It was known as the CITY. The entire plane was an urban sprawl, stretching across the vast expanses. The CITY was flat. The CITY had no end. It had always been, with records of its involvement in the multiverse stretching far back into the annals of history. It had been a Sybil of the CITY who had been witness to the Age of Abandonment, when the Alu'eer had left the High Federation and ascended elsewhere.
As such, it was a multiversal reflection of the High Federation itself: futuristic, massive on a scale scarce comprehensible, run-down and broken. The high rises that jutted out of the earth like silver knives were worn and rusted. Ships from a millenia ago flew under a clouded sky.
Broon, Ezel, and Mallory were just stepping out of the Traveling Point, which was located on a bridge across a polluted, ancient river below. It was one of the busiest Traveling Points on the plane, and they were jostled and shoved through a crowd of the weird and wonderful on their arrival. They stepped quickly over to the side to get their bearings. Mallory leaned over a railing, looking at the brackish water below. Broon looked over Ezel's shoulder as she pulled out their makeshift map. The half-orc pointed at the CITY.
“Right,” Broon said, “We just have to take a ship to the Traveling Point floating over Aldmenis Tower, and we're there.”
“Melmaen,” Ezel said, “It's been a few years since I've been.”
“Not since the Walker Job, right?” Broon said, “Feels like it was yesterday.”
“Makes me feel... old,” Ezel said, “Funny, I never thought about that before.”
“I've never been,” Mallory said, “The Walker Job?”
“That was a bit before your time, I think,” Broon said, “Back when Tyler was our Steamer. The Walkers are a prominent noble family there, we were hired as a security detail for a wedding. Lazuli was there, and-”
Ezel suppressed a snorting laugh.
“He, ah, pulled a few pranks,” Broon said, “We don't take jobs from the Walkers anymore.”
“Sounds like him,” Mallory said.
“Come on, time's of the essence,” Broon said. He made to leave, as did Mallory. The two of them began to push back into the crowd when the half-orc stopped, turned around. Ezel had not moved from her spot. She had stowed away her map, and was now looking out past the bridge.
“Alright, Ezel?”
“The river,” she said, “It's so... I had no idea it had gotten this bad.”
“This bad?” Broon said.
Aye, it was more than polluted, when he looked down at it. The water was a dark, murky brown, and it was not from mud. Plastic bottles, old trash cans, tires, and more floated on its surface. A wagon had been tossed in, as well, jutting from the shallows and crusted over with rust and muck.
“I... I used to come here, as a child,” she said, “My father would whisk me across the multiverse, on those days that he could incarnate from the Hanging Gardens. It was cleaner, then. I could hear the water, hear her voice.”
“But then...?”
Ezel sighed.
“I heard that the Federation struck a number of trade deals with the Sybil. Factories that were set up, as if they don't have enough of those back in the Silver Eye. I just...”
She trailed off. Broon walked over and placed a hand on her shoulder, which she removed and took into her own.
“Every river has a voice, Broon,” she said, “It's a sad thing, when it's snuffed out.”
“Indeed,” Broon said.
“We should think of a plan,” Ezel said, “For when we get to Melmaen. How we're going to stop Rosemary's team.”
“You're right,” Broon said, “Think they'll see reason?”
Mallory drew up beside them.
“Rosemary, maybe,” the Steamer said, “Phineas tends to follow whoever he likes the most, and he really likes Joe.”
“And Joseph...?” Ezel asked.
“I dunno,” Mallory said, “But he's pissed.”
She let that sink in. The three of them stood for a few moments.
“We should get moving,” Broon said, “We'll discuss a plan once we get on the next ship.”
“Right,” Ezel said. She cast one more sad glance to the river below, before turning, “Let's go.”
***
They walked in the early morning, away from Mordenaro and his words, his darkness, his statue-like movements. A bit of the Grim Walker was carried in them, was carried in the night around them. Joseph lit the way with his soul, the eagle coalescing around his arms like sleeves and illuminating the path.
Much of the road was the same, a vague walkway from here to there. The ground beneath them was smooth in some places, jagged in others. At some point, the ground crunched under their feet as though they were walking through gravel, in others, they had to poke around and find their footing carefully from errant pieces of glass that jutted out of the ground.
There were few reminders, here in the pre-dusk morn, that Shazuad had once been a living place. With only the path in front of them and behind them in sight, they could only get a feeling for what the plane was by touch and by the bare few feet the soul's light afforded them.
All of it was wasteland.
They didn't speak, not until dawn began painting itself on the world. The sun rose in the distance, crawling over the ashglass mounds on the horizon. Even the sky was sickly, the blue a bit too pale to be healthy.
“Joseph,” Phineas said, “He is following us.”
Joseph stopped, turning around, eagle's head glaring out to the horizon behind. He felt an involuntary thrill of fear overtake him as he noted Mordenaro's familiar black dot striding towards them. The last time he had seen that...
He suppressed another shudder, choked down the ghost fear in his voice.
“It's fine,” he said, “We're on the same path, right? There's no other Traveling Points here?”
“None that I am aware of,” Phineas replied.
“Well, it's only natural then,” Joseph said, “Let's just keep going, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Rosemary said, “Joseph, will you be alright?”
Joseph looked at her.
“Alright?” he asked.
“There's just...” Rosemary glanced away nervously, before doubling down, “There's a way you're looking out there. The way your soul's spasming. Like you've seen a ghost.”
“I'm fine,” Joseph said, a bit too forcefully, “Let's go.”
And he set off again.
The barest scent of ozone hinted the air as they followed off with him again.
***
They ate lunch on the move, Joseph unwilling to stop, not with Mordenaro following behind them. He kept glancing back at the Grim Walker, who was beginning to gain on them as the day wore on. Joseph responded in turn, picking up his pace, to the point that he was beginning to outstrip his guildmates. Phineas practically had to jog to keep up. Rosemary herself drew up beside Joseph and gave him a look.
“What's up, Joe?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“Joseph, come on,” Rosemary said, “Seriously, ever since last night...”
“I'm running on four hours of sleep, Rosemary,” Joseph said, “And I just want to get off this godforsaken rock.”
“And that's it.”
“That's it,” Joseph said.
And he glanced back behind him. To Mordenaro. Rosemary sighed.
“Alright, dude,” she said, “Stop.”
The metahuman glared at her.
“Stop?” he asked.
“Yeah, stop,” Rosemary said, and she shot out a hand to grab his arm, pulling him to a standstill, “You too, Phineas.”
The Deep One, panting, nodded and slowed down, webbed hands resting on his frog-like knees as he caught his breath.
“Alright,” Rosemary said, “This way.”
And she pulled Joseph by the arm off the path. Joseph opened his mouth to object, but as he did so she tugged on his arm, causing him to stumble forward and catch his footing.
He shut up after that.
Rosemary took them off of the path and towards one of the few landmarks in the distance, an old tower that was jutting out of the earth like an errant tooth.
“Rosemary,” Joseph said, “What's the point of-”
She let go of his arm, turning to him.
“And now,” she said, “We wait.”
“For what?”
“For Mordenaro to leave.”
And it was then that Joseph realized what Rosemary was doing. He glanced back to the path, to the Guild of One as he made his way down the road. They were half-hidden by the mounds and the tower's corpse, dots on the horizon from the Grim Walker's perspective. A reversal of roles, indeed.
Mordenaro walked, eclipsed where they had been on the road, kept moving.
He didn't even stop to consider them, and Joseph knew that he was aware of them.
Yet his heart's hammering slowed down as Mordenaro walked well and away.
“There,” Rosemary said, “How are you feeling?”
“...Better,” Joseph said, and he hated saying that, “Thanks, Rosemary.”
“When you have something like that, don't just run away from it,” Rosemary said, “Run to the side, you know? Some things can only catch you when they're running in a straight line.”
“Like cheetahs,” Phineas said.
They both looked at him. The Deep One shrugged.
“I like cheetahs,” he said.
Joseph, despite himself, let out a chuckle at that. It grew into relieved laughter as he noted that there was no longer a dark blot on the horizon.
“You're the salt of the earth, Phin,” he said, “Jesus Christ.”
***
The rest of the journey took up most of the remainder of the day. They arrived at the Traveling Point in the evening. It was located between two watchtowers, atop of which were Federation soldiers who lazily waved at them as they went forward. This far from the Silver Eye, across the expanse of a broken place, things were not as formal and hard-nosed. A Federation soldier spoke through a speaker at them, Rosemary held up their guild IDs to a small scanner located at one of the watchtower's bases, and they were through.
Joseph was glad to be rid of this place. All of Shazuad had been a quiet, somber affair. He immediately felt a wave of calm run over him as he stepped into the Traveling Point, the ocean of the multiverse deluging him, a miasma of color and life.
Part of him now understood why metahumans had spread across the multiverse. This journey between planes, this glimpse of the world between worlds, when one was not within a ship, was exhilarating. Rosemary glanced over at him, noted the smile on his face, and grinned at him.
***
Gouffant, one of their guildmates back at Castle Belenus, had told them a bit about St. Malendia's. The large rat was scarfing down the remainders of everyone's dinners as he spoke, the bones, the leftover broths, Mallory's uneaten bread crusts.
“It's a giant cathedral,” Gouffant said, “To some lady. Malendia, I think her name was.”
“Nah, couldn't be,” Joseph said.
“Ha, ha, runt,” Gouffant said, “You watch yourself.”
“And I’m looking fine,” Joseph said.
Gouffant rolled his eyes. Smiled his rat smile.
“Anyways, imagine a cathedral,” he said, “A church. All stonework and whatnot. Extends as far as the eye can see. A lot of places to hide.”
It was this conversation that stirred in Joseph’s head as he stepped through the Traveling Point.
Indeed, St. Malendia's was a cathedral, squared and multiplied across the entire breadth of the plane, endless stone hallways and tucked away rooms, hundreds of chapels, every window a stained glass masterpiece, depicting the life of St. Malendia and her struggles in the earliest dawn of the multiverse. Every chapel hall depicted a statue of her, along with marble reliefs of a variety of figures throughout history.
The Traveling Point was in a quiet little chapel, dominated by a stained glass relief of St. Malendia, a dark-skinned woman in pure white robes, in her hand a moon, on her feet twin crosses. A pair of Federation soldiers were lazing by the chapel's exit, both of them in the same white military gear as back in the Silver Eye. One of them looked over at them.
“Great,” Joseph muttered.
“State your purpose,” the soldier said.
“Ah, we're Amber Foundation,” Rosemary said, “Just on guild business.”
“Hmm,” the soldier said, “Guild IDs, please.”
Rosemary presented them. The soldier looked them over, and gave a nod.
“Name your species,” the soldier said.
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“Any reason why?” Joseph asked.
“Hey, pal, no need to get snippy,” the soldier said, “Just been having some interesting times here at St. Malendia's, making sure none of the usual Mutts are involved, you know?”
Joseph, inwardly, seethed.
“Human,” he lied.
“Elf,” Rosemary said.
“Deep One.”
The Federation soldier appraised each of them in turn. Then turned to his comrade. They spoke quietly and quickly, in a guttural language Joseph didn't understand. He turned back to look at Joseph.
“And our guys on the other side just let you through?”
“I told you,” Rosemary said, “We're here on guild business. Just passing through to get to Melmaen.”
“And what's on Melmaen?”
“Guild business,” Joseph said, “Meeting a client, that's all.”
“Do you have a copy of the contract?” the soldier asked.
“No,” Rosemary said, quickly, “One hasn't officially been written up. We're going to the client; they didn't come to us. We'll write it up, and provide the usual reports when the job is finished.”
“They do have guild IDs,” one said to the other.
“Yeah, but still,” the first soldier said, “Don't like the looks of 'em.”
They conversed again in that language, and though both of their faces were covered by helmets Joseph noted that they were looking at them, glancing their way every so often. Then one let out an audible, exhausted sigh.
“Alright,” he said, “You three, we're going to the main gate. Have a few more things to confirm with you.”
“Kind of on a time crunch, guy,” Joseph said.
“You want to be on more of a time crunch?” the soldier said, “Spend the weekend in a holding cell?”
Joseph gritted his teeth.
“That's what I thought. Now, just follow me, and we'll get this all sorted out soon enough.”
The guard moved off, heading down the hall. Joseph, after a nervous glance to Rosemary and Phineas, walked after him. They trailed a bit behind him to murmur to each other.
“Recognize the language?” Joseph asked.
“No,” Rosemary whispered.
“I did not.”
“Any idea what they're gonna do?” Joseph said.
“Probably get a genetic scanner,” Rosemary said, “Find out if we're...”
She trailed off. All three of them knew what she meant by that.
“Alright,” Joseph said, “Phin, cover us if you have to. We make a break for it.”
“Right,” Rosemary said, “Just be careful, yeah?”
The guard, if he could hear them, said nothing. He, instead, guided them to the main chapel.
St. Malendia's, due to its vast size, had many Traveling Points, tucked away in hidden broom closets, or floating in chapels, one was even known to be within a window that depicted the plane it was in forecast with. Those Traveling Points that were known were cordoned off, guarded by Federation soldiers.
The guard took them to a chapel, much larger than the one they had been in, and also one that was much livelier. Nomads and merchants, outlanders, guildfolk, all of them were arrayed in a line, a crowd streaming in from three Traveling Points where the doors would have been. They snaked towards the end of the chapel, where atop of the raised chancel was a large desk flanked by two Federation soldiers, an official taking down names and rifling through paperwork.
“You're lucky you came from Sazuad,” their soldier said, “Otherwise you'd be with this lot. Follow me.”
He pushed through the crowd, growling at them, guiding the three of them through the mass, towards the chancel. People stared at him as he walked, eyes of a dozen shapes and colors glaring. A few people began to whisper.
And Joseph's heart suddenly began to quicken. Phineas pulled at his shirt.
“Joseph,” he rasped, “Something is wrong.”
“I know,” Joseph said, “On the count of three, we disappear.”
“It is not that, Joseph,” Phineas said, “Stop moving.”
“Not yet, Phin-”
“Stop.”
And Phineas tugged Joseph back, his other webbed hand snarling at Rosemary's cloak, pulling her with such force that she slipped and fell.
“What the heck, Phin-”
They heard a voice. A scream.
“Gandayal Okuta!”
The world shook, fell apart. A moment later, a deep bang rocketed across the cathedral. Joseph felt himself flying back, felt a wave of heat rush wash over him. People screamed. The smell of fire, of plasma, shuddered through the air.
He landed hard.
“Phineas!” he roared, though he could not hear his own voice. All he could hear was ringing. The chancel was a smoldering ruin, green and orange flames spread across the chapel's floor. Bodies – or pieces of bodies – were lying on the ground. People were holding some of those bodies, rocking them back and forth. Trying to shake corpses awake.
“Rosemary,” Joseph felt himself say, “Phineas, where-?”
But he could not see them. By this point, Federation soldiers were streaming in from other rooms. They were pulling people to their feet, holding handheld scanners to the victims' foreheads. One of them rushed towards Joseph, scanner in hand.
Joseph pulled himself to his feet, his head swimming. He could scarce feel the soldier slam the scanner into his head. The scanner flashed green.
The soldier slammed the butt of his rifle into the side of Joseph's head. Pain blossomed through the screaming ring, and he fell sideways to the ground-
Someone was leaping through the flames on the chancel. A being of fire, a symbol emblazoned on his chest made of scarred-over magma. A man with four arms and four legs splayed out, with an oval-shaped head. He raised up a rifle and opened fire. More silent screams. The Federation soldier who had struck Joseph fell to the ground, a plasma bolt burned through his chest. More chaos, the chapel lighting up with red and green bolts.
And Joseph felt himself getting dragged away. He groaned, looking up, his soul starting up its circuit.
It was a woman dragging him. With white hair and pale skin, and as she looked at him with a look of controlled panic, he noted that her eyes were a brilliant, burning scarlet.
She mouthed something to him. He wasn't sure what she was saying. But she was not yelling. She carried no weapons. She was pulling at Joseph, who got to his feet, stumbling a bit.
She let go, gestured for him to follow her.
The man on fire was still firing at the crowd indiscriminately. Joseph ran after her down the hall.
***
Rosemary had been scanned, then discarded. Then the Omendrai had leapt onto the chancel and opened fire on the crowd. Rosemary hit the ground running, dodging as a plasma bolt slammed into a merchant, his husband roaring out and holding onto his dead lover. But the world was a ringing one, and Rosemary was glad she could not hear the screams.
No, she was in full panic mode, pulling her sceptre free and forming a shield between her and the Omendrai. The Omendrai, however, was busy firing at the soldiers who were trying to take him down, plasma bolts ringing across the chapel hall.
She was aware, distantly, of Phineas waddling away. He had been...
Oh god, Phineas.
He had been struck by a bolt, and the Deep One was now wheezing and limping, a plasma burn running across his side. It had drilled deep. His eyes locked with her, and he began stumbling towards her. Rosemary ran over to meet with him, her shield still blocking her from the Omendrai's line of fire. She lifted Phineas's arm over her shoulder.
Amidst the flames, the plasma, the roars they could not hear, they dragged themselves away from the chapel. Down into one of the side halls, getting jostled by the crowd as they shoved and pushed to get out of the hell behind them.
For a moment, the world swam as a minotaur shoved Rosemary into a wall, dashing her head against the stone. She grimaced, pushing forward.
Phineas pointed. There, ignored by the crowd as they choked their way down the halls, was a side door. They made their way down to it, opening the door and going inside.
It was a monk's study, a homely little place, lit by everburning torches, with a desk and a couple of comfy, aged chairs. A couple shelves, too, though devoid of books and instead the home of cobwebs and dust bunnies. Rosemary turned around and slammed the door shut. She turned around to see Phineas opening up his book with shaking hands. His breathing was irregular. He reached into his bag, pulling out...
Eyeballs. Gross. He whispered words she could not hear, crushed the eyeballs into goo, smeared them on the tome's open pages.
The torches flickered, and when they returned they were notably weaker. Phineas's wound began to close, the burn drying out and flaking off of his scales. He pointed a webbed hand at Rosemary, and the ringing began to lessen. The throbbing, newly-formed bruise on her head began to shrink.
“Phin?” she asked, “You okay?”
“I am not,” Phineas rasped, and he did sound weaker than normal, “I do not like getting shot.”
“Do you need me to take a look?” Rosemary asked.
“No,” Phineas said, “I invoked a pact with Ech'th'n the Wound-Eater. It has the injury now, not I.”
“Alright,” Rosemary said, “Okay.”
She took a few steps back, stumbled, landed with her back against the wall. She slid down, the adrenaline in her system replaced with horror. Her hands found the hem of her cloak, and she wrapped it around herself.
“What the hell was that?” she said, “Where's Joseph?”
“I saw him get thrown back,” Phineas said, “Like us. I did not see what happened to him.”
“He's not- he wouldn't be-”
“We survived,” Phineas said, “He is tough. He would have survived.”
“Then where is he?” Rosemary asked, “Why didn't he follow us?”
“I hardly found you,” Phineas said, “It is chaos. It is still chaos.”
The Deep One hesitated for a moment.
“And,” he said, “I saw something more disturbing.”
“What?”
“The Federation came in, their soldiers,” Phineas said, “They were carrying genetic scanners. I suspect that they suspect metahumans were involved in that attack.”
Rosemary's blood became ice.
“You don't think...”
“If they found him, they would have taken him,” Phineas said, “But then the Omendrai came in. Opened fire. I hope he is alright. If he did not have his soul out, I do not know how he could survive a plasma bolt to the chest-”
“Phineas.”
“I am merely saying,” Phineas said, “If he was struck, he may be among the injured. Or dead. He may still be in the chapel-”
“Shut up, Phineas,” Rosemary said, “Don't think about that. Please.”
There was a pleading edge to her voice. Phineas stopped.
They stared at the ground for a few moments.
“I am sorry,” Phineas said, “I should not have said anything like that. I did not know it was hurting you.”
“I'm just scared, Phin,” Rosemary said, “I'm sorry, too. For snapping at you.”
“It is alright,” Phineas said, “It is right. I do not always... 'read the room,' Joseph calls it.”
Rosemary forced out a chuckle, though it died quickly. Now that her hearing had returned, she could hear screams outside. The Omendrai must have been neutralized, for now all she could hear was the wailing of those who had lost loved ones, the sounds of Federation soldiers shouting orders to one another. She heard boots stomp down the hall, and for a moment she felt a thrill of fear.
Phineas raised a hand, swiping it in the air.
“There,” he said, “They do not see the door. We are safe, here. We will not be accosted.”
“Alright,” Rosemary said, “Joseph. We have to find him.”
“Agreed,” Phineas said, “Options?”
Rosemary took a deep breath.
“Right,” she said, “I'm thinking two options.”
“Yes,” Phineas said.
“Either one, he got away on his own,” Rosemary said, “Or the Federation took him.”
They both knew the third option. That he was dead in the chapel. But that was something neither of them were willing to accept.
“Both of them are distinct possibilities,” Phineas said, “Either way, he is lost. Potentially in danger.”
“If the Feds have him, he is,” Rosemary said. She pulled her sceptre out, brandishing it like a staff, “You know what that means, Phin. You know what we'd have to do.”
“Let us hope that it does not come to that,” Phineas said. He flipped through a few pages in his tome.
“Any ideas?”
“Spellwork,” Phineas said, “I can detect him. Maybe. Perhaps. I have a few spells of that nature, a couple pacts I may call upon.”
Rosemary nodded. She waited for Phineas to look through the book, the Deep One shuddering and murmuring to himself. The mutters became more frustrated as he flipped page after page of his flesh-bound tome.
“Everything alright?” she asked.
“Many spells will not work today,” Phineas said, “The beings I call, they are not here. It is St. Malendia, I suspect. This is consecrated ground.”
“And that's fatal to them, right?”
“Not fatal,” Phineas said, “Nothing is ever fatal, to beings such as we. But it is uncomfortable. Like...”
He scratched off a scale.
“Like saying the wrong thing to a friend, and hurting them. Like feeling petroleum in the water. Like taking a bite of food, and realizing you do not like it. Like the feeling of pain when it first shocks your mind, and overwhelms it.”
He looked up at her.
“Does... that make sense?”
“I... suppose it does,” Rosemary said.
“Very few spells will work here,” Phineas said, “I may be able to strike a deal with Ech'th'n the Wound-Eater, once more. But it will require...”
He cooed down, looking at the book, flipping a few pages, which seemed to whisper at him.
“Yes,” he said, “It will require sacrifice.”
“What kind of sacrifice?” Rosemary asked.
“Organic matter, I think,” Phineas said, “Usually skin. Or blood. I have used scales before, or the fur of Teknogan.”
“Blood?” Rosemary asked. A thought was coming into her mind.
“The more potent, the better,” Phineas said.
Outside, they heard more shouts. Screams. The heavy thuds of plasma rifles discharging. Evidently this terrorist attack was not over.
Something slumped against the door, slid down. Rosemary crept down onto her knees, peering down at the crack between the door and the floor. A body was there, and she saw a shadow step over it.
“More Feds,” a voice growled, “They're coming from the eastern hallways.”
“We don't have to hold long,” a lighter voice said, “Get the Domehead in, tell him to hold this place down.”
“Aye,” the other voice said, “On it.”
They needed to find Joseph.
And fast.
“You need blood?” Rosemary said, and she found herself rolling up her sleeve, “I've got some, Phin.”
Phineas blinked.
“Are you... sure?” he asked.
“What do you mean?” Rosemary asked.
“You are not an elf, Rosemary,” Phineas said, “Not like Sunala. You are a faerie. I can see it when you walk. When you breathe. In your soul.”
She winced at the frank admission.
Then, she nodded.
“...Where are your wings?” he asked.
“Ignore that,” Rosemary said, growing red at the question, “Just... let's get this over with. Get your spell ready. Now.”
***
The woman took Joseph down a series of winding halls and small, dimly lit chapels. She led the way, grabbing his arm and all but dragging him away from the scene of the carnage. His head hurt, wheeled, throbbed with dull pain from the Federation soldier's sudden strike. But he followed her, nonetheless, and he had enough of his wits about him to keep an eye out for danger.
They avoided the onslaught of the fleeing mob, though he could feel footsteps following behind them, sometimes far away, sometimes close by. All of them quick. The fastest of the mob, fleet-footed raptors or professional athletes-turned-nomads, caught up to them, jostled them by, pushed past and disappeared down bends in the stone.
Finally, the woman stopped, feeling the stone for a few moments, before pressing a hand against a specific brick. A crack between the walls yawned, then expanded, revealing a staircase that stretched upwards into shadow.
She beckoned again. Joseph followed.
The wall behind re-knit itself as they went up the staircase. It went far upwards, never once diverging or bending. A killer on the legs, too, and he thought that Castle Belenus was bad. A door loomed at the top, which the woman opened and ran inside.
Her home was a loft, an aerie that would have housed the church bells and a couple of miscreant bird nests. Indeed, there was a pair of church bells in the center of the large room, old and unpolished and with cobwebs snarling their yokes. A bed was tucked away in the corner with a night stand. A table was set up along the wall, with the remains of the day's breakfast still on its plate. A cauldron set up along with a makeshift kitchen, a portable stove and a few dirty pots. A shelf, on which were two lonely little books and a couple of potions.
The woman ran to these, picking one up and twisting its cap off. She took a drink from it, grimacing, before offering it to Joseph.
Who looked at it, and gave her a suspicious look.
She rolled her burning eyes, pointing at her ears. Then shoved the potion into Joseph's hands.
For a moment, he hesitated.
Then, he took a sip. Gagged at the potion's taste. Like a mashed up earwig.
But he could feel his hearing start to return. With a sigh, he took another mouthful, swallowing it down quickly. Almost vomited.
But he kept it down, and by and large he could hear the woman speaking to him. Her voice was soft. Kind.
“...alright?” she was asking.
Joseph nodded.
“Yeah,” he said, and he found it odd to hear his own voice again, “Yeah, I'm fine.”
“Good,” the woman said, “That potion's a healing potion, but it only delays the pain. The next time you wake up, expect that headache to come back full force.”
She snatched the potion from him, replacing it back on the shelf.
“Never fun, getting hit by a rifle.”
“You've been smacked by one of those fuckers before?” Joseph asked.
“A Mutt like me?” the woman gave a dark smile, “Plenty of times.”
She turned.
“Lunus Oculus.”
“Sorry?”
“My name.”
“Oh,” he shrugged, “Joseph.”
“Aye, Joseph,” she said, “Glad you're alright. You picked an awful time to show up to St. Malendia's, though.”
“Don't have to tell me twice,” Joseph said. He groaned as he sat down by the table, “They always like that?”
“Who, the Feds?” Lunus Oculus quirked an eyebrow, “Newly awakened?”
“Yeah,” Joseph said, “Few months now. Almost a year.”
“And this your first time on your own?”
“I've had a couple friends,” Joseph said, “They were with me...”
His eyes widened.
“My friends!” he said, “Shit. You didn't see them, did you?”
He made to rise, to go to the door, but Lunus Oculus drew in front of him.
“Hey, pal,” she said, “Don't want to go down there yet. Let things simmer for a while. This is the third attack this month, Feds are going stir-crazy over it.”
“But if-”
“If your friends aren't meta, they should be fine,” Lunus Oculus said, “Even though it was an Omendrai this time, they only ever go after us.”
“That doesn't-” Joseph sighed, “What the hell's an Omendrai?”
Lunus Oculus blinked.
“You're new to this whole thing, then.”
“I went meta only a few weeks after I got stranded out here,” Joseph said, “I'm from a plane that's only in forecast every so often. I didn't even know there was a multiverse before then.”
Lunus Oculus nodded at that. She sat him back down at the table, and went over to the chair across from him. She pulled out a flask and poured whatever in it into the two cups on the table.
“We've got time,” she said, “What is your story, then?”