang

Your chassis makes a weighty noise after you fall cleanly through the rock and onto the cave's slated floor.

Your eyes glow a most wonderous periwinkle glow as your vision fades into an empty white. Static is the only sound you hear as you begin feeling lighter and lighter. The whole ordeal would probably carry more weight if you couldn't already fly.

"Well, I'll be damned…"

The hissing in your ears decays into a tinny, ersatz voice.

Why are you not exploring

"I- I'm sorry to bother you, but have you happened to see… any… star…fish around here?"

What's a starfish

"Well, they're sort of like-"

Of course I know what a fucking starfish is I'm an ancient celestial being

"Oh. Sorry."

I meant, why do you want to see the Terran

You pause and think carefully about what you say next. It'd be dangerous to tell an outsider you're from the library, they could be dangerous, maybe even a Merchant or a Magpie for all you know.

"For posterity. I think they're my brother or something."

Your brother is lying beside you. When you look at a mirror, you will see not their brother, but your reflection, which is to say, mine. Do good to that mirror. For posterity's sake, of course.

51904459934_fb7ea52fd7_b.jpg

Warping and melting, the floaters in your ommatidia merge into a blurred image. The longer you wait, the sharper the image becomes, until you see a round blue ball orbiting a larger ball in front of you.

The view zooms in.


To feel yourself rush through space at the speed of light is a strange feeling. You would expect to feel the wind rush in your face, but with no air, there's of course no air resistance. That also means you can't hear the wind rip past your ears. That being said, this particular experience is stranger than the one of an average light-traveler. For most people, they would first combust after liftoff, then melt, then vaporize, then be stretched to a thin strand of plasma. You, however, are perfectly alive and intact.

These two things, light-travelling and being alive, allow you a far stranger experience than either of these alone. The silence combined with the imagery of Sirius and all the other planets and dust and debris in your star system creates a fleeting moment of serenity. With no wind, your vision can make out your planet getting larger and larger as you stream towards it.

"Book, are you seeing this? This is… this is beautiful."

You feel your arms crease together where the Book would usually be.

"Book?"

You glance over to find Book completely enamored with your now glowing pocket.

"Don't worry about that, that's just my Telepiece… wait, shit, we're probably close enough to get a signal!"


The cell tower at the corner of your Telepiece's screen finally has one bar. Your hands shake as you open SD and look at your husband's messages.

Client Connected. You are now chatting with beets-are-not-cracking

BANC: Please just take a deep breath and try to relax. Whatever you did, it's probably not as catastrophic as you think it is right now. I love you no matter what, okay? I'm not going to break up with you because you make a small mistake like breaking the sink. Shit happens. And I'm getting kind of frustrated with you doing this all the time. It's kind of stressing me out and making me scared to do anything with you.

BANC: Are you okay? I thought you went to the trail but I couldn't find you. I'm going to the house right now.

BANC: I'm sorry I said that.

BANC: It's okay if you want to take a break

BANC: Please just tell me if you're okay I'm about to call the authorities.

BANC: Are you okay?

BANC: Your family is worried about you

BANC: I love you

Mariel_Sandbags: hey

Mariel_Sandbags: im okay

BANC: where are you

BANC: are you okay

Mariel_Sandbags: It's hard to explain we need to talk in person

Mariel_Sandbags: but I'm okay

Mariel_Sandbags: i love you

BANC: im heading back to the house rn I just called out of work

BANC: you dont have to tell me everything but can you try to explain at least a little

Mariel_Sandbags: it'll sound absurd

BANC: It's okay just tell me

Mariel_Sandbags: I was walking the path

Mariel_Sandbags: then I got lost somehow

Mariel_Sandbags: but i managed to get back to the path except the post head was glowing

Mariel_Sandbags: so i touched it and then i blacked out and woke up in a huge library

Mariel_Sandbags: this bug lady was carrying me

BANC: holy shit you were kidnapped?

BANC: what do you mean by bug lady

Mariel_Sandbags: i wasn't kidnapped, I just appeared there.

Mariel_Sandbags: Well I was kind of drugged afterwards, but not like that.

BANC: what

BANC: you're scaring me

Mariel_Sandbags: she was an ant

BANC: what do you mean by that

Mariel_Sandbags: as in an ant person librarian

BANC: like a costume

Mariel_Sandbags: no

BANC: you're not making sense

BANC: are you okay?

Mariel_Sandbags: yes im okay

BANC: this isn't normal

Mariel_Sandbags: I know, i thought this all wasn't real at first or i was in a dream or something but it's real. i have a book that has everything written down.

Mariel_Sandbags: i don't want to scare you but they can talk. im serious.

BANC: go to the house im taking you to the doctor this isn't normal im sorry

Mariel_Sandbags: wait

BANC:youre not making sense


You're on the ground now. Can't tell where you are, everything is very blurry. And it feels fake. Like a portrait wrapped around your eyes. Or a movie. Maybe it's a field, you can hear wildlife. Although it all sounds hallow. You try to take a step forward, but your legs feel weak. They don't even necessarily feel like your legs, just legs moving as you move.

"Are you okay?"

The book's words anchor you back to reality.

"I was going to take us back to my house, but…"

"But what?"

"Something bad might happen to us."

Your vision clears to reveal that you're in a small clearing to the side of the trailhead that brought you to the Library. At its entrance remains the totem pole. The rabbit head's eyes dim as if its fire is being quenched.

"Where are we going to go then?"

"I'm not sure. Let's go explore."

Studio_Project.gif

lol


Rattling can be heard above you, just loud enough to prematurely terminate your vision of the Terran and jolt you back to consciousness.

"Scarecrow man, please do me a favor and see what that was."

They mutter something about varmints before replying,

"Sorry, but I can't reach that high. Can't you just fly up there?"

"I think I'm on the verge of locating the Terran. I was hoping I could just go back to sleep so I could continue my vision"

"Well ya weren't sleepin', you're eyes were open."

"Huh."

You glide to the cave entrance to peek at the source of the noise. Thousands of inky blobs descend from the sky and splash down like rain, tarnishing your metal. Forming thin rivers and pooling together, they form an intricate water system, decorated with empty Grawlix shells floating on its surface. You quickly duck back into the cave.

"Hey Scarecrow?"

"Yeah?"

"What's the weather supposed to be like around here?"

"Much better than the ol' plots back home, had to build a whole irrigation system for 'em. Out here it's real floral and peachy."

"Is ink falling from the sky normal?"

"Heh, I wish. Would make for good pumpernickel."

"I can't leave here, and risk being short-circuited. I need you to stand guard outside and make sure nothing weird happens, is that okay with you?"

"City folk scared of aa little rain? Alright fine, I'll help you out."

You airlift Scarecrow out to the surface and lay part of them under a log to keep them from getting wet and drop onto the rock.


You are now situated in the back corner of the old community library. The entrance of the building, an ornate golden cipher, was impossible to miss. Book would certainly agree, although because they thought it was peculiar for a library sign to be pitch black.

"…and you're sure it said that?"

"Absolutely."

"And you're sure this isn't one of your impromptu archival rendezvous?"

"I told you to stop joking about that."

"Right, sorry… but is that a yes?"

"Yes."

You comb through the books.

"Jerilton's Taste of New Kernsberg, Your Tongue is a Warrior, Appetite of an Executive… ah, here it is!"

Paring with the Art of Contemporary Creole, with Carson A. Graham and Guest Interest Sir Kent Lozenge. That's what the title would be if its letters weren't engoldened to spell out PARACUISINE. Upon opening the book and observing its contents you quickly discover that its passages are similarly gilded.

"What are you waiting for? Put me in the slot before anyone catches us."

You quietly close the tome and hide it in your satchel, and place Book in the place it left behind.

"What did you find in there?"

"More golden words."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"It would be, if it wasn't just a bunch of recipes."

"How is that supposed to relight the Way?"

"I don't know."

"Maybe that's a good thing."

"I told you; you can't stay with me if I'm going to go back to a normal life."

"What about your new brother? Don't you want to meet him?"

"I'm sure they're doing fine."


The pattering grows louder.

"Crow, are you okay up there?"

"I'm fine."

"Anything different?"

"I may have buttons for eyes, but I'm fairly certain the sky is getting darker. Better get what you need to get done done so we can get outta here."


You peer into the bedroom window and search for your husband. No sign of him. You carefully insert the key into the backroom lock as to not make any noise, and crawl inside. The room's in complete disarray, with wrappers and garbage strewed across the floor. Cautiously stepping around the trash, you make your way to the kitchen. You pull out your cookbook, a slip of paper and a pen and begin transcribing the golden characters.

Antumbran Delight

Ever feel the need to relax and unwind after a long day at the grindmill? This recipe is perfect for you. Light, airy, refreshing, everything you need in a mid-orbspill snack.

Ingredients:

Lactates of a large four-legged animal
One egg of Avian origin
Paste of the legendary Saffron
Rossetip
A splash of Rubedo

A tapping sound is heard outside the kitchen window. You slightly crack open the curtains and find your husband outside. He is seated comfortably under the patio umbrella, smoking a cigarette and staring into space.

With haste, you clumsily throw open the fridge and grab a gallon of milk, and an egg1. You quickly glance at your ribs-exposed stomach after hearing it grumble, and grab a fistful of granola bars on your way out.

"Who's there?"

The door's lock rattles as he tries to reenter the house. You rush back out the bedroom window just before he arrives.


My face is pressed against the side of the bookshelf, preventing any light from reaching me. My vision is completely empty. The only sound I can hear is the soft buzzing of the fluorescent lights above, and the whirring of the A/C. I'm finding it hard not to fall asleep, but I keep reminding myself how important it is that I make it back to the Library. I think that's what they want, at least. I could really use some advice from the Terran now. Although, I'm not really sure what to make of him (her) anymore. I don't know why she's doing this to me. They tell me they're not her, but it just doesn't make sense. They know something I don't, they create themselves, and you feel something inside you when you look at them, it's like staring into a star.

Right about now is when my subconscious would try to explain it all to me. Except they're gone. I don't know where they are, but I can't find them anywhere in my archives. If I listen to the static long enough, it almost sounds like them. Well, not quite. It's bit too feminine. Actually, is… is that-

It's been so long! Looks like you finally found your brother…and then immediately lost them. Congrats.

The static warps into Aph's voice. The endless void bequeaths an Einkorn mask cast-to-cover with you, representing her face.

"Stop with your weird cosplay."

Hey, don't disrespect a gluten god.

"And definitely don't call yourself that."

Isn't that what you described me to the Terran as?

"It made more sense in context."

Honestly

You're right. Don't blame me, it was Luc's idea.

"Why are you playing along with them all of a sudden?"

That's none of your business.

"…back on track. How are you going to help us relight the Way?"

With this.

A veiled vine pail manifests beside the mask.

Bring this to the Terran.

"That still doesn't answer my-"

Good luck!

The mask disappears.


A deep bellowing erupts from sky, shaking the ground. You make your way to the top hatch and find the once vibrant clouds appear dead, their acid darkening to pitch. Razor sharp edges line up inky tendrils extending around a mess of tubes, exclamation points, periods, vines, and wings. Crow is missing.

"Crow, where are you? Are you okay, what's happening?"

Crow is frantically squirming away the best they can.

The tempest descends.


A satchel full of produce, a head-mop of durum, and a DIY lance. Truly a charming image to look at. If this wasn't such a small library someone would've called the authorities by now.

Following the same routine as before, you skulk to the cooking section, making sure to avoid the desk receptionist's line of sight. Clouds of lint and dust bunnies scatter in the air as you pull out Book. They shout with intermittent bursts of wheezing and coughing,

"What… took you- so long; I haven't been able to, ack, breath for the past thirty minutes! I have Asthma for fucks sake."

"What's Asthma?"

"Nevermind, just-"

"I'm sorry."

"Yes, okay I forgive you. I think I found something important - well, not found per se, just, look over here."

Their eyes motion towards a decrepit, gothic bucket brimming with soaked mulch, limbs, and ink lying beside the bookshelf. You involuntarily wince and purse your lips at the sight.

"The dark-lettered lady, I managed to speak to her, and she told me that would know what to do with this."

"What… what is it?"

"You don't know?"

"No, not really. I mean…"

"Go on."

"I need some ingredients for the cookbook, and I thought you would have some ingredients I was missing, but this isn't what I need at all."

"Maybe they are."

"No, that's… no."

"Well, what else could she be talking about?"

A moment of silence trespasses.

"And she didn't give any more details?"

"None."

You pace around, hands behind your back, before you reply,

"I mean… I guess we could use this in the recipe. Worst case scenario it doesn't work and then I have to sneak back into my husband's house and get more ingredients."

"What."

"I would've asked him if I could."

"Seems kind of disrespectful."


After last time, you and Book decide that it would be too risky to try use the kitchen at the house, not to mention his schedule seems to be all over the place; he should've been working at the time you snuck in. You hike to the outskirts of town to where the woods are so that you can start a bonfire and not be seen.

"ατμώδης!"

Book chants a spell and starts one up.

Your muscles steady as your body absorbs the heat. You pull out the Flux and empty its contents, using the empty jar as a cooking vessel.

A flat stone serves as a pan for the egg yolk you drop in.

"Ever cooked before?"

"I don't have any limbs, what do you think."

"I meant, like, with your creator?"

"No, you've never cooked with me before-"

"NO. We've been through this a million times, just… what can I say to prove that I'm not her?"

The words linger in solitude. You placed your palms against your head and let out a sigh.

"Can you stop? Your creator is gone and I'm sorry and all that, but you can't just push all of this onto me. Stop - I don't even know if half of the shit you tell me is true- and I don't know why you even expect me to care about you…which I do, and I don't even know why. And I know you feel the same way about me, even if it's because of some reiterative mystical coping mechanism. I'd hope that at least some of it is because actual caring about me, as, like, a normal person. Let's not take this too serious, okay? This is probably the last time we see each other anyways. Please? "

A light pattering tickles your scalp.

"What the-"

Salt stings your eyes as you look up.

"If this is going to be our last time seeing each other, I want to have some fun. You're fun."

Book smiles. To your surprise, it doesn't come off as grandstanding smirk, but something more real. A glimmer of authenticity twinkles in those eyes of theirs.

"βαρύτητας!"

The saltshaker whimsies around in the air, dancing salt down like snow from the clouds, occasionally sprinkling over the eggs.

You and Book, giggle like school children while you frolic in the weather, Book still in hand.

"I thought you told me you don't know how to cook?"

"I don't. Is this what it's like?"

"…no, not really."

"Oh."

"It's much better."

A few grains of salt land in the bucket, inciting a slow groan from its contents. You peer inside and the sludge twitching.

"Shit, uh…"

You grab your cookbook and flip through its pages.

Twinkling_yellow.gif

Luc says:
Over seasoned your Rossetips? Don't worry, simply add a portion of your lactates to the powder.

Book begins another chant, stringing the milk out into tall, arching tubes, aimed at the buckets. The contents crawl out and onto the stone-pan, sprawling out to create a nest shaped center for the omelet. One by one, you begin adding the rest of the spices, each creating an explosion of fragrance with each new addition.

"Alright, now we add the rest of the lactates."

A burst of milk splashes in your face.

"Oops, sorry."

Your brows furrow and your jaw tenses, before they quickly relax, and you begin laughing. Double helix strands of lactates slide through the air, creating double rainbows all curving to the Flux jar. Some of the leftover saffron and cinnamon is thrust into the air like falling cherry blossom petals, coloring diversifying the salted snow peppering from above. You and book continue dancing. This looks stupid. And it is. But it's the good kind of the stupid, the kind that allows you to have a little fun, to share a moment of companionship in childish bliss. Nothing can hurt you two out here. Comfy. Familiar.

The sun crests below the horizon, shifting day to dusk.

"It's getting late, we better finish the recipe."

You throw the last ingredients and shove them all into the flux jar, making sure to give it a good shake to blend them together. The Flux turns a vacuous, empty black, almost the opposite of a lantern.

Twinkling_yellow.gif

The dish is finished! Simply unseal your container of choice, and consume

"Edible Ways. Why hasn't anyone thought of that before."

You pop of the lid open, releasing a bitter, ammonia-like aura.

"Ick, I'm not eating that."

"Bibliotic pallets aren't that different from ours, I guess. Wait, do you even have taste buds?"

"Well, no, I just don't like the thought of having that in me."

"…yeah I don't blame you. Here, just have a spoonful."

You place it in their mouth, and they immediately cringe.

"Maybe edible Ways aren't that good of an idea after all."

Book covers turns into a sleek obsidian.

"Wait, before I go- you never told me your name."

"Anbuvel."

"An."

"Bye An. In another life."

"Goodbye Book."

Book levitates midair but doesn't disappear.

"Uh, how long is this supposed to take."

"I don't know. Just be patient."

Nothing happens.

"Maybe this wasn't what we were supposed to do?"

"We can use the leftovers to start a new ba-"

Book begins hacking as their cover recedes back into a dull brown. A whispy-grey spirit is choked out of their throat, landing inside the Flux. You swiftly reach out and catch Book as they plunge down.

"Are you oka-"

The jar explodes, sending shards of glass and splotches of ink flying into the air. A sprawling mass of fleshy vegetation, of Russian thistle, of Grawlix, and ink and sky, and acid, and vapor, of Aervipers, and snakes beyond even you have seen. This is what emerges. This is what is now chasing you.

Hey

Come back

Damn.

Man, it feels good to not be that rag for a change.


Your name is Aphotic (or Aphantos you can't remember which one.) Not to be confused with that worthless speck of light Lucent, whom you will kill. You ascend into the sky and scan for the Timorway. It's noxious thaumaturgic glow makes it impossible to miss, and you swoop in towards its signature the moment you find it. You make sure to catch a couple Terrans on your way for the fuel source.

The rabbit pole stares you down. As you move around you feel as if its eyes are following you. You shudder before calming yourself down, and use your tendrils to wrap the Terrans snuggly against yourself. They scream.

Sucking in the smoldering fumes of anxiety, the Way is relit. You arrive back home with a flash.

Being suspended thousands of cubits in the acid clouds with no place to drop them, you hide the Terrans inside yourself to muffle their noise. A supernova chasm of light lies below.

Ick. More noxiousness. Found him.

You descend.


Hiss

Your internals heat up as they grind together.

Pop

Terrible noises hallow you out, stabbing you with every piece falling out of place, or collapsing, or burning. Every sensor implanted into you searches for Crow as you zip around looking for Crow.

  • Radar:Negative
  • Sonar:Negative
  • Lidar:Negative
  • Animar:Negative
  • Thaumar:Negative
  • Redmond:Negative

The tempest arrives, and immediately begin excavating the cave.

You consider abandoning this planet before remembering just how long it took you to get to this point. You are not going to spend another ten Moons looking for the Terran. And what'll happen when the Grand Archivist finds out? You shake at the mere thought.

You can't let that thing do whatever it wants to do with that stone. In an ashy cloud of exhausts, you zip back to the tempest and squeeze your mandible into one of their offshoots, piercing the rind. They whip themselves around and hurl you off.

Puppet.

This doesn't concern you.

I just really need to kill this one guy.

The stone emits a metallic, multichromatic shriek as its sides begin to be pressed together, threatening being ground to dust.

You fly at them once more and rip a section of thistle off their crown, revealing a dozen Terrans on the inside, all unconscious. The tempest's limbs slam against the walls of the cave with enough force to leave cracks in them, and puffs up, fitting itself to crush you.

Clunk.

A comically large Rossetip falls from the cave entrances and into the amalgam's head, striking the head of a Terran. The Terran yells and wakes the others up, and they follow in suit.

"Sorry for scarin' ya pardner, thought you could use some help!"

The Terrans begin crying about a number of incomprehensible events, but one in particular stands out to you. They mention a glowing rabbit. You look down at the candle held Multiway affixed to your front. The candlelight holder unfolds, revealing the Multiway, which transforms into a Timorway. The tempest throws a piece of itself into the air before joining in on the screaming. In a flash of brilliance, the Way vanishes them.

You hug Crow, although not for long, as the walls of the cave begin to cave in. Using 100% of your capacity, you carry both Crow and the stone to the surface, just before it collapses.

Off to the side lies an inky pile of snakehosed rope, accumulating dead Grawlixes into itself, and frantically grabbing any nearby tumbleweed to add to itself. Upon noticing you it scurries away into the sand.

wow

You catch your breath before replying.

"Th-that's… that's all you have to say? I risked my life to save yours, and that's it?"

yeah I'm thankful for that but that was the closest she's ever gotten. at least in physical form.

You place the tempests remains on top of your head as a mock crown, a trophy of your accomplishments. Upon doing so, something deep inside you is set free, like a boulder being lifted off your chest. Your internals are reslicked and reset. The remains shapes themselves into a thistled, jet spiked crown, ornate and beautiful.

take that off i actually really liked being you, i can't imagine having to live as that rag headed moron.

"Hey, don't call him that. You would be dead without him. You owe us."

fine.

what do you want.

"Those vision you gave me were from Sirius, right? Take me there."

place me in the omniway.

Fits like a glove. Well, not really, but the Way reconfigures its spatial dimension to fit any recipients, so the stone slides right in.

let's do some fucking exploring.

"Yeah."

"I've always wondered what the city's like."


The finest Rubedo had been saved for today, as the cowardly nobles could finally return home. The average amount drank that night was around 11.4 glasses, full sized, with no ice. A considerable jump from their daily mean of a measly 3.2. A tetrad inscription is scrawled into the roof of the spacecraft, of the beautiful prophecy prophesized with the prophet's profits of old:

A Starfish


A Tome


A Librarian


A Crow


A Storm

For they have saw that the betrayers will be put to justice, and all loose ends will be tied.

But for now, they party.

"We're burning through our reserves…I mean-"

"So what? After today we can have as much Rubedo as we want."

"Yeah, but…"

"But what?"

"I just have a bad feeling about this."

"Have the prophets ever been wrong before?"

"Well, no, but what if it's like that old folk tale, the one where the dwelf wishes on the dragon paw?"

"Dragons don't have paws, Frank."

"I know."

"Just have another glass."

Frank2 does this and eradicates any and all inhibition present in his mind.

A string quartet abuse ancient instruments, whose viola-esque tone is saved only by their audience's utter lack of sobriety. The glossy transparent flooring displays an array of vital indicators, from the Redmond-type inhibitor clearing their path of debris, to the ray receiver searching for nebula sequela, and the radiometer. An instructor taps the lead performer on the shoulder, and they motion to the rest of them to shuffle out and make way for him. A lead pipe hits a larger lead pipe embedded into the walls, acting as the crude replica of the ceremonial cymbal of their home.

"As you know, today is the day which our fore-"

A faceless member of the crowd (Frank) speaks up.

"No shit we already know that, quit the formalities so can go home already!"

The nobles nod to each other and accompany their complaints to him, with their fists in the air.

The leader scoffs before the outcries become overwhelming. He shields his face behind his hand as he signals for the ship to make an early arrival.

As the ship descends, the radiometer detects no serpentines, to everyone's relief. The outcome was even better than expected; it was all but guaranteed that there would be at least some stragglers left from the Liberator's conquest. The radiometer remained blank, save for a tiny speck that began appearing on the map. Looks like we found a straggler.

As the arrival went on, the dot grew larger and larger, until it consumes almost a quarter of the map. Sweat dripping off his forehead, he solemnly stares at his advisers. After the greenlight, he makes the announcement.

"Due to unforeseeable circumstances, I- we've decided that… we're delaying our arrival until we dispose of any foreign objects from our landing spot."

The crowd erupts and begin chucking their glasses at the podium. The prophets cry out at the boldfaced disrespect to the gluten gods.

With a sigh, the operators stop the ship's descent.

The storm, however, does not stop. It continues growing, its speed accelerating to the point where the naked eye can make out that it's an aggregate of serpentines, inky, wet, dry, vegetative, sour, and everywhere in between. It also becomes clear that it's not growing; it's moving closer.

The ship is set to full thrust, yet the storm still grows closer.

The crowd is thrown into a drunken panic, with stains of Rubedo, shattered glasses. Hurriedly, the prophets beg the gluten gods for guidance, with everyone else soon joining in after. Their texts light up.

Twinkling_yellow.gif

Luc says:
Are you a bunch of cowards huddled away in a tin can, abandoning your kingdom, and are now facing the consequences of your actions? Looking
for a Deus Ex Machina to save your pathetic lives? Not to worry, I have graciously decided to do exactly that. But first I need you to run some
errands for me; find some Rossetips and Rubedo. Until then, just aim your railguns, at the large mass of tentacles in front of you, but don't kill them, > I'm holding them for escrow. Good luck!


"An infinite neon tunnel between the cracks of reality. How much more beautiful can something get?"

"It's real pretty."

You could take a look at me.

I'm serious.

The tunnel terminates in magnificent magenta, its egress displaying a Terran and their book.

Charred and black, the clothes on his back rip at their seams, off the Terran lying on the ground. The forest around them of felled trees, wilted at the stem, split stones, and dead brush, with embers still smoldering to the side. You hold your breath.

You dart to the Terran and flip them over, and you unfurl their arms to reveal Book blanketed beneath them. Their chest begins pulsating up and down, and you exhale, lightening your chest ten-fold.

"Agh- ugh, y-yeah I'm not dead- wait, are you- are you the bug lady? I guess I- I guess I really was dreaming!"

"No."

"Oh."

"Listen, everything's going to be okay, I have golden-letter person with me-"

hey

"- Yes, hello, and we're going to send Book back to the Library, you can go home, Crow can go wherever, and the Grand Archivist is only going to be semi-pissed off with me."

The Terran is preoccupied with Book, who's staring off into space.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"I've been such a piece of shit to you."

"You have."

"You could have died."

"I know."

"I don't understand."

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

You interrupt,

"Book, it's time to leave."

"Wait…"

"I kind of… don't want to…"

"I don't want to go. I don't want a new 'brother,' or new 'creator,' or anyone. I want to stay with him."

"The strange and the benign don't work well together, dear. You have to go back to the Library."

They have a point. I mean, I do need some help. I need you to observe some Dwelves for me.

You don't even have to leave this planet, you can do it all in the comfort of me.

wait

I'm not even close to done with you. I've been playing nice so far but if you try backing out now (even more than you have already, I mean) then you will regret it.

Also, I'm blocking you from using the Way until you do so.

You try ripping the stone out the candleholder, but it flashes red hot as you do so, singeing your forelegs, causing you to swear. You apologize.

"You little-"

Cool it, Terran. Remember that recipe I gave you? I still need you to get that done. the results'll also be able to help treat those burns of those if you're lucky; I'm willing to bet your average Terran hospital can't treat thaumaturgic injuries. Bug Lady, we can start with you since you're already holding me. Close your eyes.


The leader, eyes wide open, mouth agape, holds the Rubedo bottle upside down, as a drop falls from its lip and splattering onto the floor.

"That's…it. There's none left."

The crowds cram into the reserves looking for any, even a can, or a shot glass, or anything at all. None. A faceless voice in the crowd (yes, Frank) points to the throne and yells,

"Down with false prophets!"

The crowd cries in agreement and rushes them. They hide in their cellar and hurriedly set up their candles in a star, occasionally spilling hot candle wax onto their skin whilst frantically trying to light them.

"Shit, where is it… where is it…"

Frank places the ping ball halves over his eyes, shielding his retinas with a hazy orange. He has to blast the static at full volume in order to drown out the fighting in the background, not to mention the noise of 19-ton railgun firing 200 times per micro cubit. The candle flames climb to the ceiling, and to the walls, and all around him, lighting his world on fire. The capsule drifts into a single, concentrated idea, the very essence of a person, a chemist, on Sirius, waking up.


3/12/2640

Today I have purchased a journal to chronicle. I feel as if this is the next step in my journey, that is to say, it will be prudent in aiding to me arrive at the chemical composition which I have dedicated. I am not writing for anyone person, certainly, I am not writing for them. No - I have decided that ambiguity is for psychopaths, those poets who cannot imagine being their reader. When I refer to 'them,' I am referring to four people, or at least entities, in particular. I would indulge in more detail if I was permitted to, but for now I will relay an experience from my childhood:

I am seated at my home, watching historically inaccurate recreations of the Old Terran's west of the Northern Continent. The image has been deliberately made low quality during post-production in order to evoke a sense of nostalgia in the show's audience, of which I am not the target demographic my parent, to whom the show was introduced, would be more susceptible.) Despite this, I am jubilant. The screen sucks me in, swallows me into the dusty saloons and cactus-laced landscapes, in that moment it is my world. If I listen so closely, so intently, that my thoughts cannot be heard, then the hiss of artificial static almost becomes a voice of their own. Still the voice of the main character, former rancher turned cowpoke, Kent Turnstile, still with his characteristic dopey, bromidic deep-fried southern accent, but amplified to an almost archetypal status, alongside being pitched up slightly. His personality seems less deep-fried, however, and ten times dopier. He doesn't seem like an adult, to my surprise, doesn't talk down to me, or beyond this world. I can only barely make out the voice, but it sounds like it's saying,

"Howdy Pardner!"

I tip my imaginary Stetson and meekly reply,

"H-howdy."

The camera pans over to the tavern entrance, where a two-years old attempt at creating a strawman is lazily strewed about over its wooden guard rails. A friendly smile is sewed on their face, with gumdrop-button eyes. A life-sized rag doll.

With bated breath fogging the screen, you slowly reach your hands to tough him. With a quiet tap, the image flickers back to the show's credits. I try tapping the screen again, but nothing happens, save for a few flashes of visual distortion.

This is my favorite person.

I try asking my parents about it. They smile and kneel down, in an attempt to comfort me,

"Oh sweetie, TV is fun and can teach you a lot of cool things about the world, but it's not real."

I weekly imitated her smile and ran back to the TV, my stomach too tied up to try to talk to her.

3/10/2640

I'm sorry if that wasn't good enough. If you want me to, I could embellish my life more if it's not that new or entertaining. I don't think that whoever's reading this would be opposed to lying. Lying actually seems like the easiest way for them to make me get what I want, or whatever they want. Don't have enough time to study? Just stop eating. Break Something? Just tell your parents it was your sibling (I'm an only child.) Need that Biochem degree? Lie on the resume.

I embellished a little there. Things weren't that bad. And no, that wasn't lying, that was just embellishing. I'm rambling. Sorry.

Speaking of my degree, guess who just graduated? That's right. Me. The person I'm talking about is me. Veledictorian. I'm famous. So famous. Job offers are pouring in, enough to satiate an Olympian, gold for gluttons. I am the glutton. Gluttonous for public sector employment, because I value security.

Sorry.

4/01/2640

I am now a member of MCDSCPGOCUIUARAWCYCI, Department of Cryptozooalchemy. It happened just like it was supposed to, with black bags, white vans, and shady men. I was still scared. There's a difference between knowing something will happen and actually living though it. Some animal part of my brain wanted to run, to kick, to scream, to fight back, but I had to bring myself down.

Everything was pretty breezy after that. Filled in the paperwork, met the rest of my team, shook hands, then left with my new keycard. I don't understand why something so small, so standard, so inconsequential could be so absolutely exquisite to me. It's not just a card, it's the fruits of my labors, my life manifested, merit's receipt. I know that sounds melodramatic; just let me bask in the moment for once.

The only problem with it is the label beside my name. Cryptozooalcehmist. I prefer the term Biochemist. Alchemy implies a sense of uncertainty, of magic, like we don't know what we're doing.

4/02/2640

His applause is like a dose of opiate to my veins. I could never expect the others to do the same (save for the bird), but his prolonged silence has been tremendously disappointing for me- tremendously painful. Apathy stings with the threat of love which doesn't exist. At least outright revulsion is honest.

A simple "Congrats" is all he whispered, but it's enough. Thank you.

The high of this act built the groundwork for a productive first day on the job. Both of them. Caught up with their research, projects (leviathan genealogy is surprisingly interesting,) and managed to snag a couple ingredients.

  • RNA Replicator3
  • Rubedo Reserve Oinopoeic Sublimator
  • 6.32 x 1019 hydrogen atoms
  • Asbestos
  • Cell samples

It's not much, but it's a start.

3/08/2640

Do not drink Rubedo when doing something important.

I only had a glass when we had the first attempt. My alphabet plaque was plain view in front of me with your lovely, gilded assistance4, the snakes were prepared, my hands were washed of any remaining blood, things were set up perfectly. Things did not go perfectly:

  1. The replicator made a slight tear in the scales of the snake when initiating the dejection process leading to
  2. The sublimators began filling with blood and generating Rubedo and causing the
  3. excess liquid to spill into hydrogen tubes setting of a domino effect of
  4. An aura of noxious fumes being alchemically created, causing the rapid decomposition and mutation of the cell membranes and nuclei of the cell samples, in turn also interacting with the asbestos into an extremely neurologically addictive, yet bitter substance that was enjoyed by the now animate blobs of mass squirming around on my desk, corroding it's wood and creating new subspecies of itself, including boulder -sized grassy piles of decomposing plant matter
  5. Ultimately leading to the rapid dwindling of resources such as space, oxygen, and food, causing their expedited extinction.

Behind my gas mask lied a still, soaking face attached to an utterly paralyzed body, fearing not the creatures in their view, but their mere failure. I wince in anticipation for the prince's beratement, but the letters remain blank. Waiting. Still waiting. I begin to ponder if this was grounds for abandonment. The whites of my eyes start to turn red, but then the letters change. At first slowly, but then quicker and quicker, the letters flash in rhythmic succession. Just as quickly, they stop on a dime on sixteens letters:

Twinkling_yellow.gif

Congratulations!

The letters go blank once more before flashing names of chemicals. I soon realize are more ingredients. The rest of the day was spent compiling more items.

3/09/2640

Do not believe anything I write here. I'm not talking about embellishments; I'm talking about straight-up lies. Today I found my text to be substantially different from what I remembered it to be. I checked the edit history and some of it was originally in gold. I found a spider crawling on the rim of my garage door, hissing at the letters on the wall. She faces me and in a soft hush proclaims,

"Sorry for the mess."

I can't tell if she's referring to the mass of dead cells pooling together on the floor or the prince. The letters blacken, and the chef walks in with a jar with a smile and proceeds to scoop the spider into a cup and leaves. I try to trail him but I'm distracted by the scratchy sound chalk behind me. The letters, jet as ever, morph into:

GO TO WORK YOU'RE GOING TO BE LATE

I look at my watch and confirm the suspicion. With haste, my bag is thrust upon my shoulder, and I throw the doors open, occasionally dropping documents and lose change as I rush to my car.

I spin the radio dial to find a station to drown out my thoughts, but all I find is dead static. It grows louder. And louder. And then, the static speaks to me.

"How's the memorization going?"

"Good."

"What's with the mess in the lab?"

"I blew up all the cell samples and almost killed myself multiple times."

"Oh."

"You need to stop focusing on the mechanical side of things and learn the fundamentals before you end up hurting yourself."

"Yes."

The first thing I do when I arrive is cover found foundation over my eyebags, but it ends up looking too unnatural and pasty, so I just wear a pair of sunglasses. I enter walk into the group office. They are constructing a thaumaturgic patch which will thwart off any deities attempting to seduce victims of their substance of choice. I sneak one out and stick it to my soles. No more Rubedo.

3/10/2640

The prince has spoken to me about how flat I am in character. I have not progressed. I would very much like to refer to myself in the third person. The X5 would like to feel like spectator for X's own show. X feels as if they are watching themselves right now. X would like to be a spectator in much the same sense that the rest of them are spectators. X would like to a personal being-to-being conversation with the crow.

X, now being a character in the writing of X, is now subject to the prince's gildery.

Prince genuinely cannot tell if they are being propelled to write what they are writing by an outside force such as the prince themselves or writing this about themselves

x is sorry

3/10/2640

Notes: Prototips have no noticeable thaumaturgic effects diverging from what is to be expected of a non-anomalous variant. Failed. Failed Again. Failed x1000.

3/11/2640

I took a walk on the ol' gravel path today. It was a brisk walk, lean and refreshing. Simple. I couldn't find chef, but I know he was there too. I can't help but stare at what lies at the exit.

The split stump sits still, still oozing Flux, with wind flowing into its lashes. If I put my ear against it, I can still hear screaming. Before I get close to it, I make sure to blindfold myself. Prince didn't want chef to see anything. Told me it would be bad for him.

I drill a small hole into the stump and place a bucket to the side to collect the resulting liquids.

3/12/2640

A jellyfish shoved into a soup of Rubedo and Flux, shaken not stirred. This is what I'm brought into work today. My coworkers were repulsed by the sight of this, and promptly disposed of it. When I asked why, they threatened to report me to management. A spider on the wall asked why I did this, and I told her that I thought it was the right thing to do. She sulks, then climbs back into a crack between the roof and the wall.

I do not know why I did this. When I went home, I noticed a putrid, noxious scent in my garage. The letters on the wall lit up in such a way that they formed what I assume to be a smile. I weakly smile in return, with the disgusting, lazy, sluggish, worthless entropy in me reversing, utterly reinvigorated, ready for an event I has only seen once before, and that I had found once in a different context, is now in fruition in adulthood.

5/05/2640

I will now relay an experience from childhood:

I am an only child in a dingy, low-income household, with my mother at the step of the door for the last time. She smiles and flicks the TV on.

"Dear, there are small things and larges things in this world. What you're feeling right now, your friends at this stage, even me, are one of these small things. One day you'll have large things to worry about, and things will make sense. Have fun." I reach for a hug. She kneels down for a handshake.

"I love you."

"I know. I love you too."

A fleet of cold fills the house as soon as the door shuts. I rush to the window to look out for her, but she's already left. The voice on the TV feels sinister contrasting to the emptiness around it. It would seem impossible with such a warm tone, but it feels wrong. This feels wrong.

The television image feels like it's warping and waning with pounding of my head. I don't know how to operate a phone, but I try to call my mother anyways. I do not know her number, and I end dialing a random person. They ask if the Rossetips are ready yet and I hang up.

I go back to the TV and blast it to full volume. My favorite show is playing, one involving a rusty cowboy sheriff, and former rancher returning to an abandoned spittoon in a dusty town on a horse who is gallant and his only friend and talking to his community and-

I hear the front door slam. The door was closed and has remained closed, yet the sound persists with no visual accompaniment. There it goes again. And again. At this point the shock of it all is beginning to wear off. I slowly tip-toe towards the door, until I stop when I hear a loud flash from the kitchen and creep inside. The magnetic letters clinging to the fridge door glow to reveal a message,

Twinkling_yellow.gif

Hello [normal one,]
You will pursue a career in biochemistry, graduate valedictorian at Ulrich University, then be hired into the public sector where you will be labeled as a cryptozooalchemist and look like you're performing research deitic-addiction resolving medication, but are actually gathering the necessary resources (chemicals, imaging technology, sample cells) needed to produce ingredients that will be delivered to me in order to save 51 dwelf nobles from imminent demise, five cycles in your past, thus securing the Second Feast upon which I will reconicle with my kingdom my love interest, whom currently a giant mass of assorted animal parts/ a crown, and the cycle through which me and her possess/become various individuals (including you) will end. When you go to sleep tonight, you will find a message under your bed. Read it and do as it says. Hey what's that stuff coming out of your stop doing that. Stop. Come back here. The door is locked. This important, pay attention- PAY ATTENTION. Terran what are they doing what's crying stop doing that.

Of course, the letters were moving far too fast for me to be able to see anything more than a gold blur. I try6

3/12/2651

The person whom you will become is irrelevant, the voice said to me. Pl. Science I can get, I can understand; even if something seems out of my grasp I can reach it with trial and error. But this is not the case with it. I am scared. I do not shake, nor cry, nor scream, but I am scared.

The other day I reached out to my co-worker for a hug. They looked at me funny, and didn't reply, but I went in anyways. They asked me what I wanted, and I didn't say anything, and I went back to my desk. Something felt very empty about that experience. Hugs are supposed to fill you up. One seems happy, like that Old Terran classic, the one with the man who runs with the life chocolates. They are good (the voice, not the chocolates, nor the man.)

3/15/2651

I tried talking about you to my coworker today. They ignored me as always, but my aim is getting better. Sorry. That was an attempt at humor. I think the bird one would get it, they're funny.

I only met you once today, the bright one. They helped me work more on the recipe today, which helped me make up some of the lost progress from the rest of the week. If I continue at the rate I'm going now, I should be done by the end of the year. Then again, can't count on everything going smoothly. I only messed up once, and he didn't even get pissed off. I think he's getting worn out of me. I don't know if that's good or bad.

3/16/2651

Today is my day-off. I do not know what to do. Most of the time they would be the most productive, happiest highlights of the week, but they're completely silent. I'm scared I'm entering another dry spout. I promised myself that if that ever happened again, that I would start my own recipe. Hell, I'd discover new elements if I had to. Whatever needs to happen.

3/17/2651

Usually, being asked what the future's like would be a grievance, but today, it's cause for celebration. No dry spout after all. I told them the same answer I always gave; that the future is like a pie, in that it needs to be divided four ways in order to be certain. They gave the same answer, that is to say, none. This made me feel miserable.

3/18/2651

I really don't know why I'm doing this. This really hurts. This feels bad. I am not jubilant. Stop.

3/19/2651

Last night I watched late-night television talk shows with paid as-seen-on-televisions peppered in-between. I particularly enjoyed Last noon with Yoric Flavton. They also enjoyed it too, although not all of them, for example, the frog. I assume so, at least, for they stayed silent. This is unusual because this does not normally happen, as all unusual things do.

Anyways, my workday was average, that is to say, not the worst workday, but also not the best, most productive workday. That is to say, I retrieved the ingredients and items I needed, utilized the printer and synthesizer to generate what I needed, without innovating new methods nor going beyond what I was instructed to take part in. My coworker was average today too. I said hi, and then they said hi back to me.

3/19/2651

Jubilant.

The drum-banging rhythm of time is marching fast and louder than ever. I can feel something fantastic coming. Something better than I can put into words. More golden signs on the walls. Each batch of rossetips are getting purer and purer. Fine, blood red, and chalky. bubbles nicely with the Rubedo. Second Feast. I'm ready to be great. I'm ready to be finished. I will be complete. Jubilant. Simply jubilant.

3/20/2651

Have you ever felt the pinprick of all the bodies at once conjectifying togeher all over your body over and over again in a recursive loop? This is what I am currently experiencing, for I am jubilent for the true and utterly truth value that is present to me?

I'm sorry for the very fucked up string of conciousness bs going on here I am simply leaving my last statements and wills before the utterly great, perfect, life ending teminus of my life arrives. This,

  1. So I was watching late night televiosion programming
  2. when an ad for a kitchen utensil came on
  3. and Crow was there
  4. and that signaled me to go to the garage
  5. where i found golden lettering elling me choordinates
  6. where i went and found a large metal contraption holding a candle holder7
  7. which i stepped into and
  8. saaw the most
  9. fucking beautiful image i have ever seen
  10. which I placed my dish into
  11. and saw a most magnificent Feast
  12. With dozens upon the dozens of aliens greeting me with the righteous tears streaming next to multitudes of smiles
  13. i love you
  14. and you the same
  15. A woody, vined, staff fashioned out a long dead branch presents itself to me.
  16. and alongside a jar of ashes he hands to me
  17. and the flux contained amalgam of serpents which he told me to bring presents beside
  18. on top
  19. and the
  20. and the
  21. and the

is the flux at the end of the tunnel, off the chomratacurve.

and i saw these words

and a most glorious ghost had crawled in me.

and they were i

and i lay yet here

still entropy reeling

hm

? ?? ????

:) sorry!

oh.


"Why'd you stop?"

I didn't, it just shut down.

"What the fuck was that shit?"

"Book."

"What? We just spent, like what, their literal entire lifetime fucking around just for that to happen? I didn't even understand half the shit happening."

We did great.

Trust me, scrambling someone's brains is the premier task of any deity worth their salt.
[[/=]]

"Ye-yeah pardner! Howdy, we could, yeah, the pests in the- where is my plot?"

"…A-an…"

Everyone faces Crow.

The flame of the candleholder's been snuffed out.

"Wait, think that means he's not blocking us anymore?"

You jump to Librarian without a second thought.

"Quick, take us to the Library."

"What about the nobles?"

"Luc'll take care of them, remember?"

Librarian blankly stares at you, eyes half turned.

"Okay fine you can check on them. But I'm not going. and forget any of this ever happened."

"I.. okay. I understand."

"Goodbye Book."

They say their farewells and disappear in a flash.


Frank rips the ping-pong balls off his eyes and awakes with a jump. He looks over to see any sign of the prince's arrival. Nix.

His teeth gnash together as his fingers find themselves involuntary tapping. A lump slide down his throat.

"C'mon… c'mon… should be any second now… "

He considers exiting back to the main hub before-

thud

A boulder appears midair at the foot of his pedestal and crashes down, only slightly spilling the Rubedo placed on its top.

He leaps and falls flat onto the stone. A gilded ghost fills his lungs.

Panicked crowds swarm around like worker bees, their collective hooting and hollering melding into a generic buzz.

"Everyone please listen."

Nothing changes.

"Excuse me!"

He tries tapping people's shoulders, but they rush right past him.

"Everybody calm the fuck down!"

The crowd slows down.

Frank speaks to the crowd, taking occasional breaks to listen for what to do next.

"Everyone,,, just calm down. I've received a personal message from a gluten god on how we can survive. I know it sounds crazy, but just… bear with me. All of you need to make a large supper table in the middle of the hub, use whatever you can find, spare parts, glass, other dwelves, anything at all. Then make some chair and place them around, same idea here, okay? There's 51 of us in here, so remember that. Not too many. Not too little. I'll set up the meals for everyone and then what you're supposed to do next'll should become pretty clear. And everyone needs to work together for this if we want to survive, okay?"


(Write more dialogue between GA and Librarian)

Staff Gossip


Volume: 381325
Issue: 280
Author: κυριολεκτικά ποιος Staff Writer/ Writer of Staff

Today's a spicy one, folks. Local Formicid Rescue Page of Shelves 17A-18D, known by frequent visitors as "Bed Bug," has returned only to immediately cause trouble with the Grand Archivist. The audacity displayed was luckily able to've been transcribed by… me! And it's not even public for once! Here, we'll just let it speak for itself.

Grand Archivist: Insect.

(Librarian stares the floor)

Grand Archivist: HARRIET

(Librarian jolts and looks up)

Librarian: Sir, with all due…respect, perhaps we should've done a better job preventing this in the first place? Wait - I mean - I know it was my job and I know I shouldn't've let them go, but I mean, stopping them from entering the Way in the first place-

(Grand Archivist cocks a brow)

Grand Archivist: Don't tell me you're suggesting what I think you're suggesting. We don't need another Fourth, do we?

Librarian: Oh no not at all. It's just, well, the Way in question was very open, that's all.

Grand Archivist: I suggest you not let your personal experiences smear your judgement, lest we strike the Serpent with a cane. The Ways are essential infrastructure for Wanderers in veiled Worlds, their publicity makes for easy access to the Library, while still being secured with their Knocks. Surely the liberation of wonder is worth more than the petty grievances of a Terran, wouldn't you think?

Librarian: I… don't.

Librarian: Wonder and horror aren't that far off, just the same concept viewed at a different angle.

(Grand Archivist takes a deep breath)

Grand Archivist: Then change your angle. Sometimes you just need to change. You're the problem. You're not a Terran anymore, so stop acting like one. Harriet, I think we've established that you cannot be trusted around patrons. At the end of this moon, when the lights dim, you will return to your den in the Archives. You will find your new role awaiting. You will perform this task and secure knowledge. You will not leave the Archives. You will change.

(A large multivariate sinkhole forms out of the floorboards, a spits serpentine chains around the Libarian, dragging her down.)

Grand Archivist: I'm sorry.


"Where should I put you? Same place as before? Actually, shit, I'm not sure where that is. It was B12, right? or was it C12. Fuck… wait, can't I place you anywhere and it'll shift to where it belongs or something?"

"Well… actually I don't know. Nobody does. The Library's an enigma, even the GA probably couldn't give you a straight answer."

You pace around the shelves and try to think of a solution.

"It's awfully empty"

A Librarian sees them from a shelf away and yells,

"You need to leave!"

Book whispers under their breath,

"run"

You sprint and weave your way through the maze of shelves as the insectoid trails behind you. In short bursts between heavy breathing you ask,

"What do they- agh… want with- us !?"

"Shit, I mean, last time I was here I convinced you to grab me, jump into a Librarian-only Way and accidentally screwed over one of their staff. Maybe they blame me for that, I don't know. Actually… fuck, that also means you stole a book."

"How bad is that?"

"Very bad"

You look behind you and notice that they're catching up. Your turn a shelf one last time and find a hiding place. Book neatly slides into an empty slot. You clear out a stack of books and form miniature fort around yourself and hold your breath.

A heavy exhale leaves your chest.

The Librarian sighs and leaves.


HOLY SHIT


A NEW CHARACTER


SURELY, because spawn an extremely relevant side plot and monopolize at least, like 5k words of this precious, precious story.

What wonderous things await- You are dead.

The tendril drags you down the staircase, your head banging on each step.

"Is… Is he…"

Yes.

"What would you do that!?"

You're the one on motor control

Should've been more careful I guess.

She stares at the charred entrails protruding from her crown.

"I didn't mean to."

Well yeah but that

She glances at the fresh cadaver lying beside her.

"…I'll be more careful when you break me out later."

You don't cram a giant meat hurricane into a public space without some casualties.

We could take care of the GA while we're at it. You know you what to.

"No. No, I don't"

We literally share the same body

Okay maybe more like the same headspace- since I'm the crown and- listen, my point stands

I know exactly what you're thinking.

"Everyone thinks f'ed up stuff sometimes, but no one actually does it. And you're out of your mind if you think take on any staff member, I've much more important people than us try and fail all the same."

Well

I've found some new toys to play with. I hope you don't mind if I brought a few guests along.

"Well, what's that supposed to-"

Good Luck!

The crown does quiet.

Actually, I still need a map.

"For what?"

You're not really in any position to be asking questions, dear. I'm not the one trapped in a decrepit, old basement.

"I guess… all I have is my Omniway, which is connected to all other spatial distortions and rips, so if you ever need to find any other Ways-"

Perfect


Its tendrils climb into the rear of engine, grabbing the arcspokes, and twisting the transmission. The ship creaks.

A weasel pilot panics and thrusts the throttle to full speed.

"Wait-"

Luc feels Aph smirk.

She peers over at the map on the ship's flooring and catches a glimpse of the nearest source of spatial distortion.


The Rounderpede is having his time wasted by a group of Planasthai reporters. The usual trite, repetitive shit the gossipheads always hammer out. Other than that, it's been a pretty average moon. Same old, same old.

An inky insect zips down from a Way in the Library ceiling, halting the Archivist mid-sentence.

"Damn it, I told them to clear out any patrons from this area. Serves me right for not double-checking. Apologies, back to your-"

A stray tumbleweed rolls out from behind a shelf.

He signals for a Docent to investigate. It inches forward and kneels in front of it to get a closer look.

The room is silent.

The weed lunges at its face and clings on with its thorns, desperately burrowing and scratching inside. As a crowd of Docents rush over to rip it off,
thousands of Ways flash overhead. The reporters flee.

An crawl out of their fort at the sound of the commotion.

A viper made of liquid air slithers inside its throat to avoid boiling. Its expansion presses against the walls of its lungs as it reaches a limb into its throat to yank it out. It lets out a loose whimper of desperation as its comrades ruch over to help out. The Docent's torso bursts open, splattering tiny droplets of air sticking to their faces and rapidly expand. The half-body of the first Docent begins rubbing its exposed page bound innards against the skin of the others, melting itself into a steaming mound of wax, boiling away every last Aerviper left in them.

Harriet desperately revs her engines and hurls herself out of the Archives, barely keeping herself up. Large black rings of smokes trail behind her as she searches for the nearest Way.

A group of Grawlixes find and spray themselves onto the fused pile of staff. The oil slicked torpedo of flames splash trails onto nearby bystanders, which themselves explode and begin the cycle anew. They use their collective strength to tip over the surrounding bookshelves and smother the flames.

The tempest squeezes back together into a solid compaction and slams itself onto the Grand Archivist with its full weight, pinning them down. He constricts his body around them and pierces it legs into its carapace, eliciting an ear-piercing shriek. Its weeds retaliate and bend their thorns outward, scratching along the Archivists shell as they fall off.

A Docent reaches over and presses themselves onto An, squeezing the air out of their lungs. Book cries out and spits an ember on the back of their head. It fizzles out and dies upon impact. The docent turns their head toward book and pounces on them. An chucks their spear square through its torso. It sticks inside its shoulder. It doesn't stop.

Deep reverberation permeates the Library, shaking its foundations with the strength of a 10-point earthquake. The shrine of the first Archivist topples over and shatters into gilded shards.

An ducks and crawls away from the rubble. They look back to survey for the spear that's been knocked out of their hand, but Book tells them to keep moving.

The spear goes through them. An falls. The fire spreads.

The Rounderpede slaps them out of the air, and they smack into a nearby shelf. Harriet screams.

She swoops down and bites onto the spear with their mandibles. The Librarian flies barely out of the Rounderpede's peripheral vision and aims for its eyes.

They turn their head slightly and it heads their temples instead, reflecting off with a thump.

"Insect."

The satellite is thrown to the side and slams down, the impacted side crumpling.


You gaze into the neon abyss sulking above you.


The Second Feast is nigh. Fifty-One . It could make you cry.

Aph.

It feels like out first date all over again

Stop calling it a date. Prisonbreaks aren't exactly what I would call romantic

Whatever, Aph, our time here is over. LF is dead. The kingdoms are dead. Let's just die with dignity.

You're still here, aren't you? The nobles don't look that dead to me either.

Aph-

And don't even try to bring up LF. We already had a chance to Reconcile, and you ruined it. Go ahead with your stupid ritual if you want, but the answer's no.

Aph please-

No.


Crying. You're crying. The sky descends.


"Raise your glasses!"

The nobles follow and gasp in an awful mix of fear and awe. A hole is forming below them, with a man on his knees below.


A choir of beings sings above you. Crying. You're Crying.

Jubilant.


Aph slowly disappears out of view.

"Something's wrong."


Frank grabs a stray bottle and scoops the still smoldering ashes inside. A cracked stained-glass passageway forms from the ship's walls. You see your silhouette speak to the Dwelf from its entrance, before they're (you're) handed the bottle, and mix it with the jar of flux in their hands. They slink back inside. The ingress disappears.

That man. You can't help but keep staring at his face. His gilt's fire blazes within. The Prince. It's him. Your idol. A thief. Your invisible ruiner, out of touch, always above. A person. Made mortal, of the same substance. You grab a stray shard off the floor. Frank freezes.

Jubilant.

You pin him down and hold it over his face. The knife stays in the air long enough for him to take advantage of your hesitation and slip beneath you. You turn around swiftly and gash the back of his neck. The nobles scatter. Globs of sweat dripping down your face, you lean against the boulder to catch your breath.

The gilts spark from the stone to his fists and spreads to his face. He raises the shard and thrusts it towards his chest.

A ropy tendril protrudes from the glass and wraps around his arm. A second one reaches in and lashes him on the face. Luc wobbles round and trips onto the floor, shattering it. Luc spews out from his throat.

You slink back into the cracked entrance, blood trailing behind you. The doorway seals itself. Aph ejects a fleet of weed and acid clouds toward the stone. A swarm of Docents pick them out of the air and motion to the tempest, but freeze. rattling is heard, like the sound of a transmission failing. Then, a dying cat. Then, the rapid expansion of heat and dust from melted steel. A Docent has been thrown in the rear's exposed engines and arcspokes. A fiery plume of plasma spheres around where the now disintegrated ship was. Collapsing, yelling, burning of books. This is what you hear.


I freed you, didn't I? That's more than the Library's done for you

The crown sprouts a pair of stick legs and flees into cracks of the floorboards.

"Wait-"

The Grand Archivist towers over you.

"Terran. Fearful, cowering away from the greater, destroying for your own sense of fulfillment."

It motions to the fell shelves and burnt books surround them, then shields its face.

"Terran."

A pair of inky, thorned, tendrils rise through the floorboards, and begin discretely cutting into the ropes. You bend your pincers into your best approximation of a grin.

"Are you even paying attention?"

"Absolutely."

The ropes unravel and you make a sporadic breakthrough to the nearest Way, a hole in the roof.

Squish

A wayward limb catches you midair, flexing your chassis and squeezing the oil out of your components. The tendrils sulk and slither back down to the Archives.

"Wait- just give me another chance."

You reach out a pitiful limb.

"The Serpent's tired of its liberty being plundered by those who laugh at the sight of burnt books. Don't take what isn't yours."

The Archivist twists its arms into a knot. A distorted tome flies through the floorboards, intermittently bursting into a mess of glitchy warping. It presses its pincers into the book, crossing a name out.


Don't go nodding off with your cigarette. We're not finished here. I, which is to say- well, if you, if I, if we could say. Now, now, just lay it there on the table, nice and neat, parallel, facing to the side, no pointing fingers. The paper, which had once said something about a person who shared the same living quarters as you, has vanished. Yes, the windows are gone, and… yes, the room is smaller than it once was. But is that really such a bad thing? Go ahead, take another. You know you want to. Flip to another page, and, oh my, we're reaching quite high, aren't we? What did that say, 285, 286? Forgive me, my vision is not the best. Yes, I have eyes.

Feel the smoke in your lungs. Like a blanket for your insides. An eternal, internal hug. It is eternal, right? This'll last forever. That picture over there? It doesn't exist. It's just that, a photo. A distant memory.

Ah, but wait! You'll have to spit it out now if you don't want to choke. Go ahead. No, we don't have forever, just do it. There. Up in smoke. Vapor clouding around you and getting in your eyes. And filling up your cramped little room. Looks like you might choke after all.

Every great chef has a great pallet. You'll need to save those taste buds, can't burn them out just yet.

I mean then again, were you ever a great chef? Really, what would you be missing out on if you just went ahead and…

There. Right there is a classic piece of americana. Cigarettes, coffee, and the morning paper. Turn the page.

500

The hot worked steel of history is annealed and beat anew, each cycle abstracting further and further away from the originals. Learn to let go. This does not concern you. Walk into the fog. Fall in love once more. Let the smoke get in your eye.

32614313646_cda279e3c5_b.jpg

"It's cold."

"I know."

You reach over and hug them.

"I cannot think, nor breath."

"Me neither."

You choke on the smog.

"I don't know. I just really don't know."

"Know about what?"

"Kam?"

"Did I do well?"

You squeeze your eyes shut and wince.

"…You did great."

You lean your head on their shoulder.


The castle is set gallantly facing the wild below, its crown emboldened with a heart of gold, gilded floors, a black roof which visitors may confound for the sky, fifty-five clean, proper nobles seated at its dining hall, with their ruler perched on their throne, too drunk to notice the prince's absence. The king is a welder of all matter, mere apprentice to his father, but impressive to his subjects. To his son goes the same, but absent is even the crowd's approval. The only approval he has earned is the wild. A dueling negative to the sanitized royalty he's accustomed to. Similarly, a falsely prisoner, to whom he will soon fall deeply in love with, obsesses with escape. As is custom on the Feast, the entrenched chains sucking the void holding the convicts is loosened, as to let them mingle with the commonwealth. One of them, chosen solely by caprice, whimsy, or lack thereof, will remain free.

She tells him that his father is too drunk for his own good. Scouring the minds'-eyes of the witnesses, his own cup spilled into theirs, and theirs were filled with wicked and callous images. Betrayed, she was cast into the pit for lifetime of cycles. He smiles and says some flowery statements about how they're cut from the same cloth. She believes him only half-way but is enamored by him none the less. A pact was forged between them. They will set out to the wild and never return. At the prison-letting ceremony, the prince whispers ideas into his father, and he chooses her to be set free. With his goal achieved and nothing to lose, he casts rockets blinding the guards, and sprints with her into the woods. In their haste, they trip over a gum tree root and fall face first into a cavern, deep and entrenched in mud and moss. No matter how high you stretch your arms, the exit is just out of reach, even when you stand on each other's shoulders. The prince says that he has an idea.


Stony castle hath a heart of magic
which talks to the olden that which
is young goes with young as to embolden bold
and those who rebel may then cop scold

One, the prince whose heart is as light
Set his curtains ablaze, and snuck out at night
To his love, his heart was sold

He pulls out a set of rockets and launches them. A party trick which he attempts to impress her with, while also widening the exit. With a crackle, the fireworks knock the boulder loose and onto the passageway, sealing the exit shut. Perfect static. Perfect aught.

Aught only for the observer, however, as the mind is itching to create, even ex nihilo, if it desires. Floaters, fragments of discoloration, and blobs of light began to appear. The low hummed echoes of the cave walls reverberated into voices; voices of the dead, voices of the nobles, and of themselves. The floaters became stars, the stars became galaxies, and the galaxies became their universe. The mind wraps around what's around itself, as so he goes lucent, and you aphotic.

A stalactite hangs precipitously above him, aiming for his heart. She lustfully eyes that stone. A spear borne out of vengeance, certainly, but also of what's good for him. She pauses for thirteen-hundred cycles before making a decision. The firework strikes the stalactite. The prince's body dies.

He does not.

The light burns bright, perhaps brighter than ever before. His body sinks into the stone, and Aph takes his place. Lying faced north, the world blacks out, bottom up. Your anchor lightened, you follow in his fate, casting the stony pike into yourself. Good night.

And so, the beings had frolicked to the castle and cast it down with the king still in, and the nobles cowered away, and the peasants were scattered like the seeds of their plots.


QUINQUENNIUM I FIN.


On the First Moon of a new Cycle, a slain Terran finds themselves miraculously awake, in a seemingly infinite white void. On further notice, however, they can make out what looks like a house in the distance if they squint hard enough. Half of one, at least. One side is perfectly normal, while the other is missing, exposing the interiors like an inside panoramic shot. Still, it's only a smudge from here, not much bigger than your thumb. You trek forward.

A man sits reclined on his chair, cigarette between his lips, its smokestacks forming a naked chimney. Kneeling beside him is a pale, wiry man. You can't make any detail out through the fog. He places his fingers on lip,

"shhh"

He points to the distance.

An adumbral woman hikes in the distance, mixing in her motion with skips and humming. How you can hear her, you don't know. Sounds seems to travel forever in here, where that is.

She vanishes past our field of vision, alongside her humming.

The man flicks his cigarette into the void and stands with purpose. He grabs the other man's arm and runs with him to the non-existent half of the house.

"Hold on-"

He's gone.


Aught. Perfect aught. Wherever you are, there is absolutely nothing. No light, no sound, nothing. You imagine this is what it feels like to be in space. It's definitely cold enough to be. Funny, the last thing you remember is being hot. Very hot.

You consider that you might be dead. Maybe this is some kind of afterlife. A very depressing one, if it is. Cold.

Nothing.

That is, until a terrible screeching noise is heard. You look down and see a torn apart building rise from below. On its roof tours the outline of a lady, obscured by the smoke of what you assume to be a chimney.

She seems familiar.


Seated at the house's edge, you stare into the distance, vainly hoping she comes back. White. Still, all you can make out. You peer down beneath you. If you fell, where would you go? Is there a bottom? Would you fall forever? Could you die twice?

You look back to the dark side of the half house. No other way out. If you're going to die, you're going to die trekking the unknown.

3

2

1

You take a deep breath, close your eyes, and run.


A fourth silhouette appears below the fog. They stride towards two of the other figures and throws their arms in the air. One backs up. The other is in stand face to face with them. Lots of arm movement. The further you descend, the more you can hear what sounds like the middle of an argument.

"…I can finally just, you know, actually have a moment to myself. To not worry about work, or you, or just… fuck."

"So you'd rather be crammed in this rotted place- just feeling good, forgetting about reality? Your responsibilities? Us? You're killing yourself with all that tobacco… Jesus Christ, you look like a fucking corpse!"

The man is crumpled by into the concrete corners of the roof, soot covering him, with garbage strewn about. The other man's hands lay upon their head as they pace around.

"Death? My lungs would've rotted from the insides by now, if that was an issue. This place is a fucking utopia, An-"

"This place is literally completely empty. It's just you in here, all along, no one to love or love you, no career. Just… think, please! Whoever offered this to you doesn't have your best interests in mind."

"I don't want to think. That's the point. Listen… I've been shown a lot of terrible things that're going to happen - that've already happened, with all of this. But we're okay! I'm okay! Right here, right now, safe in our void."

Sounds peachy.

"If this was the old me I would've been on my fucking knees crying right now- a-and I'm fucking disgusted, and confused, and have every reason to do so. But I won't. I shouldn't need your approval for anything, so why should I ask the same. Just do what you feel like doing,. But if you could do the slightest favor for me, and just think, even a little, about me-"

The man erupts,

"Think about you? Do you have any idea just how much time I spend worrying about you. You don't think I'm worried when my husband acts insane and then disappears for a month twice in a- "

They don't even seem to notice you. Their voice cracks up.

"It's you."

Everyone turns silent.

She stands in a corner of the roof, away from the commotion.

"…Crea-"

No. Not anymore.

"The Lady of All. The Lady of None. It's you. You're here. In person. I can't…"

"H-hello."

"You're the book, aren't you? Yes, I recognize you now. "

You silently move your eyes up and down, indicating yes, finding yourself unable to talk.

She gestures towards An, his husband, and Kam.

"I guess you fulfilled your role well enough, considering all these… friends of ours here."

She awkwardly laughs.

"Well, I guess that confirms it."

"Confirms what?"

"We're dead."

"Well, yes. I thought we all knew that. It was kind of obvious."

You fall silent. One part of you is terrified, the other, blissful. Of course, you always knew this day would come, just not so soon. No need to eat, sleep drink, nothing An would need to worry about, yet you die in the exact same way. If you were to ascribe any meaning to it, it's at the very least humbling. Nothing you can do now. The afterlife isn't that bad, at least you have your friends with you. Yet, you can't help but ask,

"…Is there any way out?"

You already know the answer.

"I've tried for a lifetime, trust me, you can't. If it counts for anything, the sheer number of fauna and cryptids in here have more than enough to keep me stimulated. You just have to learn to make an adventure out of any circumstance. Take the reins of life when it tries to throw you off."

"What's that"

"-"

"I remember that! That was from, the static universe, right?"

The Lady lightly grins.

"Heh, you seem to know more about me than I know about myself."

"Wait, this is it?"

An glares at you.

"I didn't mean like that, I just meant… nevermind."

Book changes the topic and asks the Lady,

"So, this is where you came from?"

The Lady shrugs.

"I… honestly can't remember."

The Lady glances at Book, and steps a heel to her side, at the sight of them eagerly await more dialogue.

"Ahem, An, that's a delightful spear you have."

"You can't be too careful out here."

"All the junk creatures. Haven't you been through a cycle yet?"

You frantically wave your head side to side.

"Here comes one now!"


A cascade of insectoid, cyclop rabbits, seated on meteors, dead dwelf capes, loose serpents, soldiers, long-legged tarantula mutants, even longer necked canines, a very large dead(?) tree, another silhouetted lady, fly above, then meander in place.

"Hi me!"

"Hi!"

The two Ladies high-five as she zooms past. A wayward snow hare hops on her shoulder.

"Hermes!"

She presses the alien lagomorph against her face, like a Terran would do with a baby canine. The reunion is abruptly interrupted when she notices almost siriusian source of light chased by a snake stuffed rod.

"Shit, don't let it get to that jar!"

Everyone sits still, dazed by the jolt of what's happening.

A wayward serpent hisses at it and jolts back into the pile. The lady chucks the spear into the jar. Bracing for the impact of tiny shards of glass being rained on you, you peak through your curled arms and see that the spear stuck right inside it, forming a staff of some kind. It makes a great whooshing noise and propels itself into the void.

It's something more of lance than spear now. The lance sits crooked in his arm, covered in soot, with dried blood varnishing its tip.

The remaining snakes squirm before disintegrating into dust.

"It…It's dead. I can't believe it's actually… thank you, uh, person."

Kam looks up from a notebook he's writing in. He puts on a fake smile and lightly laughs under his breath. An chimes in.

"I think I've seen that thing before! Or, something like it, at least. In a dream I had, there was this ball of snakes, and a point of light and-"

"and it was in the void and used it to shoot the planet we were on! "

"Yeah! Actually, wait, how'd you know that?"

"It looked more like it was nursing it."

"I… hm. Maybe, maybe not. Maybe it was nursing it so it could eat it, I've seen stranger."

"Don't crocodiles literally eat their babies or something?"

"What's a crocodile."

"They're like-"

Husband interrupts,

"Alright it was nice seeing you again, but this is getting out of hand. No more weird shit, okay? All of you stay in the void-half, I'll stay on the light. I just want to go back to normal. We never met."

"Hi myself"

You (archived you, that one) floats into view.

"Fuck, I need a smoke."


(A somewhat helpful support group for almost-but-not-quite existing people gather together, an extra chair seated empty in the circle.)

Fortuitus: This meeting of the third TAENDE will now come to order!

Nope: What's with the log format.

Fortuitus: It's something new we're trying out. Why, you don't like it?

Nope: Nah, it's good.

(Plus, I can do cool shit like this, Nope silently mouths out)

(Everyone is in amazement and start clapping. Fortuitous rubs his face with his hands)

Fortuitus: We're getting off track, everyone settle down. I've received on good terms that a new Neverwere will be arriving here any moment now. I want everyone to be welcoming, open arms, yes, yes, you know the routine. And Quemo, keep your tongue lodged this time; they're supposed to be another Formicid.

(The negation of a hunchbacked chameleon father figure grumbles and nods slowly)

Quemo: Siir, forgive my idiocroaky, but if there's a log of us out there, whyy are we still here?
Fortuitous: maybe a code, maybe a satire, I really don't know. It exists only relationally to us.

Nope: That's dumb.

Fortuitus: Novelty is the wit of logic

(The absence of a trench coat adorned, beagle capped, soft boiled detective slams open the doors)

Mariel_Dorms: Gentlemen! At last, I am here. I have a feeling you've been expecting me.

Nope: Nope.

Mariel_Dorms: Ah, I suppose this is quite the surprise then.

Nope:Fort, this is like, the fifth Holmes rip-off this week.

Fortuitus: Mystery's has been in vogue since the 70s, No.

Mariel_Dorms: It was filled to the brim, you could a toss a cigarette and set the whole place on fire.

Nope: What? That place is practically a fucking ghost town; Library's got a stranglehold on gnosis ever since that new Archivist got instated.

(The never writ concept of Darwin's Whale-bear evolutionary prognosis flops in)

Nope: Good terms, huh? I have a feeling that that Formicid's isn't going to show up.

Fortuitus: (hey No, please shut up) Greetings new Neverwere! The fifth of draws. Hope is here! The TAENDE is here to support you as you await-

Quemo: Ffort, he's got a point. Who'sss this source? Is the new guyy okay? They could beee dead…

**Fortuitus: ** She's not dead.

(Nope's brows raise. They step to the side, while Dorms and the Bear and a third newly entered Neverwere berates Fort )

(A previously unmentioned crack in the flooring is suddenly mentioned at a pivotal moment. Nope walks over and examines and lifts the board.)

Quemo: looks like tiny liittle pinpricks, like neeedles. Gross.

(Crowds upon crowds of Neverwere roam the streets, with some venturing in the groups windows and slamming on the now locked doors.


Your name is Aphotic or Aphantos, although whatever it is doesn't matter right now, as you are currently sulking beneath the floorboards of the Wanderers Library, having recently witnessed the death of an almost-not-quite-loved one, and the survival of Luc, whom you had promised to kill.

The squiggly tips of your crown, being you, now, brush up against the wooded ceiling of the Archives and occasionally get stuck. You quickly untie them, or in particularly bad cases, abandon that section of you entirely to focus on your frantic search.

Come on, come on, it has to be somewhere…

The button fell through the cracks, and into… somewhere. Literally anywhere. Considering the Library's infinite size, you aren't very confident about your chances.

An sudden buzzing interrupts your travels. You swiftly creep back into a crevice between the roof and a support beam. A strange feeling fills you. one you haven't felt in cycles. You're week. A firebrand. An escapee. A prisoner hiding from the guards. Mortal.

The sound stops. You carefully peek down and probe for any Docents.

A teardrop shaped, half-burnt button.

You're Luc right now, right? You're supposed to be, like, assertive, and forthcoming, and commanding and naive and- you know… not this. Except the last one.

Blink once for yes and twice of no.

Your hands shake with excitement.

"…. -….- - -….- . -….- -.. -….- -.—!"

sigh.


White smoke rises from the chimney as concrete floor begins to heat. Looks like An's finally started cooking. You're still not quite sure why that's the first thing they choose to do after their husband stormed off. You get it's familiar and a hobby and all that, but still; weird. Maybe it's just too warm them up?

You (other you) swirls around in the air and interrupts your thought process. He's 'physical' alright, though he looks more like a phantasm. It reminds of that epic An recounted that one bedtime- the affluent geriatric visited by his old, dead, blue blue friend. But younger- and, it's you.

"Look at me, me! I can finally move!"

"Yeah, wow, amazing, An could help me do that already, hey why did you just leave me out of nowhere one day?"

"It was just time to leave."

"What?"

"You were getting over your obsession with your 'creator,' things were going good with An… I just had to. I'm the embodiment of your past you, the fake one, the one the one who was the best of friends with a person who doesn't even know you. The archives didn't need me anymore. I found a new noosphere."

"And you tell me… after you leave me? An entire month afterwards?"

"Well, if I did, you would probably freak out. What do you mean, 'get over it'? Where are you going? Where's my creator?. And then call me out for being on some weird mentorial high horse even though we act, or something."

"It would've been better than nothing. And yeah, we're literally the same being so I'm not sure how any of this doesn't apply equally to you."

"Book… I'm sorry, but I don't know. I mean, I don't know you. I get that you have an awful lot of respect for me, but… I really don't know you. I haven't explored any worlds with you. I haven't even talked to you before now."

You let out an exasperated sigh.

"I know…"

"Book, wait-"

"I'll be with An if you need me."

You spit out an ember in a pathetic attempt to propel yourself down the stairs.

"…Need some help?"

"Fuck off."


The feeling of a primal, insatiable hunger dominates your thoughts, most likely having something to do with your torn out torso. That, and stress. You're beginning to suspect Luc and Aph's real intentions are to keep you in a perpetual state of near starvation.

You open the fridge and find its contents nearly depleted, save for a quarter carton of milk and a couple inexplicably placed directly on the shelves instead of in their cartons. Looks like you'll have to cook if you want some comfort. It's better than gorging on whatever you find, you think. While reaching for the eggs you catch another glimpse of your torso and shiver. You cover it up with your husbands cooking apron to keep you from gagging at the sight. Just when you're about to grab the eggs and crack them,

Eggshells. I remember you telling you me you liked eggs. It follows that you're experienced with eggshells

eggshells

Luc? Aph?

The voice is too quiet and shrill to be either of them, not to mention that the words are larger. Not louder, just… larger, somehow. And they're in a different font too.

Continue as before; cook them. Like you always do, souffle, fluffy, not too strong, but not bland either. Perfect. Jubilant

You would be crazy to follow their orders, but since you were going to do it anyways…

szzzz

Satisfying. Actually, soufflés aren't supposed to sizzle. And the pan's way too hot for being at a four, probably something to do with the elevation. Whatever elevation you are. 0? ∞? Oh well, no turning back now.

Put them on your eyes. These will be your ping pong balls.

The slimy yolk of the eggshells form a vacuum seal around your eyes and holds them in place8.

Wow. That's disappointing. Get Kam down here. In the meantime, change into a new pair of clothes.

It occurs to you that you haven't changed your clothes for the past month. And that wearing a sack of charcloth is not exactly visually appealing.

After stepping into the closet to change and find a new garb, you notice colorless stains line the inside of your coat and its pockets. Lifting them up, you find that they smell almost fruity, like coconuts and honey. A banging is heard against your door. You quickly put on a long-sleeved hoodie and shorts and crack the door open.

"Hi An."

It's Book and Book.

"Shouldn't we come with some way to distinguish you two? It was already kind of confusing before, but now that you're both in-person it's getting borderline impossible."

"I, for one, thought it was functioning perfectly well."

"LThey're book, and you're… Book1.5."

"We brought a friend."

Kam trudges in slowly, eyes pinned to the ground.

"Oh- h-hi, I was actually looking for you."

"I FOUND A WAY TO ESCAPE THIS PLACE,"

He blurts out.

"I thought LF said that was impossible."

"Well, she was wrong then."

You cock a brow.

"Okay, then tell me."

"It's a little strange."

"Shoot."

"I need you to tear up bits of your old clothes and hide them under your tongue."

"…Sorry, and that does, what, exactly?"

"Just trust me."

"It just- it binds you together, it fixes you up, makes things better."

"Sorry, but-"

"Nectar of the gods."

"…You don't trust me, do you?"

"It's not that, it's just-"

"Why? I put my trust into you for the past five years of my life, and you can't just return the favor for a couple minutes."

"You husband does, I'm not seeing the issue here."

"Alright, alright, I'll give it a try."

He smiles a genuine, heartfelt smile.

"Thank you."

He walks away before you can say goodbye.

Usually, it's the other way around. You're usually the one guilt tripping someone else into doing you a favor. Now you know how it feels to be on the other end of it. It feels like shit. Actually, wait, no. He's not a guilt tripping you, you're just projecting. Shut up brain. He just wants one little thing done. You can do it.

He creeps you out, doesn't he.

fuck, wee you reading my thoughts.

"I thought it was pretty well established that every disembodied voice you hear automatically can read all of your thoughts."

"You didn't have to be snarky about it."

I'm not, I'm just quoting you at a future date.

"Oh. I'm sorry for being snarky."

You rip a section of the coat off. You wince slightly but are not affected enough to stop the process. It's just a normal coat, nothing special. It's not like you could wash out all the soot anyways.

I'm not, I'm just quoting you at a future date.

Why are you scared of them.

"He doesn't. Okay, well… I don't know okay. I don't know why. They just do."

"That's really fucked up."

"Is that another quote."

Yes, but I also happen to agree with the sentiment.

You should be asking yourself that.

"That doesn't really make sense as a response. "

You stuff the scraps between your gums. The uncomfortable, fabric texture is made a bit more palatable by the taste of citrus.

He sardonically winks at something behind me.

He places his hands on your shoulders.

Two eggs are taken out of the fridge; one, precariously placed on the edge of the counter, and the other, cracked over the still searing pan.

He shrugs. Another fake smile. He places the halves over his eyes.

Eggs on eyes.

Chef.

"What."

Do you ever dream?

Your head feels like a balloon. You places your hands on top to stop it from floating away.

Are you really dead?

A fractured rabbit mask lies on your bed. Holy shit, how did you not see that before. It's white, porcelain, and beautiful.

So I'm in your head. And I'm not Luc or Aph.

You're me. My subconscious.

Correct

What's the last thing you remember before showing up in this place?

"There was a great fire."

And then

"Book… left. And then I got hit, and then it got real hot, and then…I…."

You're passed out right now. Look at that hole in you. Blood's flowing out of you at 3 mph, draining your insides. You'll die. Or by some miracle be saved by one of the staff or another patron.

Wouldn't it be better, at least?

"That's… what dreams are meant for, right?"

Have you really tried? Now would be the time. The worst thing that could happen is you ending up right where you started.

It's an awfully long way down. Usually. your head would be spinning at the sight. It isn't. If you look down, it appears as a mysterious tunnel. There's some invisible speck of light at the end.

This is idiotic. This is an idiotic thought process.

Dreamers aren't known for particularly complex thought processes.

Wake up.

Leap

Your head floats away.


Now, your body sits still like a statue, or a feature, or any other object. It's not like looking into a mirror, something entirely separate from your own being. Like when you first found Luc's stone in the caverns. But, just…more. You can't describe it exactly.

It's like… an egg, in away. No it isn't, what?

Why. Out of every possible thought right now, you have eggs on your mind. And now it's coming closer. The egg, that is. You can picture it clearly. Beautiful porcelain exterior. Golden insides. Your fingertips carefully examine its surface.

Formidicide stains. Left over from the insect.

"Fuck, it was obvious…"

"1) You were super intoxicated 2) You fall to peer pressure really easily."

"Well 1) I felt bad for him and 2) Stop with the quotes- wait, what context do I say that in."

You try to gesture at them but can't. You try pulling yourself off again to no avail, its surface part of you now. Welded.


You fly into the egg. You promptly roll off the table and explodes on the floor in a yolky mess, sending you back out. Something in your head. Hurts. The eggs. In the freezer. Glowing. You jump inside.

"Exactly how high am I right now?"

Like you said, very. That doesn't mean this isn't real.

"Really."

I'm serious.

A cool layer of frost blankets your exterior. You rock back and forth, vainly attempting to heat yourself up. After that fails, you roll to towards the other eggs and form a small pile, snuggling in the middle to steal some body heat. The pile collapse almost immediately. Maybe trying to stack round objects on top of each other is a bad idea.

You eye the tall, intimidating wall that is the inside of the fridge door. Roll back. Deep breath. You prepare to rocket towards the door

//3

2

1//

Again, you splatter. One egg isn't nearly enough to open it… but a dozen… maybe. It did nudge slightly. So you do it again. And again. And again. You do it so many times that the fridges insides become a sticky yellow.

Two eggs left.

A crack has formed between the door and the inside. It's shallow, so shallow that you didn't even notice it at first, but still just large enough that you might be able to fit through. You push as hard as you can, your side inverting with pressure. Frost condensation mimics the sweat you would be feeling right now. Halfway through. You advance further, so much so that the light from kitchen is seeping through, until-

crack

You freeze. Cautiously looking down to observe any damage, you notice your insides drip onto the floorboards, forming a small pool. You decide shouldn't risk going any further, considering you only have one other egg left.

That egg… hm. You have an idea.

Rolling out of the crack, and pushing the other egg in your place, you roll back and slam in the egg, knocking it outside.

Good job.

Good job. You did great chef.

You've adjusted to the laws of abstract non-spatial possession surprisingly quickly. Good job.

You space out as they drone on with their aimless praise. Another pain protrudes from your head.

A bag of rations flashes in front of you. It's by a set of bunkbeds, with camo pants strewn to its side, and gunpowder littering the floor.

Go ahead.

A tunnel forms around you, with color filling the empty void in which you reside. Similarly, the sight begins engulfing your vision, tearing through a third of your retinas before you realize that the effect isn't just visual. You turn back and try to swim away from wherever you're heading, but can't fight the current.

:)

Jubilant.


The military fans churn, abandoned by their soldiers, with the sound of artillery echoing outside, only overshadowed by yells. It seems they skimped out on the meals this year, considering you're filled with potatoes.

Where am I?

You don't remember any place like this in the void. It's not part of the house, obviously. You slink around. It seems you've become the rations categorically, potatoes and all.

The door was left open. Looks like they must've left in a hurry.

You dodge the occasional hairball and cobweb and exit. The tiles of the flooring are chipped, with paint peeling off, Down the hall you can see a faded sign labeled 'KITCHEN.' You decide you should probably avoid there.

To your side lies a rusted vent cover, so brittle that it snaps with the slightest bit of pressure from you leaning on it. You awkwardly shuffle through the maze of vents behind it. No exit in sight. Although, if you listen closely, you can hear what almost sounds like gurgling. You follow the sound and find another vent. It's locked, so all you can do is peak through.

SmileyLampe.gif

OH DEAR SOLDIERS MY DEAR SUBJECTS WHOM I HAVE MET BEFORE. THE CROWN OF YOUR HAS FALLEN AND THEY HAVE FAILED. > AND I FAILED MY PART, FOR I HAVE REACHED IN SUCH BENEVOLENT DISSENTATION, REACHING AN OLIVE BRANCH, AND THEY CRUSHED IT. AND NOW, IN RETALATIATION, THEIR MOST YOUNG, MOST FRIENDLY BRETHREN WILL BE PERVERTED OF THEIR REASON, AND THEY WILL CRUSH HER. IN THE SAME WAY THEY CONFLICTED WITH NATIVES TERRANS AND ENTHRONED THE MERCHANTS TO DETROY ME, I WILL DESTROY HER.

A coronet crowned skeleton-bent, skin-bare soldier declares, positioned on the edge of a small cliff.

The deformed beings secrete liquids from their gaping, empty eye sockets, crying out for their lost comrade. They snarl. Some advance towards the prince.

SmileyLampe.gif

NO, GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME YOU ANIMALS. THAT IS TO SAY, ANIMALS WHO I DEEPLY LOVE AND HAVE THE UPMOST RESPECT FOR. YOU HAVE ABANDONED YOUR POST. YOUR NEW LEADER IS REDUCED TO A JESTER. PLEASE YOUR LUNGS ARE WAY TOO SMALL FOr me to yell this long.

SmileyLampe.gif

fine. if you don't accept me, that's fine. if you hate royalty, or whatever shit Aph told you about me, go ahead. if you sympathize a prisoner who only escaped because of me, go ahead. just know that i am perfectly capable. and unlike her, i don't need an army to take anyone down. even a storm.

It throws the tatter sheets off from a cavern behind it, revealing and a mess of Aervipers, Weeds, Grawlixes oozing flux onto a crowd of Terrans scratching at the walls.

A stray soldier leaps forward and slashes Luc's face. He dies. The soldier nervously laughs, first slowly, then faster, until their compatriots join in. Luc's corpse launches a limb into the soldier's chest with last firing of their neurons. The cadet's eyes glow gold, and then shut. Luc takes this crown off their old head.

It screams.

The vechterwezen pounds against the dorm windows, and after being satisfied with its play, begins scratching and teething.

You lean closer to the vent just slightly more, and it screeches. Before, you can react, it pops open, and you fall behind the Terrans with a clunk.

The brawl pauses, and they turn around in unison. Luc's lips contort into a confused halfway smile, and he limps off the cliff into the fog.

shit shit shit shit shit

You frantically wiggle away, potatoes falling out your top. A wayward hand falls upon your back. Your fabric crumples together, in anxious anticipation. The soldier picks you up. Their head turns to the side as the examine you. You feel your dread slowly melt after it becomes clear that they're not going to eat you. The rest walk, slither, and crawl over.

The one in front of you has a burnt, sawdered face, all their hair completely removed, and replaced with a sickeningly red sludge, too viscous to be blood. The rest are a mix of arm constricted, self-choking, sulkers, and fairly archetypal individuals, save for a constant stream of a smeared face. You want to reach out and hug them, tell them that they're going to be okay, and to run away from the idiot prince behind them.

All of them have one thing in common: their faces droop down, as if frowning. Of course, it's become clear the muscles in their face don't exist anymore. It also becomes clear to you that you're back on New Terra somehow, in the trench of an army of evosoldiers .You try not to think about them much. Or at least if you do, it's as some far-off thing fighting for some abstract good. It's strange. You wonder if this is how Luc felt when meeting all of his Dwelf subjects again. Or maybe they were supposed to upper class. That's what you inferred at least.

Behind, the tarp of the cavern jerks down slightly. Then harder. At the surface, a dirt caked hand reaches out, and hangs on the edge with veined palms. Attached to it rises a scrawny, scabbed Terran, barely holding themselves onto solid ground.

The soldier examining you swings around to get a closer look, and accidentally smashes you with a hind leg. A stray spud is projectile launched through the wind and into a window. The spud is you now, and it appears the vessel you reside doesn't count as 'dead' yet.

The smell of rotting meat fills the air. You spin around and are greeted by a carnival of filthy pots and pans, surrounded by what looks like beef. Putrid, wasting, beef. You'd gag if you could.

The scent is wafted through the air. The cadets crowd around the kitchen's broken window and try to narrowly cram inside. All of the Terrans escape the pit and run away, never stopping to not scream.

crunch

A cadet crushes you.


Plop

A bag spontaneously spawns in and falls down in front of you.

"Ow."

The voice is stuttery and a little bit paranoid.

"An? Is that you? Where are you?"

"It's me."

The bag sings.

"I thought you couldn't feel pain here."

"The idea that vegetables feel pain is mildly disturbing and I'd rather not think about it."

"Book, I'll be honest. I'm out of the fucking narrative at this point. Random shit just happens and we have no idea if we're being honest. We're dead and we're not, I put eggshells on my eyes and now there's a rabbit person and I was on New Terra with a bunch of vechterwezen."

"An…"

You whisper something to B2.

They carry you over to An so you can hug them.

"I don't know either. I'm not a guide anymore. I don't think I was ever much of one. Everything I've understood is gone. Everything you understood is gone. But that doesn't mean we won't be able to get out of this somehow. We have to. We just have to."

An reciprocates.

LF speaks up.

"An, you said there was static?"

"Yeah, it took a little but it just kept growing and growing."

"I vaguely remember something like that. Back when I was Aph and Luc… I don't remember much, but I remember at the beginning,,, darkness, static…"

She goes silent for a moment.

"Sorry, just go back to what you were talking about."

"Wait, LF, I wasn't going to mention it before, but I remember back when I first got back to Terra and An placed me in this library, something like that happened. It was dark, and then staticky, like a lost interdimensional signal, and then I spoke with."

"Like a dream?"

"No, it was… different. I can't pinpoint why, but I was just there in the moment, like me talking to you right now, or you talking to me."

"…Yeah, and when we first found the stone?"

"It must have something to do with deities specifically."

"And"

"Maybe… that's how they became one."

Everyone faces An.

"I mean, that's what I am right now, right? What's stopping the rest of you from doing the same? It couldn't hurt to try."

"Maybe we can still fix this."

Kam looks up from his journal and snickers. You manage to catch a peek at the journal and notice a silhouette and a magnifying glass on the cover.

"Ganzfeld's Method."

"What?"

"Fast track to becoming a deity. When your mind lacks any kind of stimulation for any long period of time, it makes its own entertainment. Its
own hallucinations. Its own delusions. Some Old Terran senior thought it was the key to telepathy. They didn't realize how lucky they got. If a reality bender manages to delude themselves enough…"

You cock a brow and inquire him,

"Wouldn't everyone be doing this if it were so easy?"

"They do. Not every deity's created equal. If you were as experienced of a magic user as a Dwelvan prince, or a mystic thief, you'd end up like Luc or Aph. If you know essentially nothing like An, perhaps you become a vegetable container."

"I thought the jailors contained it on most worlds."

"I must've subconsciously picked up a few spells from you."

They smile. You reciprocate.

"So you weren't completely ignoring me back then."

"Only when it mattered."

The two of you lightly laugh together.

B2 interjects,

"Are we going to try An's eggshell plan, or…"

"Right. Yes, I'll go downstairs and-"

Don't go down there.

Kam grabs your shoulder.

"Hey, what are you-"

"Don't."

An furrows their brows.

"How come?"

Kam stares off into the distance for a second.

"…because we don't need to use eggshells specifically, we just need to block out any stimulation."

"Oh. Of course."

Everyone takes bits of scrap from An's burlap container9 and tie them around their eyes. You signal for help.

Ahem.

B2 apologizes

B2 tears another and ties it while muttering something about the produce being useful if we had actually had to eat to live.

"Why aren't you tying yours?"

You ask LF

"No. I think I'll just stay here."

"Alright. If you're absolutely sure that's what you want, then we're fine with that."

She nods.

"Hey, I didn't hear Kam"

A thick chromatic sludge is slapped on everyone. Someone shrieks before you get punted off the house and into the void.


You see red. A monstrous, raging red primed to explode. So ripe, so passionate, that you can almost see it. Well, now, it's all you can see. Red. All around you. As far as audio goes, the churning sound of metal grinding is a nice compliment. It starts at your right, then spirals and goes all over. It's loud.

How long has it been now? Hours?

You really can't tell.

Now, at first when you fell, you yelled to locate the others, acting concurrently as a helpful timer. 100. 200. 300. Each time they sound further. The machines are crunching like fire crackling.

At first when you were dazed, and a little confused. Obviously, it was him, you just didn't cognize it at first. Maybe denial. It was Kam. Fucking Kam pushed you off. Should've knew it… fucking knew it. He was always a bit off. Probably something to do with. Fuck. FUCK.

You would scream but your voice box is scratched up.

Another hour or so passes as you cool down. Sixty deep breathes in a row, one per minute. You decide it'd better to expend your energy on getting yourself on solid ground somehow. The only thought that comes to mind is that animal cascade that stormed earlier. They seem to come in waves every great while, considering you haven't seen any others yet. Just have to wait; one'll come eventually. It has too. Then once you get to safety you can start searching for the others.

The only thing is, everything's still red. You though it was essophyical with your emotion; some side effect from whatever was thrown on you earlier.


"Oh. Hello there."

"KAM."

"Relax."

Not being able to move, you babble incessantly.

"Formidicide."

"WHAT?"

"The same substance that An was using. From the spider- the insect."

A myriad of colorful rectangles circles around you.

"Where am… is this the Library?"

"Something like that."

A coughing fit overcomes you before you can respond. You look up to thick smog blanketing the ceiling.

"H-h, haghhh how's the fire burnin…? "

You go into another while pleading for their help before continuing.

"W-e started a fire earlier, how's it still going!?"

Kam swiftly scoops you up and shuffle out of the cylinder of shelves.

He faces you towards a quaint coffee table to the side.

"Huh… that's An's chef hat, isn't it?"

You're peered over its liner and are faced with an assortment of midnight tabs.

"Wait…"

He faces you again to the spines of the shelves' books, their labels reading FRISBEE DESERT TERRAN CREATOR LF

"Your Archives. You're in your Archives."


And I saw every possible world in which I was conceived. And I saw that they were all. And I saw the serpent pluck me from the pile of one, and wrap around it, like a blanket, or sawtooth chainmail. And my d.

Jubilant I love you more than you could possibly understand I am right where I'm meant to be I'm everything I am what I deserve what I fought for.

And I saw a great pantheon.

Poor Thing.


"Kam!?"

You fold over, in a pathetic attempt at grabbing him.

"Please don't worry, Chef. It's all part of the ritual."

You stumble out some word salad before stringing together a response.

"Fuck - no, just- just explain it then."

"Well, they need to feel strong emotion. In Book's case that'd be anger. Not to mention, a blank void, paired with machine static is the perfect Ganzfeld set-up."

"Well how come you didn't warn us!?"

"Because then it wouldn't be authentic. It wouldn't work."

"An, I need you to something."

You're a skinned Weed hanging on a drying rack, peering over the licking flames of a fire. Lifting your head up, past you and Book sit around an Igniflux.

"Um, hi-"

final_6431c1e886e0e9001e896775_648325.gif

{$caption}


Plop

You spawn in back on the house and fall down.

"Did we just… explode? Are they dead?"

"Of course not. Don't be ridiculous."

Breaking causal loops breaks logic, and so that timeline contradicts itself and doesn't really know what it should do.

Book interjects,

"so it explodes?"

"Of course not. Don't be ridiculous."

"Wait- timeline?"

Deiscriptions exist out of both space and time. I assumed that this information went without saying.

Apologies. We have both gained new knowledge.

"And a simple 'hi' changed everything somehow?"

Yes. Time is very finnicky. Changes don't have to be huge, just enough to change causality.

You'll get the hang of it eventually. Proficiency will be here before you know it.


Attempt #2

pshh

Wind grips your crimson nectar as you fall. Looking above, a satellite hovers, its garbage disposal flung open. In the reflection of the loose liquid diving with you is the image of a purple bottle with the sun, and an '&' symbol.

Rubedo. The same stuff Luc made Kam used in his experiments.

The bottle crashes against the ground into sparkling sand. You aren't the bottle it seems, but its contents, since you take on resulting pool as your point-of-view.

You flow around the cracks created by the pebbles and loose sediment, and past the Rossetip towards any landmarks. The sun beat down on you every moment of the search. A bit of yourself evaporates along the way, leaving only about a liter of yourself left.

Your eyes (metaphorically) widen when you spot a shamrock tower in the distance. Three others stand its side, forming a semi-circle. The rate of flow within you accelerates.

Is this it? Is this where…

"…of course, we need to find some sort of food source. Or, um, that is, if you even need to eat? Doesn't matter, finding enough for me will be hard enough anyways, besides, we-"

"Ughhh, just stop talking. And you Terrans wonder why you have such a bad reputation, you're over here wondering about water and food, two of some of those most abundant things in the universe!"

Past you and Book argue after being thrown into the Way.

think, c'mon, think. what could you do that couldn't mess everything up. talking to another me isn't exactly something normal. that's I am right now kind of. inner monologue is kind of like another me, right? Yes, that could work

You spread yourself out into a thin circle to create to make sure the sound is heard in all directions.

In a hushed voice barely above a breath,

"Wake up. It is currently 7:52 AM. You are currently in stage three of REM sleep. Just calm down, follow the sound the sound of my voice and we'll make it out.

Past you pounds against their chest.

"I can't…"

Oh yeah. No oxygen.

"It's just an Aerviper- "

You stupidly blurt out.

"Who the hell are you?"

You decide it best to stay quiet.

Book notices the starlight gleam off you.

"Don't mind this creator, it's probably just a harmless mini phantom."

They spit an ember on you. A spark forms into a flame that quickly trails around every part of you. Book and past you enamor the glowing ring of fire around them. Until

final_6431c1e886e0e9001e896775_648325.gif

Goddamn it


Attempt #4

Perhaps a stealthier approach would suit you better. Act a sleuth.

"You saw all of that?"

Every second.

You pause.

"Huh. I suppose it would make sense for me to lay back and observe until I find a good chance to intervene."

As you prepare to evaporate back, you stop and ask,

"Hold on, before I go; why are you helping me all of a sudden?"

Because I need you to.

"…Yeah, I figured as much."

You are now a flatten circle of dough, similar to that of a pancake or crepe. A smooth jellylike substance is spread on top of you by a short stubby man with a beard covering up his face. He grabs a dish from the top of his stand and press you against the hot stone. It takes all of your will to not cry out.

A similarly short, yet much more elderly woman picks a piece up.

"Jannete! It's been so long."

"Oh George, I've missed you too."

"It's Jim."

"Right, yes, Jim. How's the kids?"

"Uh, great, yeah, really good. Joeseph's picked up Twigsnap, and he's… really good."

"Are you going to pay for that miss?"

Gram sneaks a Smoothpwheat into her bag. She looks up with pointed eyes at his words.

She stuffs her fist into his money basket and flees in a heel turn.

Beads of sweat stream down the Thief's face smearing the makeup off her face.

He flips over the stand, and you in the process, and tails behind her.

"I knew there was something off about you!"

"You didn't recognize me either!"

The disguise melts off completely from the beating starlight, revealing the shrouded criminal beneath.

"Someone get her!"

Dwelves. On the discworld. They looked too ragged to be nobles. They're pesant folk. They must've died out when the snake meteor struck.

You feel a twanging in your heart, an enigmatic sorrow for dead men. A gang of steedsmen ride rocking horsi your way.

squirm squirm squirm

You hide in a small crevice between the pebbles and the dirt path.

If only I could… no. Stop thinking. You can't change it. Stop.

From where you reside you can see the bandit and the shopkeeper, caught in the back of an alleyway. Beside them, however, stand the shadow of another figure. They're far too tall to be a Dwelf, but you disregard your intrusion that it's a Terran. You inch forward for a better look, but slide on your jam at a minor slope, leaving yourself out in the open.

Is that… Kam?

His jaws lock and stand still, paralyzed with fear. He promptly rushes over and stabs you with his lance, ripping you into inanimate sections.

final_6431c1e886e0e9001e896775_648325.gif

{$caption}


Attempt #16

slap

"That wasn't even my fault that time."

You should have went to a different time period.

"Well, yeah, obviously. How was I supposed to know this one was different?"

Use context clues.

"Like what."

Gluten. The comet wiped all of it. Meaning you had to have arrived before it.

You glance at your crown, forgetting that you don't have hair right now.

"What about my-"

Most of it's gone, my point still stands.

"Well, how did Crow survive?"

We don't have time to entertain such frivolous questions.

You decide that it was a stupid question (in turn eliciting an equally stupid answer ) and jump back. This time, you survey the vision to get a sense of period. It's hard to do that when you're falling. To your left, lies a bottle of Rubedo. Above, a satellite. You veer to the right to avoid interacting with your past self, before remembering that that timeline exploded and it's just a bottle. You veer back and make a tiny clinking sound by bumping into it.

Second chance. Don't blow it.

You form your contents into something of a lightning bolt shape and projectile eject them to fall faster. Flux flies in the air with its spectacular crash landing. Swimming to the side, a shaft of cool, dark caves beckons you. The perfect escape from the heat. Your molecules relax and decoagulate.

No wonder LF loved this stuff

A days-worth or so passes before you become cognizant again, awakened by the sounds of footsteps and laughter.

Shit, I fell asleep. I was supposed to be looking for…

A distracted hiker treks alongside the lake, speaking to their guidebook.

me…

You silently slick behind them, squirming like a serpent to avoid being noticed

The Flux convects you inside the makeshift pot, absorbing you in its contents completely. Sticky dew droplets of you stick to the side and observe your transformation.

Sleep doesn't sense. Liquid stagnation? You're not really sure. Vegetable pain doesn't either. It just seems you take on some metric of what you believe what your host might be like.

It doesn't matter now. Right now, all that matters is coming up with a plan. In ten days past you'll be triangulating the coordinates in your dreams , and finding Luc's cave. That'd be your best shot to talk with them, considering you'll be locked in with Luc's stone. Maybe it'll even disqualify any timeline explosions somehow; you don't know, you're new to all of this deity business.

For the next few days, you carefully listen to every conversation to keep yourself from falling 'asleep.' It's mostly just small talk. Even then, occasional stabs still occur. Usually all expressing some form of the statement,

"I can't wait for this to all be over soon."

In these moments, a heavy drowsiness inevitably falls over you.

One particular conversation catches your attention.

"I just hope he's okay."

Your molecules clench up.

"I thought Terrans took, like, 1/3 of their lifetime before institutionalizing their love?"

"Well, that's how it used to be like on Old Terra. Now, either you never marry at all or fall in love at the first sight. It all depends on whether you live outside or in a Suburbubble."

"back in the. Can we just focus on Husband?"

No, just continue talking. Please.

"What was he like?"

"He was… great."

nope nope nope

You decide it best to just sleep the rest of the time.

Still groggy, you recognize at the sound of your voice.

"Are you sure we should tapping the emergency reserves already? An Aerviper has to show up eventually."

"I've done the calculations in my head, you need to."

Past you takes a sip.

"Something's funny about this air."

"What? It's air, how could it be contaminated."

"Well I didn't say it was. It just tastes weird, that's all."

"Let me try."

"Here."

Past you ladles you up and handfeeds a spoonful into Book's mouth. They immediately spit you out.

Bleh!

"You're right. Lift me over the lip, I want to get a closer look."

stay calm, don't do anything stupid.

"Hmm, some slight discoloration…"

"PLEASE LISTEN TO ME"

final_6431c1e886e0e9001e896775_648325.gif

fuck


Attempt #256

Splash

A gurgling erupts in your liquids, creating a noise akin to that of a raging Terran scream.

"You're a deity, right? Why don't just help me? It would make things a lot easier- for the both of us. You need me for… something, so just help me! Teleport me where I need to be, checkout an arcane book at the Library, just - anything! I'm not making any progress."

You unconsciously swirl around in a boiling wine vortex in the midst of your rant.

Sometimes you're just unlucky. Wrong place, wrong time. You'll succeed eventually, I am sure of it. That's not to mention you've been incrementally improving every cycle; not every non-victory should be counted a complete defeat.

Perhaps this anger is more advantageous than you think.

"How?"

Past you has felt something similar at similar I'm sure, perhaps you two can relate on that.

"Okay, so!? How does that not still blow everything up?"

They don't reply, clearly waiting for you to leave.

"It's not like it's any less naive than any of the other plans…"

You mutter under your breath.

A bushel of wheat, hidden deep between a discworld's crust shuffles the dirt off itself and rolls out of the ground. You cognize your position. Used to the routine at this point you search for any indicators of the time period. The fumes of a still-boiling are an immediate sign. It must have been abandoned recently. Like usual, you approach it to get a closer look. Unlike before, however, over when…

You clench, expecting to appear back in the void. No such thing happens.

Over the course of half a Moon, you bake. At first, it hurts. You gape and claw the edges, but they're too slipery. As the sugars inside dull and the yeast rises, the pain subsides. By the end of the process, you come out an unformed blob of proto-dough. Again, you wait for you to slip out of conscious and back into the void. And again, no such things happens.

You're look into what's left of the Flux and at your reflection. You quickly flinch away, before smashing yourself against the nearest vinepoles into something more approachable. It isn't for the rest of the Moon that you become a semblance of a living creature again. A crude bread person.

Long enough after the snake rod for everyone to be dead, but not long enough for all of their foodstuffs to degrade fully.

After many Moons

Your blunt sword cutting into vine

Casting glances at falling stars of wine

In a den, the Novel asleep

You find yourself


"Everyone's here!"

You survey the room.

"…except Kam."


The library flames fall faster.

"Sh-shit! All of our memories are going to burn if we don't- come on help me! Why are you- stop smiling!"

"This is a test."

"What?"

"It's so… it's so elegant. If you want to escape and become a deity, you'll only be able to save your most important memories, judging by the rate of descent."

"This was all part of the ritual?"

"Oh no, the fire's been going ever since B2 stopped taking care of the place. This was just a happy accident."

"Can't you put it out with your Ganzfeld magic?"

You sigh and slump over in defeat.

"Wait, no, that's stupid."

"What?"

"Just because I was toxic before doesn't mean I have to burn everything to the ground."

"I'm not going to throw everything away. All these memories I've made… even when I was obsessing over LF, even when I was a jerk to An… without those moments, I never would've seen how shitty I was being. And I cannot forget that. Not if I want to learn how I should . For their sake."

Kam points at the roof

"It still doesn't matter…"

You ignore him and look around, thinking of a solution.

bang

A beam slams on the floor, its supports having given way. In its absence, is an opening, itself letting in distant, faint talking.

"Kam, if you throw your lance at that support over there it might make the passageway large enough to see what's on the other side!"

Kam glances downward, attempting to ignore the inferno, now mere meters above him.

"You said it wasn't supposed to go like this."

He whispers.

"Kam!"

Kam looks up while biting his lips.

He aims his lance and thrusts.

"What the- !?"

It phases cleanly through his body.

"Book? I- I've been looking everywhere for you; I just woke up in this library and I couldn't tell what we were doing and-"

They pause as they detect something against their cover.

"Is that… smoke?"

"Yea- help me put it out, we can talk later!"

Book1.5 glances at you and nods.

"Think . Here, just-"

They pull out a popup book and cracks it open. Out the page, a tiny axolotl wiggles with curious affect. Trailing it is a clay figure, wielding an unfurled paperclip as a sword.

"The archives are a library for your memories, not actual books. Opening them up should manifest their mental-physical equivalent."

They carry you in one arm, the other frantically swiping at books, with you doing the same to the best of your ability with your mouth.

One shoots out a ladder, barely missing the two of you, and instead slamming into the other shelves. Out falls a dozen or so books.

The book cracks open, gushing an ocean of water out its pages.

"Alright, I'll let you keep everything."

"Wait, what?"

The shelves sink down, revealing the rest of the Library.

"I needed to make sure you were responsible enough to be a Deity. Past-you probably would've accidentally killed themselves or something. I look forward to what comes next."

"Until the morrow, Book."


CONTINUE AT http://wanderers-sandbox-2.wikidot.com/stop1010

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License