Cuadron Bay was so named because the plane was a simple island on a midnight sea. There was no daytime here. Only a moon that hung high above, somehow reflecting light from some unknown place and shining it down upon the crescent island below. Scientists and magicians had worked to discover where the light was coming from, but to no avail.
It simply reflected.
Shimmered on the waters.
Was captured and used to light torches that lined Cuadron Bay. The buildings were squat and pearl-colored, shaped from stone that had been brought here from one of the twenty Traveling Points that Cuadron Bay hosted. All of the Traveling Points, tucked onto one island, meant that the plane was a trading hub, one of the more popular nexuses in the multiverse.
Broon, Mallory, and Ezel arrived at port aboard the Star Runner, stepping off and saying goodbye to the captain. Ships were pulling in and out of Cuadron Bay, traveling towards the horizon, where the majority of the Traveling Points were located. None of them looked like they were from Scuttleway, but then, they hadn't had the time to get a description of what the Recluse looked like.
“Guess we ask around, then,” Broon said.
“You think they're still here?” Mallory asked.
“Maybe,” Ezel said, “By all means, the Star Runner made it here rather quickly.”
They stopped at a small tavern, and the demigod pulled out a small scroll from her bag, unfurling it on a table. Broon and Mallory peeked over her shoulders on either side. Ezel had scribbled the names of each planes, as well as where their Traveling Points led, in a spider-web of names and lines. The name 'Melmaen' was underlined and circled. Five lines led to it.
“From Cuadron Bay, they'd take Ladeth, I think,” she said, “Then, they'd cut across there to get to the CITY, then to Melmaen.”
“You sure about that?” Mallory said, “Gladefel is a trip over, Rosemary would want to go there, since she's never been. They could then go to Tsaeyaru, then to the CITY.”
“Tsaeyaru's too dangerous,” Broon said, “And Rosemary knows that. She's heard the stories Archenround tells of that place.”
Ezel suppressed a shudder at that. Archenround had poor experiences with gods, something Ezel was always sad for.
“Phineas would want to go, at least,” she said, “And those three aren't ones to shy from danger.”
“Rosemary and Phineas are curious, Joseph's an idiot,” Mallory noted.
“Aye... True.”
They were quiet for a moment. Sailors from a ship barged into the tavern, laughing and jeering, walking up to the bar and getting filled up mugs of ale. The place would be rowdy yet.
“Regardless,” Mallory says, “Let's just look around here. They could be around the city, or haven't arrived yet.”
“Agreed,” Broon said, “Step one: find the Recluse. Let's start asking around.”
***
They found the Recluse rather easily, stepping out and looking around. The pillbug ship was moored on the other side of the island, her crew loaded up supplies for the return trip back to Londoa. The ship's captain, Lugash, gave them a wary look as they approached.
“Wildarm,” he said.
“Aye, that's me,” Broon said.
“Atalar. The Steamer.”
“Woah,” Mallory said, “You know of us?”
“Wildarm and Atalar I know from stories from Evukor,” Lugash said, “The Steamer, from her work with Orion at Hilar's Rock.”
Mallory blushed.
“Wasn't that big of a deal,” she said.
“You held off an entire battalion then,” Lugash said, “Magicians always scare me.”
“It's not really magic, is the thing,” Mallory said, “We just have a few more specialized organs than most other humans.”
“Hmm,” Lugash said, “I presume you're here to discuss your guildmates.”
“Aye,” Broon said, “Where are they?”
And at that, Lugash shifted uncomfortably, looking away. Broon narrowed his eyes. His hand fell to his sword.
“Where are they, Captain?”
“We... Look, it wasn't my call, sir,” Lugash said.
“Oh?” Ezel said, and though she was smiling her eyes flashed a dangerous glint, “And whose was it?”
“Was on the verge of mutiny, the ship was,” Lugash said, “Crew didn't give me much of a choice.”
“Fucking spill,” Mallory said.
“They're... We left them behind,” Lugash said, “At the Port of Solitude, in Agro-Kandano.”
“Agro-Kandano?” Broon growled.
“Hardly into the journey,” Lugash said, “I'm sorry. The crew found out that one of yours was a metahuman. They weren't having that.”
“I see,” Broon said. He removed his hand from Kilnriv's hilt. Then he strode over to the Captain.
And slugged him in the jaw.
***
“Makes my hand hurt, when I do that,” Broon said.
“At least you broke the bastard's jaw,” Mallory said, “What a waste of time.”
“Indeed,” Ezel said, “It's everything I could do to...”
She was shaking in her seat. The three of them had gone to a tavern to calm down, to grab drinks to soothe their anger.
It wasn't working.
Broon reached out, and rested his still-aching hand on Ezel's shoulder.
“Hey,” he said, “Just a punch, and that was that. Crew was looking away. Serves 'em right.”
“Let them feel shame,” Ezel said, though the way she said it, it sounded like she was trying to convince herself, “I hope that crew gets nightmares, leaving them behind like that.”
“Rosemary and Phineas can look after themselves, Ezel,” Mallory said, “It's just Joe we have to worry about.”
“I know,” Ezel said, “But... I'm worried. I can't help but...”
She took a deep breath. Took a sip of the beer Mallory had brought to the table. It was rare to see the demigod drink anything stronger than warm cider, and her entire face recoiled.
Still, she took another sip after that. Broon couldn't help but smirk.
“Alright,” he said, “What's the plan now?”
“They could be anywhere,” Mallory said, “Taken any ship. Gone any which way. Could have gone to the Silver Eye...”
“I hope not,” Ezel said, “Joseph's a metahuman.”
“It's a risk he would take,” Broon said.
They were quiet for a moment, staring down at their mugs. Broon picked his up, and drank it down. Then he took Ezel's, and drained it, earning a look of reprimand from the demigod.
“What if we don't chase them down?” Mallory said, “What if we just... went to Melmaen?”
Her two guildmates looked at her. The Steamer shrugged.
“Look,” she said, “It's no use going on a wild goose chase across the multiverse to track them down. I mean, we were barely getting a lead on them as is.”
“Wakeling wanted us to get them before they got to Melmaen,” Ezel said.
“Maybe,” Broon said, “But Melmaen's a big plane. Planet-sized. We could get to them before they get to the Museum of Unnatural History.”
“It's an easy route, too,” Mallory said, “If they were left behind on Agro-Kandano, it means they have to take a longer route to get to Melmaen. We can beat them there. Stop them right at the museum's door.”
Broon smiled, looking at Ezel.
“Well?” he said, “What do you think?”
The demigod looked nervous. Uncomfortable. Broon's grin faltered.
“We don't have to, at least,” he said, “We can find another way.”
“I don't see if there's another way,” Ezel said, “We're just cutting it close.”
“We are,” Broon said, “But sometimes that's what the job requires, right?”
“I suppose,” Ezel said, “Alright, let's get going. But first, buy me another drink, dear.”
She smirked at Broon. The half-orc blinked.
“But you... didn't... like yours?”
***
Joseph's soul roared to life out of his back, the eagle fully realizing into the world, claws glistening, hawkish eyes narrowing. Rosemary pointed her sceptre directly at Mordenaro, who stood just at the campfire's edge. Phineas merely opened his book, looking at the Guild of One curiously, his head slightly tilted.
Mordenaro was wearing his usual duster. He was also wearing a wide-brimmed hat, black as the night, and for a moment his eyes were hidden by its shade before pulsing emerald green, scanning the three of them. Joseph saw his legs tense. His heart hammered.
“So we meet again, meta-man,” Mordenaro said.
“You remember me?”
“I remember most whom I face,” Mordenaro said, “You held yourself high and tall, but you seem scarred, now.”
“Yeah, well,” Joseph said, “Not everyone likes killing as much as you do.”
“It's not the killing that excites me, meta-man,” Mordenaro said, “It's what happens before. The rush. The struggle. The fear in all hearts.”
And he smirked. Rosemary adjusted her stance. The soul raised its fists.
“Tell me, meta-man,” Mordenaro said, “Of the three of you, who am I going for, first?”
Joseph's eyes narrowed. Pondered out an attack plan. Flashed back to Mordenaro's speed, his terrifying punches wailing on him like atomic bombs.
“Me,” he said.
“Wrong,” Mordenaro said, “I would go after the Deep One. The fae's sceptre is strong, but not enough. You I have faced, and broken. But the Deep One's magic runs deep into the roots of the world. I would go after him first.”
“No, you wouldn't,” Joseph said, “Because I'll get to you first.”
“You would act like your guildmate, the troll?”
“Yes,” Joseph said.
And he was shocked that he meant it. Mordenaro's smirk deepened.
“Good, meta-man,” Mordenaro said, “You look the part of the warrior, even if you shiver.”
And his legs untensed. The Grim Walker stood tall.
“But you are not my targets. I merely wish to rest for the night.”
“You?” Joseph said.
“I have traveled the length of the multiverse for this job, and even Walkers must rest, at times. May I join your fire?”
The three of them looked at one another. They could, theoretically, say no. Turn him away. Let him sulk in the shadows. But Mordenaro was a dangerous being. It would be akin to refusing a demon.
“It'd be rude to say no,” Rosemary said.
“Indeed,” Phineas said.
Joseph sighed.
“Alright,” he said, “But I'm still keeping my guard up.”
“Why?” Mordenaro said, “I am no enemy.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
Mordenaro drew forward into the greater light, sitting down at the fire, crossing his legs and simply staring at the violet flames. Joseph's soul still crackled, still glared at him. Rosemary quietly lowered her sceptre, though she still held it tight. Phineas, however, closed his book.
“He is no enemy,” Phineas said, “If he were, he would have attacked us by now.”
“Let me have my suspicions, Phin,” Joseph said.
“Very well,” Phineas said, “So, Mordenaro, what is your job?”
His guildmates blinked. Mordenaro nodded.
“I pursue a quarry across the multiverse,” he said, “On behalf of a client I am not at liberty to reveal. The target lives in-between.”
Joseph looked at Phineas. The Deep One was flipping through pages of his tome.
“In-between, Joseph,” he said, to his guildmate's unvoiced question, “Between planes. Worlds. Ideas. In that space we travel safely via Traveling Point. Is it a Dragon, Grim Walker?”
“I would not be so unkind,” Mordenaro said.
“I see. Something else, then,” Phineas said, “Not a Deep One, I hope.”
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“No. Not that.”
Phineas nodded, apparently losing interest in the conversation and returning to reading spells from his tome. Rosemary coughed. Joseph, after a few more moments of gauging the Guild of One, dropped his soul.
Because Phineas was right.
If Mordenaro wanted them dead, he would have killed them already.
There was no subterfuge with him.
Only action.
***
They were quiet long into the night. Mordenaro did little save for staring at the purple fire. Aside from a few odd questions from Phineas, he was silent as the void. Joseph and Rosemary were far too nervous around the Guild of One to think of getting sleep. But the night drew long. And they were tired.
“I will keep watch,” Phineas said, “I need little sleep.”
“I require none,” Mordenaro said, “You may rest, Deep One. No one will accost us this night.”
Rosemary shifted uncomfortably.
“My friends,” Phineas said, “They do not trust you.”
“And why is that?”
“Because you have hurt them before,” Phineas said, “They will feel better if we keep watch.”
At that, the Guild of One tilted his head, as though Phineas's words confused him. His eyes glowed green for a moment as he pondered. Then, he gave a curt nod.
“An understandable assessment,” he said, “Very well. You may set up your camp, Amber Foundation. I will not harm you. The Deep One may hold vigil.”
He said everything like he was permitting them. Joseph hated that. Hated the way that he seemed... confused, by them. Like killing Nole, killing Shetavalk, had been nothing to him. Part of him hated Mordenaro for that.
Part of him was jealous of it, too, at his uncaring nature. He wished that were him.
Rosemary was laying out their bed mats. Their ceiling tonight was the sky above, dreadful and dark. Joseph stared up at it as he tried to sleep. Tried to think of the stars back home. Nai Nai showing him constellations through her telescope. Going out into the wilderness with friends, staring up to see the sea of stars. None of that, here.
The world above was empty and hollow.
He turned on his side, closed his eyes.
His dreams were disturbed. He saw Nole in them, injured and broken on the train, torn to pieces, his skull caved in by Mordenaro's fists. He saw his remains in a bloody bag, his head swaying like a pendulum.
This, and more.
***
He was twelve.
He had just come home, near dinner time. A direct violation of his parents' orders, to come back home as soon as school ended. But Joseph had flaunted those rules each and every time he was reminded of them, choosing to stay out later and later.
They ignored him most of the time anyways, so why should they care? They hardly commented most nights, when he came home, and they had already eaten dinner. On those nights they came home early at all. He would eat dinner with them. They would interrogate him about his day. How his grades were. Was he behaving himself. Did he eat his mother's lunch.
Never a “How are you, Joseph.”
Never a “What did you do today?”
Never a question about his friends, unless it was to disapprove of them.
No, just the baseline questions. The surface-level inquiries. The sort of questions one uses to make sure their child, superficially, is fine. No questions that prodded how he was, what he was feeling, who was bullying him, what he wanted to do in the summer. No talk of going out, as a family, anywhere. The weekend would be the same as the weekday, his father at work and his mother out with her friends.
Little family outings, those bonding moments, the memories of a happier childhood, had belonged to his older siblings.
And speak of the devil, who was sitting at the table with his dad now.
Zheng Liu was the eldest of the Zheng children. He was also the only one with a Chinese name. Nai Nai had insisted that her son name his firstborn something nice and traditional. It meant 'Willow Tree,' though Joseph had had to look it up online to find out. The truth of the matter was that the eldest of the Zheng children took after his father, going by an American name when in public, only going by Liu when talking to Nai Nai, and only Nai Nai.
Joseph had always heard of him being called Luke. Luke Zheng. Eldest of the Zhengs, a full eighteen years Joseph's senior. He was practically an uncle to him, thirty years old, looking much like their father in his younger years. He was a surgeon, too, and was dressed up in a nice suit. Father and son, watching the youngest walk through the door to the table, mirror images of the past and present.
Both of them, with looks of stern disappointment on their faces.
“'Sup,” Joseph said.
“Joseph,” his dad said, “Where have you been?”
“Out.”
“Where?”
“Just out,” Joseph said.
His dad's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing else, instead gesturing for Joseph to sit. Joseph did so, casually tossing his backpack onto the couch as he went.
The smell of food was drifting from the kitchen. A rare night where mom was cooking. Banmian noodles, Joseph knew. Luke's favorite. His favorite, too, but he knew his mom was not cooking for him.
“It's good to see you, Joseph,” Luke said, “You've gotten taller.”
“Hey, Luke,” Joseph said, “Thought you weren't coming down here 'til summer.”
“I had a bit of time off,” Luke said, “And Dad asked me to come down.”
There was… something in his voice. Like he had prepared himself to say that. Rehearsed casualness.
He smiled, ruffled Joseph's hair.
“We'll talk after dinner.”
***
He awoke in the middle of the night, his entire body aching from a lack of good sleep. The campfire had reduced down to a few lonely mauve embers, and the world was cold. Mordenaro had not moved. Phineas was still sitting down, still ruffling through the pages of his tome. He turned to Joseph, somehow aware that he had awoken.
“Your dreams,” the Deep One said, “They are sad.”
Joseph was quiet.
“I am sorry that they are, Joseph,” Phineas said, “It makes me sad, that I cannot help you when you close your eyes.”
“Is it really that bad?” Joseph asked, annoyed.
“Yes,” Phineas said, “I've been able to see them, when you sleep. I do not mean to pry, but it is akin to you screaming at night.”
There was such a frank honesty to Phineas's voice, that Joseph's heart fell. He felt guilt crawl up into his chest.
“Sorry, Phin,” he said.
“It is alright,” Phineas said, “What matters is that nightmares end. You are awake now.”
“What time is it?”
“Four in the morning,” Phineas said, “There is time for you yet to sleep.”
“I...” Joseph shrugged, “Don't want to. You should get some, though.”
“You will take my watch?”
“Sure thing. Trust me, I’ve gotten enough sleep.”
The Deep One closed up his tome, and got up. He waddled over to his bed mat, slipping underneath it like it was a blanket.
“Good night, Joseph,” he said.
“'Night, Phin.”
It was disturbing how quickly his guildmate could go to sleep, for as Joseph unwrapped himself from his bed mat and walked over to the fire, blanket still covering him like a cloak, Phineas had gone to sleep, watery coos whispering in the night. Rosemary, too, was still asleep, bundled up and snoring softly. She, at least, didn't seem affected by nightmares.
Or, perhaps, she was better at hiding them.
Mordenaro still had not moved. It was as though he were a robot, and had simply shut down. Without the aid of the campfire, he was nothing more than a dark silhouette.
The events of a seeming lifetime ago, of fighting Mordenaro across the multiverse, the sheer desperation, was written into Joseph's soul. Even now, as he looked at the Guild of One, he could not help but feel his fight-or-flight response kicking in.
Mordenaro, for his part, did nothing. Not for a long time.
An eternity passed before he spoke again.
“You're different, meta-man.”
Joseph looked up at him. The Guild of One was looking at him now, re-awakened, those eyes beating green like twin hearts.
“You're broken. And it was not I who did that.”
Joseph glared at him.
“You were the start,” he said.
“Hmm, perhaps,” Mordenaro said, “I thought you stronger, meta-man.”
“My name is Joseph.”
“Joseph,” Mordenaro said, and his eyes flashed bright, “That name is used on many planes. Prime. Micondria. Earth.”
Joseph looked up at him.
“Yes, I have been there,” Mordenaro said, “I have been on many planes of the multiverse. It is your home?”
“Yeah,” Joseph said, “It is.”
“An... interesting place.”
“When were you there last?” Joseph asked.
“A thousand years ago,” Mordenaro said, “Very little of interest to me happens there. A client reached out into the multiverse, and requested my aid.”
A thousand years ago. 1023 AD. Joseph leaned forward.
“What are you?” he asked.
Mordenaro shrugged.
“I do not know,” he said, “I lost what I was long ago, in pursuit of my dream.”
“Your dream.”
“I do not bleed, Joseph,” Mordenaro said, “You saw the holes torn in me. They lead nowhere. The skin that is torn repairs itself soon enough. I detect I have cybernetics, but they are both here and not-here. Part of my soul lives in the in-between spaces. I dipped my heart into that thing known as Imagination, and I believe I lost part of it, somewhere.”
Joseph's eyes narrowed.
“All for your dream.”
“All in pursuit of strength,” Mordenaro said, “We all live for what we wish for. Mine is to become stronger. To face interesting foes. That is why I abandoned my mission, on Nesona, to duel you. Metahumans present unique challenges.”
“That's all I am to you, then,” Joseph said, “A unique challenge.”
“It saved the prince, did it not?” Mordenaro said, “You acted as the troll acted, as a sacrifice to me.”
Joseph was quiet at that.
“That is my dream, to face those such as you,” Mordenaro said, “I live as I see fit. I live doing what I love.”
He had not moved the entire time he had spoken. At last, however, he did, almost robotically, jerking forward in a lean.
“What is your dream?”
***
They ate dinner. Traded a couple awkward questions. Luke laughed easily with mom and dad – but then, he was the eldest, the apple of their eye, and the way his father looked at him was not the way he looked at Joseph. There was pride in those eyes, not exhaustion. Luke had made it. He had his own practice down in LA. He was married – though the only black mark on his record was he had no kids. Yet, of course.
Their conversation was light and easy, nothing like how his parents spoke to Joseph. And when dinner was done, his mother began clearing off the table, taking their bowls and glasses and putting them into the dishwasher. That had been a source of contention between her and her husband – Joseph's father had never used a dishwasher growing up, using it more like a drying rack. His mom, though, hadn’t been raised like that. She had been adopted, and her family had insisted on using it every week. She was loading it up as Luke and his dad looked at each other for a moment, before Luke got up and walked over to his briefcase on the coffee table. He opened it up, taking out a manila folder. He handed it to Joseph.
“Alright, Joseph,” he said, “Dad and I've been talking. We think it's time you had a plan.”
“A... plan?” Joseph asked.
“Sure thing,” Luke said, “For your future. What schools to get in, what grades to aim for.”
“Where's this coming from?” Joseph asked.
“Your grades, Joseph,” his dad said, “They've been falling. I had a talk with your principal about it last week.”
Joseph winced. Now his mom was sitting down with them, a look of concern on her face.
“We're very disappointed in you, Joseph,” she said, “We expected better of you.”
Anger bloomed in his chest, but he knew there was no point yelling about it. He forced it down. His face was a mixture of emotions as he did so, his parents and brother waiting for him to get a grip.
“Your brothers' grades weren't this low, when they were your age,” his dad said, “Even your sister's were acceptable. But a C, Joseph? In Mathematics?”
“We talked about it, Joseph,” Luke said, “And I think it's because you don't have a plan, right? You don't know what you want to do with your life.”
“You think you're just going to drift through everything?” his mom said, “You think you're just going to find a job that pays enough to have a wife, raise a family?”
He had never thought about a family. Never even considered the thought.
Why have a family, when they’d be like this?
“So we thought, if you had something to work towards, it would improve your grades,” Luke said, “Go ahead, open the folder.”
Joseph looked down, gritting his teeth. He opened the folder up.
***
“My dream?” Joseph asked.
“Your dream. Your goal. The reason you exist, meta-man,” Mordenaro said.
He moved again, more fluid than he had before, more organic. For the first time, there was something that flashed in his eyes, something real.
“All of us have dreams, Joseph. It is what drives us forward, what defines us, what makes us more than just apes on the rocks.”
“Apes on the rocks?”
“Are you a mere animal, Joseph?” Mordenaro said, “Or is there more to you than meets the eye?”
***
“If you want to be like us, you've got to be a doctor of some sort,” Luke said, “Or an engineer. Maybe a lawyer, though I wouldn't recommend it. Lily was taking a look into that before she met Dyvone.”
Joseph was looking at the three papers before him. Each of them was a spider web of classes in school, grades to aim for, all of them ending at one single line, at the bottom, underlined and circled: Engineer, Doctor, Lawyer.
“It took me all night to write these up,” Luke said, “I talked to my colleagues about it, reached out to a few of my old college buds. They assured me that these were the paths to take, if you're going to make it.”
“Going to... make it?” Joseph said.
“The time's come for you to be a man, Joseph,” his dad said, “You're about to head into the most important years of your life. The grades you make, the academic landmarks you must achieve, are absolutely paramount to get a stable life and a respectable job.”
“And the way you're going, Joseph,” his mom said, “You're not going to get any of that. You've got to turn things around, Joseph. You can't afford to flunk your classes anymore.”
“You honestly shouldn't have, before,” Luke said, “Because all three plans, they need you to get into Alsbury Private.”
He pointed at each paper, showing Alsbury Private. A notorious high school, one of the best in the state. Known for being incredibly ruthless in its application process, taking only the best of the best.
“Both of your brothers have gone, so there is precedent,” his father said, “But that just means that you must get in, as well. You must stop slacking off in your studies if you hope to make it in the world, my son. Do you understand?”
“I do,” Joseph said.
“I do, sir.”
“Sir,” Joseph mumbled.
Luke smiled again, and ruffled Joseph's hair, noting how Joseph had not moved since the entire conversation had begun. The young boy was still staring at the table, at the three papers.
“I think we should just go over what we need to do now,” he said, “I've got your report card here from last semester. Let's go over it, see what you need to work on in order to secure straight A's. Alright?”
“Alright.”
He was quiet as they went over everything. The grades. The classes. Which professors, in college, to suck up to. What practices to get started at. What kind of patients to operate on, or projects to take on, or clients to prosecute.
His whole life, planned out for him, step by step.
And when he went to bed that night, Joseph had but one thought.
To hell with a plan.
***
“What if that dream is to just live another day?”
Rosemary's voice pierced through the night. Joseph turned to her. She was rising out of bed, looking directly at Mordenaro. Joseph had hardly noticed her waking up in the night.
“That, too, is a dream,” Mordenaro said, “For a long time, that was my dream.”
“You say it so easily,” Rosemary said, “You say it like it's an easy thing to do, living in accordance to your dream.”
“It is.”
“Maybe it is, for you,” Rosemary said, her brow furrowing, “Because you've already attained it. You live each day fighting gods, monsters. Getting paid to do so. You've probably been doing that for thousands of years.”
“And I worked for thousands more to get to where I am,” Mordenaro said, “I did not say that the path to the dream is an easy one. It is not so easy as to lift oneself up from the rock, and walk. Apes did not evolve into humans overnight, and I did not become what I am by mere happenstance.”
“It took work.”
“That it did.”
Rosemary was quiet. She stood up, walking over to the campfire, sceptre in hand. She sat down by Joseph, getting close to him. She was... nervous, he realized.
“Mind if I ask you a question?”
The Grim Walker nodded.
“Nole and Shetavalk,” she said, “You killed them.”
“The Spioa's death was ignoble, the troll was among the most vicious enemies I have faced,” Mordenaro said.
Rosemary winced.
“It is the Law of InterGuild,” Mordenaro said, “Is it simple business.”
“On some level, I know that,” Rosemary said, “Just... you messed up our friends really badly. Those that are still around, I mean.”
“The meta-man is a broken creature,” Mordenaro said.
“So's G-Wiz,” Rosemary said, “Archenround, she still doesn't slither right.”
“That is a question between they and themselves,” Mordenaro said, “I am hired to break. Those that get in my way will be broken. If not me, then someone else.”
It was as though he had physically slapped her. Rosemary visibly recoiled. Joseph glared at the Grim Walker.
“You're a rotten son of a bitch, aren't you,” he growled.
“There's the metahuman I fought on Nesona,” Mordenaro said, “I see what brings out the best in you.”
“What's that mean?”
“Perhaps I should kill the Deep One,” Mordenaro said, “It would make you angry.”
At this, Joseph rose to his feet. Sparks flew in the air, lighting up the night.
“Say that again,” he said, “Go on. I’m ready for round two.
“Joseph,” Rosemary said, and there was a light thrill of fear in her voice, one that he had never heard in her before, “Please.”
The Guild of One, however, had not moved. He was, instead, smiling. A proud smile.
The way he looked at Joseph was the way that his father looked at Luke.
“You fight well, meta-man,” Mordenaro said, “As did the troll. I look back on those days with fondness. Even the Spioa, despite himself, did not die like a coward. He did his best to keep me at bay. And for that, you have my thanks.”
Joseph rose.
“I will not hurt the Deep One, I swear,” Mordenaro said, “It was a ruse. Anger suits you, Joseph.”
“Let's get out of here,” Joseph said.
“Yeah,” Rosemary said, “You'll need to excuse us. We're heading out.”
The Grim Walker did not reply. He merely turned to stare, once more, at the campfire's purple embers. Rosemary walked over and nudged Phineas awake.
“Did you sleep enough?” she whispered.
“I did,” Phineas rasped.
“We're leaving,” Rosemary said, “Come on.”
And they did so, rolling up their bed mats and putting them into Phineas's bag. It was dark out, with no stars to guide their way. Instead, Joseph manifested his soul, the eagle realizing into the world and acting as a great beacon to light the path.
Mordenaro stayed behind. They left him to his victories and to his hunt, and walked across the glass and ash wastes.
As they crested up a hill, Phineas stopped and turned. Despite the darkness, Joseph knew the Deep One could still see the Grim Walker.
“He looks lonely,” Phineas said.
And he turned, and continued waddling on.