Alan kept a finger on his coin pouch as he followed Bubbin and his army into the thick of the blue fog. His pearls cycled around his back too, for protection, since the war trade wasn’t bound by any universal laws. All bets were off. A rogue soldier working for Hyndole could stab him or his friends in the back at any moment.

Bubbin bobbed left to right atop his beast, Talvuld, pointing to minions who’d help clear sections of the fog for Alan. According to his map, the Calbo Plains was a large chunk of land to hold. Good visibility, a crossroads to multiple realm portals. This was a godsend.

“Over yonder, Royals.” Bubbin pointed, then whistled for his ranks to mobilize in front. “Alan, your party has to nick the minion if you’re to get credit. Up front, let’s go.”

“I’m part of you stupids now, yeah? Lemme at ‘em.” Itsy chomped on her drumstick, following Alan and crew to the head of the line.

Once they made it to the front, Alan drew his Soul Collector. Calling out Yogi or Hednra might give away his status in the universe, so he refrained.

“Half a klick south.” Bubbin drew a knife and straightened his arm. “Fog should be clearing for y’all at any moment.”

Thd! Thd! Thd!

Stomping grew closer, and in a flash, the sphere of visibility blew outward to reveal a moldy blue beast with mushrooms growing out of its shoulders and red wet fur peeking out of random spots of its blue skin. A bull’s face and rusted rings piercing through its abs made for an intimidating sight.

“Hm. Another Rangobon,” Itsy said, taking her last bite off the bone then flipping it in her grasp. “Weak in the mouth area. Yeah, yeah.”

Alan furrowed his brow as he looked over to her, watching a Title appear over her head.

Scrappy Knight of the Royal Hoard

This woman is a Knight? I guess it’s the same as those barbaric types who fought the Helldraken in Sharas-da.

“Alright, here goes.” Her body outlined in gray, turning to stone for a fraction of a second before the rocks rushed down her body, pressurized beneath her feet, and propelled her high into the sky like a springboard. She ran mid-air with a big smile on her face and her drumstick bone reeled back.

Whack!

The beast’s head jerked so hard, Alan thought it might actually fall. But with a mighty wide step, it found its balance.

“Royals! Contain!”

Chained daggers were tossed around the arms of the giant Rangobon, and as they tightened, lines of soldiers heaved backward, preventing the beast from swatting Itsy out of the air. She hung on the minion’s fang and swung herself onto the nose.

“C’mon now, beansprouts. Don’t let me have all the fun!” Itsy called from above.

She used gray stone Saro to harden her hands and feet, and pried open the beast’s mouth. Its jaw shivered as she worked, making Alan wince thinking she’d be chopped meat with one wrong move. There was a raw confidence about her that could’ve easily been confused with carelessness. Admirable nonetheless.

Once sure the Rangobon’s jaw was locked in place, she elongated the drumstick bone to wedge in its mouth.

“Aha! I like this one Alan!” Flint whooshed up a slipstream to meet her.

“Hold him, Neesha,” Alan said, wrapping Lucius’ chains once around her hand. He whipped Afarus Soh out of his sword to stand by Neesha’s side with Durger. “If anyone tries anything…”

“I know, Alan. Don’t worry.” She smiled at him. “Go make a name for us. The Unlikely Guds.”

Alan smirked while summoning an Orange Saro spear from a molten pool in the ground. He grabbed it, craning his neck to stare at the minion. “Weak in the mouth you say?” he shouted up to Itsy. “Move then.”

She laughed while diving off the Rangobon’s tongue. Flint swooped in, freezing the beast’s mouth in place as Alan unleashed the spear.

As soon as it pierced the roof of its mouth, a molten outline rushed around the minion, burning its red fur to a crisp and sizzling its skin from the inside out. As its bones weakened, Itsy balanced over its arm like she was surfing.

“Hot. Hot. Hot.” Her bare feet sizzled. “Hold still you shit. Hah. Here we go.” She leapt up to its mouth again, yanked out a fang, and flipped atop its snout to jab the point through its head.

Thud!

The Rangobon face planted, sending up mud and grass in every direction.

“Pretty good, for a Merchant.” Bubbin called from atop Talvuld.

Itsy wiped her hands for a job well done. “Yeh, guess you could call it that, if an army wasn’t holding its arms in place and a wizard freezing its mouth. Might as well have had it roasting on a spit.” She flipped the bloody fang into Alan’s hands, which shrank down to size as soon as it left her grip. “Good show, though. I enjoyed myself.”

She’s right. Ojin felt… different since war was declared. Being able to just march around and wrangle minions felt out of place in this weird universe’s circle of life.

“Feels off, doesn’t it Alan?” Neesha handed the chains back to him.

“And how’d you know what I was thinking, miss?” He arced an eyebrow.

“Not me. Him.” She nodded to Afarus. “Should keep this Bladesman in check if you ask me. He knows a lot about you.”

“Yes, Alan.” Afarus tightened the wraps around his lanky arms. “Stuff me back in that blade before lady Neesha finds out too much.”

Alan’s face burned red hot with embarrassment. He knew the old crimson walker was teasing, but it was true – he didn’t need Neesha finding out too much. In fact, what the hell has he already told her?

“He’s a crazed clairvoyant,” Alan said. “No better than a frog.”

“Hah! Is that any way to speak to your mentor?” Afarus arced an eyebrow.

Lucius scoffed under his gag, as if he should still retain that Title.

“Anyway, Neesha.” Alan waved his blade, calling Afarus back in. “You were saying something feels off?”

“It’s because it is off. Stone theory says that in war time Ojin rules alter to divert the focus to settling the conflict, so the universe can go back to its preferred state.” She nodded toward the minion’s corpse. “Look. No loot. It’s because this army’s been farming.”

“Protect all-knowing Neesha at all costs, huh?”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Something like that.” She tapped the stone slab fastened behind her robes.

A wide circumference of blue cleared as the corpse faded to dust. The army marched to the next two areas and repeated the process. In one instance their chain wraps failed, resulting in the Rangobon crushing three soldiers. Alan called upon Green Saro to heal them in a sign of good faith, revealing his Colorless affinity and earning a nod of approval from Bubbin. On the fourth Rangobon kill, a message appeared.

Ojin Territory Unlocked – Calbo Plains

“Now, good Alan, my side of the bargain is done. Upon the end of our shift, we will venture back to the Royal Hoard realm and convene with Gosfor. I do hope he entertains your value, so that we can remain allies in the turbulent times to come.”

“Likewise, friend.” Alan bowed.

“Mm. Itsy, we will be speaking soon. Until then.” Bubbin bonked his beast’s head twice to turn around. “Soldiers, about face!”

As the crew headed west, Flint took over map duty, while Itsy poked at Lucius.

“The mighty prince of Cerrain, eh?” Itsy said, leaning in. “Yeah. Gosfor mentioned you. Something about buffing an army if they could only contain you. Hah. But you’re not to be trusted.” She tried to tickle his chin only to get an elbow whacking her away.

“Mmph,” Lucius grunted at her.

“You linger around your god?” Alan asked.

“Sister to Gosfor’s hand. He couldn’t get rid of me if he tried. Hah.”

But didn’t he, though? Alan bit his tongue.

“Not the biggest fan, though, if I’m being honest. Too eager to please, that god of ours. Much rather be here, in Ojin, doing whatever Itsy wants.” She bent to rip a blade of grass from the ground, hardened it, and started digging dirt out of her nails. “You lot, though. Nuh uh. You’re as stupid as they get, I think. Walking around here with no war Titles to your name. What would y’all do without me?”

Alan, Neesha and Flint all side-eyed one another.

“She’s right, Sir Alan. Everything is topsy-turvy since Jaeger’s invasion. You’ll need to find ways to gain some of these unlocked rewards if we’re to stand a chance against armies.”

“The ghost man’s got it.” Itsy flicked some dirt at him. “Won’t be able to survive in Ojin without it now, since armies can roam with no consequence. Not a one.”

They walked through the plains for some time, until Flint deemed it safe enough to slipstream closer to the Hightower Brack portal vicinity. Alan summoned Ara – his gryphon – and shoved Lucius on in front of him. Lugging him along was a burden he couldn’t wait to be rid of.

The constant reminder of betrayal on every turn. He was done with the prince. No matter how valuable he might be to the frog’s vision, or how much intel he might have about Jaeger’s plan. Give him to the Fate Chasers and be done with him.

Ara followed Flint and crew closely, staying just under the clouds so not to attract flying beasts. Thankfully, Alan had already cleared much of the area when he defeated Hendra near the variant fog mountain a time ago. Armies were spotted in the distance, but they were so far away they seemed like ants running to devour minions from the ground up.

Eventually they got in range to contact the Dreamcatcher, Madam Mar, so Flint opened the window to speak with her. He waved his staff in a big circle, leaving cloudy mist at the edges like they were looking into a dreamscape.

Alan was excited to see the realm again. Hightower Brack may have harbored some tough memories, but the realm was legendary in its own right. Warriors walked with purpose, equipped with pristine gear always looking for their next raid in Ojin.

They’re going to make fine allies.

Madam Mar finally appeared within the circle, and her worried expression sunk Alan’s heart. Not a day ago she was hurling spells at Jaeger’s minions beside Alan. Now, though, something had transpired. Her normally woven braids were disheveled. Face blotchy and ridden with patches of yellow sap. The sticks holding her cape on seemed rotted.

“Madam!” Alan pushed to the front. “Tell me all is well. You’re not under siege, are you?”

“No, good Alan, we are safe for now. Brack’s walls are fortified for a reason. Though it’s true our realm is vast… easy for subterfuge,” she mumbled mostly to herself, looking back and forth.

She’s a watcher for the realm. Probably overwhelmed with all the threats.

“That’s good to hear,” Alan said. “Listen, we won’t take up your time since you probably have a thousand visions to adhere to. May we be summoned in? I have words for Junos.”

Her lips quivered for a moment. “Y— yes Alan. You would be most welcomed. But I must warn you…” She waved her hand when someone ascended the stairs to her tower. “Ack! Darsine! Have you not heard of privacy?”

A man with a dark cloak and red hair spilling out of a beanie showed his fangs at Alan, who rolled his eyes. “Apologies Mardonnus, but I sensed a foul odor through that portal, and insisted to see if you were alright.”

Hoped never to see that dark idiot again.

“I will admit you immediately, Alan. Pay my gate watcher no mind. He left his manners with the wind.”

Itsy squinted at the portal. “Think you might have an eye infection, you do.” She pointed to Darsine’s red irises and black sclera, who only hissed back at her.

The image cut out, and shortly after, a portal appeared beside them.

“Something is amiss in there. Ho ho, I fear they are under duress and we,” Flint held up a finger, “are walking into a trap.”

“Then we’ll save them in the same manner they saved us,” Alan declared, reining in Lucius by the shackles. “Let’s go.”

When Alan and Lucius reformed in Hightower Brack, he couldn’t believe his eyes. The normally filled streets were barren except for spears marching with invisible wielders, and warriors peeking out behind castle walls. The endless banners that usually hung over the archways were all rolled up or upside down in duress.

“The hell is going on here?” Alan said, looking back to make sure all his friends made it through.

Lucius pointed, and everything suddenly made sense.

A man strutted up to them with a walk so exaggerated, it appeared as though he’d fall backward at any moment. His body was magnificent – lines tracing his bulging bare-chested muscles –clashing horribly with his strapped winged helmet. Junos… god of Hightower Brack. It had to be. It’s like they found him half-dressed. None of that was of concern, though. It was his sword of long fangs that stole the show.

“Mhm!” Junos shouted with a closed mouth, and when he heard no noise from the townsfolk behind him, he turned his head to scan them. “Mhm!” he bellowed again.

“Mhm!” They followed him, looking scared.

The god stopped and placed his hand on his hip, posture reminding Alan so much of Elkire of the Fate Chasers, that he wondered if they were brothers. “Alan Right, the entertainer.” He slapped Alan’s back, which sent tiny lightning bolts buzzing all the way to the sky.

Jeez, is this where the idea of Zeus came from? Alan winced, grateful he wasn’t zapped to oblivion.

“Have you come to rouse my citizens into cheering roars and laughter? Ha ha!”

Alan gritted his teeth, side-eyeing his crew. “No, Junos, master entertainer, I have not.”

The god’s mask frowned, metal creaking.

“Your people are scared, I think. Surely you know of the war’s magnitude.”

Junos’ eyes glazed over, which made Alan confused.

“Ah!” he shouted. “You are ogling my great sword. Yes.” He presented it flat. “Each fang fastened more cautiously than the last, from different beasts of legend. I call her sharpskin. Gifted by the fine tribe of Ofingi, who scoured the crimson in hopes to find something worthy to sacrifice.” He swung it overhead, the teeth clattering as lightning buzzed all around it.

“It is glorious,” Alan agreed. “Isn’t it guys? Mhm!” He motioned his hand so the group would catch on.

“Mhm!” Flint lead the chorus.

“Finally! Someone who gets it.” Junos pushed Alan again to a row of tiny electrical pulses. “I welcome the gods to test their armies against us. We are Hightower!”

Alan shut one eye as the god’s voice blared. “Yes, about that,” Alan tried again. “We are eternally grateful for your aid in Strangey Town, and would hope that to extend into an official alliance between you and Mujungo.”

WAR-TIME OFFER INITIADED.

Alan seeks to broker a deal between Mujungo of Strangey Town and Junos of Hightower Brack.

If successfully brokered…

“Never!” Junos’ voice threw everyone’s hair back – Flint holding his hat. Loose bricks from a nearby archway fell to the ground as the wind settled. “We do not share glory, Alan Right.”

“You seemed amenable to it not long ago.”

“Perhaps I did… after you nudged me into a giddy mood. Duel against a watcher, burned stables, taking on Sinclair the exiled. You gave me a show not seen in years, Alan Right. But now I am here, in the flesh, to rally my own entertainment, with these great citizens.” Junos spun once with a wide smile, apparently unable to read the room.

Everyone else shivered or turned away in disdain.

WAR-TIME OFFER REJECTED.

Reverence with Hightower Brack depleted to 50/100

Shit! That’s new!

Alan clenched his fists. Maybe that’s what’s been happening to the rest of the town. Pleading with Junos to see reason doesn’t seem like an easy task.

“Sir, aloha!” Flint shimmied back and forth in his best attempt to entertain. It seemed to work. Junos’ eyes were starting to focus behind the mask.

“If I may.” Flint took off his hat and held it in his hands. “I am Mujungo’s hand.”

“Rahh!” Junos threw up his hands angrily, brandishing sharpskin. “Boredom of this caliber will send me right back into the ether.” He spun on Alan, nose-to-mask. “How far you’ve fallen.” He about-faced, strutting his ridiculous strut away from Alan and crew. “Come. Come my gracious citizens. If the armies fail to find the gall to attack, then we will make our own glory.”

“Now I see why Madam Mar was so upset,” Alan said.

“You sir, lied through your teeth to Bubbin, didn’t you now.” Itsy put her hands on her hips, leaning in Alan’s face next.

Double shit.

This was supposed to be an easy win. A first step in the right direction.

Now I’m screwed.