More of the Sister’s words penetrate my mind. Word’s she had intended to say, but I don’t recall hearing. The calamity set to befall Aasimovia, if it occurs, they will never recover from it. Ugh. Things are like that sometimes, aren’t they? You mean to say something, or try to say something, or maybe even do say something, but the point never makes it across, not without like, mystical intervention. Regardless of the sudden intrusive thoughts, my mind snaps to the fact that I know our chaperone.

I raise an eyebrow as I glance back, and call to the completely disguised figure, “Dawn? What’s going on?”

Dawn waves at me, but leaves my question unanswered. Dippy chatters, “This, this is the Dawn one? Tay Oo Ee Lah talked about the, the Dawn squishy. The Reggie squishie and Tay Oo Ee Lah squishie were, were, worried about the Dawn. Dippy, Dippy, I, me, I understand now. Why. We, we gotta, have to, have to help Dawn, the Dawn. That way, yep, yes, that way, I, me, Dippy is sure, that way. Zippy agrees.”

Dawn chuckles as they state, “Charming fella, Dippy I’m guessing? Howdy. Hey Boss, you two kids took a bit longer than I thought you might. Let me guess, trouble on the way?”

Teuila blushes and chuckles abashedly as she nods, “Something like that Dawny. You okay? What are you doing in that getup? Talk as we walk, well, run. Time crunch for The Brook, possibly Aasimovia, possibly the entire freaking world. An oracle reached out to us.”

Dawn wears an incredulous expression, “Seriously Boss? How do you two crazy kids keep winding up in deeper, scarier crap one moment to the next?”

I semi-humorously mutter, “Such is the comedy of errors that is the life of the Shellcracker clan.”

Teuila grins back at me, amused, but Dawn makes no indication of even having heard my mutterings. I’m starting to get scared that I’ve pissed them off somehow, but I can’t let my interpersonal feelings interfere with anything right now. Teuila’s right, we’re on an unknown time crunch.

Wait. Is Dawn the doomed one? She said something about a path presenting itself when we reunited with the doomed one, or something like that, right? That’s a horrible way to refer to someone. I know Dawn’s soul only has weeks, maybe a couple of months at this point, but, but to just label them doomed, instead of using their name. Crap on a cracker.

Ugh, I go back and forth on how I feel about Fakeworld’s memory bullcrap. I suppose it’s not all that weird for someone to oscillate between acknowledging something when it’s useful, and trying to deny it when it’s inconvenient, or confusing, or stupid. Right now, genre savviness from Fakeworld is telling me something about Dawn’s involvement in the prophecy we received. The sister could have said some cryptic thing about an imperial blockade, or after Reggie makes a blunder inventing a past, or any other thing to refer to what I’d do around the point just before the path branched and split. But no, they specifically referenced the doomed one, Dawn.

I inhale a ragged gasp as we continue sprinting, following Dippy’s lead. I’m sucking down acidified breaths of pure agony that feel like scraping dry ice across the inside of my lungs. I can’t keep this up. Teuila can, and we’re on a time crunch. I hate any of us being alone for any amount of time when things keep escalating to worse and worse dangers. She can make it ahead though, and maybe at least figure out the encroaching calamity that we’re supposed to prevent, even if it takes all of us being there. Teuila and I exchange knowing glances. She’s having the same thought process, though she’s worried for me and my health, seeing the obvious pain I’m in.

Te shouts, “Dippy, is it a straight stretch from here, as far as you can tell?”

Dippy responds, “Seems, seems straight, straight yes, north by north by northwest, slight, slight west of north by north by northwest. Any, any path, as long as it comes back to north by north by northwest. Why? Is Tay Oo Ee Lah scouting ahead?”

Te shouts back as she rockets away at blinding speeds, “Yep! Catch up soon boogerbutts! Feel better Dink. Promise!”

I whisper, “I promise to try Teuila. I promise to try.”

Dawn divests any armored part of their Imperial disguise, and I don’t even notice a crossbow on their personage any more. As I’m about to ask, Dawn glances between me and Dippy several times before taking off, shouting, “Right behind you Boss!” Dawn takes off, a bit faster than I recall them having ever moved before, though not fast enough to keep up with the likes of Teuila. Still, far outpacing me. Dippy hangs back with me, and Zippy lands worriedly on my shoulder.

I cough, burp, and gag a dusty, acid-filled burble that floods my esophagus and splashes forth, mixing with the mud below. Dippy looks to be slightly strained, under the weight of their weird shield bed thing, with all of its random stuff stuck to the inside of it. But even under that strain, I can tell he could go faster. Maybe not enough to keep up with Dawn or Teuila, but faster than my flagging progress for certain.

I stumble and fall, crashing face first into a puddle of acidified mud, ending up with the stinging liquid working its way into all of my facial orifices, my nostrils, my tear ducts, my throat. I gag and sputter, struggling to stand and keep moving. Dippy gazes at me with worry and concern. Then he gazes the direction we’re heading, with greater worry and concern.

Okay, I won’t use it on myself unless I’m falling, or have to leap a gap or something, but I’d better start casting the telekinesis spell from the staff. Mostly so that I have some sort of defensive option active that doesn’t rely on my own muscles and bones. Relying on those right now? Foolish. They’re ready to give out at any second. I actually manage to straight up vomit while continuing to run as I burp more bubbling sputum. Well, perhaps not sputum, perhaps just stomach acid caught in acid reflux. We continue sprinting for ten minutes as I let the staff chomp into Rayileklia’s mana-filled air, but I can’t stand the sizzling inside my throat any longer, nor the rancid taste.

I reach back for my waterskin, and slosh a mouthful of water, and gargle it, all while running. I spit the water rather than swallowing it, trying to free my mouth from the horrid taste of stomach acid. Suddenly, there are tiny flickering lights headed our way amidst the foggy gloom, speeding towards us as if fired from a bow. I allow the telekinesis spell to finish casting, granting me its power. Along with telekinesis, a sense, similar to my danger wraps, but slower, more analytical, at a greater range, expands my consciousness. It’s necessary to be able to understand what my telekinesis can feel, grab, restrain, move.

The flickering objects rapidly approach. Oh, they’re ignited crossbow bolts. That makes sense. My spit intercepts the flaming head of one as I barely stumble aside. Dippy flips his shield over his head. Dippy tosses himself into a flip towards his shield, leaps into it, and ducks low as it skates along the mud for a dozen meters. While he’s letting the shield carry him towards safety, he leans low and digs out a gnarly looking bow, and begins rapidly releasing arrows towards our assailants. No questions asked, he defends us with precise sharpshooting.

Seeing a bolt coming at Dippy from his blind spot, I snatch it out of the air with telekinesis and snap it in half angrily. I dash towards whoever was attempting to shoot Dippy in the back, but Dippy has already turned ever so slightly, and basically fired towards the sound of the snapping crossbow bolt almost over his shoulder without even looking. There’s a squelch and a thud of someone dropping to their knees, then face in the mud. Dead from an arrow between their eyes.

Dippy is scarily efficient with his bow. Rather than running around, possibly getting in his line of fire, hampering him from what he apparently does best, I get near him and extend my telekinesis senses past my danger senses. I stand at his side, simply snapping bolts as soon as they enter my sensory range, alerting Dippy to the direction hostile targets are firing from. He doesn’t need to take cover when I’m covering him like this, and I can finally take a freaking break from sprinting around as I dry heave once again.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

In moments, it’s eerily silent, no more missiles are sent our way, but my keen ears, and Dippy’s keen senses pick up a faint sloshing sound of someone trying to run away as quietly and quickly as they can. Dippy knocks an arrow, but I shake my head, and point to the rope in his equipment. Dippy grins and nods. Quick witted fella. I’m so glad he’s on our side. He whispers something to Zippy, and Zippy takes off carrying an end of the rope that’s weighted with a rock. Dippy keeps the slack light so that Zippy doesn’t have to carry too much weight as we sprint along after our fleeing assailant. In moments, I hear the faintest swoosh as Zippy dives and circles, tripping the assailant. By the time we arrive, Zippy somehow has the robed individual in a three quarters hogtie.

That. Huh. That is far more skill than I thought Zippy might possess. I’m sorry I doubted him, or thought of him as a cute pet. Dippy shrugs to me, unsure exactly what to ask, so I roll the individual over as I pull back their hood. Firstly, it lets us see our attackers face, secondly it’s a bit mean, as it means they have to squint against acid rain to look towards us as we speak. Meh, unlucky dickweasel. His robes, and the robes of other bodies nearby, all contain iconography that’s reminiscent of a blazing sun. A purifying light washing over a simplified humanoid that seems to reel from the light. As far as heraldry goes, it’s upsetting to think some sort of holy heavenly worshipers are attacking people at random.

I draw the Valkyrie dagger and jab it lightly towards his liver through his robes as I command, “Spill, or I’ll spill you.”

There’s a resolute look upon his face. One I recognize from genre savviness from Fakeworld. It’s fanaticism. This isn’t a bunch of priests, it’s some kind of cult. After dealing with the MCF, I told myself I’m never taking mercy on cults worshiping strange things as deities ever again. I begin pressing the blade into his abdomen, separating flesh. I don’t even care if he talks anymore. Wrath boils beneath my skin as I recall the MCF beavers and their horrid deity. My eyes alight with rage, and my hatred seeps forth so much that Dippy and Zippy recoil, as the man tries fruitlessly to scrabble away.

He coughs and cries out, “Okay! Okay! What do you want to know!?”

Dammit. Intimidation actually worked. The one time I was ready to just give in to rage and kill a sack of crap. Huff. Alright Reggie, rein it in. I pant several times as I struggle to contain my rage, still firmly pressing my dagger into the wound I’ve caused.

I growl, “Who the hell are you, and why did you attack us?”

He gulps as he responds, “We’re, we’re the servants of the Bright Lord. The Lord of Light, and we’re ordered not to let anyone through, on this, the day of the final ritual. Our master, his high priest of this region commanded us to kill any that might seek to enter the cathedral grounds. At first we thought none would arrive, but there was some sort of brown blur, then you two showed up, making noise, gasping and panting.”

I sneer. The brown blur was Teuila, obviously. Too fast for them to even realize she had been a person blazing through. He makes no mention of Dawn, so that’s Dawn’s incredible talent for stealth that they’ve picked up over the years. I’m almost surprised that Teuila left these jerks alive for us to deal with, but she made the right choice. Time is of the essence.

I command, “Speak, pertinent details, ritual, lord. You have seconds left to live if you can’t come up with knowledge worth enough to spare your life.” I twist the dagger slightly, causing him to gasp in shock and pain.

Brutal Reggie. Just. Just brutal. Shut up. No more. Remember? No more cults. No more mind-controlling deities, no more hostile craplords looming threateningly over others. Never again. We’re done. Not long ago, I condemned an earnest, repentant woman to some horrid fate. Why should this sack of crap get my mercy? My wrath festers and mutates, it gains size and power over me. I seethe with rage as I await his response.

I don’t even realize that I’d done it. I mean. I do now, too late. I carved from his liver to his heart in a single smooth stroke somehow while blinded by rage. I don’t even remember doing it. I don’t know if I even gave him a chance to answer.

I wear a pout that falls into a frown as I ask, “Dippy? What happened? Did he answer about his lord or the ritual?”

Dippy gulps as he stutters, “N,no, the, the, the squishie not-dwarf Reggie, grew, grew, sort of. Monster of, of, of gas, or light, or, or, or soul, or mana. Grew. Anger, monster of anger. Inside the, the Reggie squishie. Gone again, but, but the monster, and the Reggie, gave a quick death, one slice. Killed, so clean, so fast. The, the monster and the Reggie, same, but not same.”

Hell on handrails Reggie. Is that another being living in your brain rent-free? Or is that just me on anger? Or is it the me that I needed Luni to keep me anchored away from becoming? Is there even any difference that could matter? It’s something you have to get under control. Panic triggers are one thing, but slaughter triggers? That. That’s just not acceptable. Whatever, we have somewhere to be. We have to catch up.

I honestly don’t even care what their bright lord is. A Sister said to stop what’s happening here, for the sake of many people we care about, and they attacked us first. If any continue to attack us, I’ll see if my telekinesis can squeeze their heads til they—. Rein it the hell in Reggie. Fine, til they pass out. Yeah, sure buddy. Right. Huff.

Dippy chuckles nervously, not quite able to see my thought train, but certainly likely able to see my emotions dance between wrath and wariness, concern and back. I heave a weighted sigh during a pregnant pause, and realize my eyes are wet, not from the constant drizzle, but with tears of shame. You took a life Reggie, in cold blood. Someone who was cooperating, and captured. I, I know. I know.

I can’t afford to, but I drop to my butt and hug my knees to my face as I weep. Harriet was right. I can’t handle these sorts of responsibilities without turning into a monster. I might not have been one, yet, at Autumn Brook, but I just get worse and worse every day. I doomed Hellga, and only maybe possibly helped her family. It sounds like even the dwarves are in for a hell of a time in general, despite the Don’s leadership. Do I honestly make anything better, anywhere? Ever? What about the consequences one or two steps down the road, of whatever actions I took? Sure, I slew the original coercer, the supposed deity of the MCF, and sure, I rescued the majority of their faction. To what end? They then tried to extort and hurt my family. Then I got Lil killed basically. I. If I hadn’t, Dehlia would have been consumed forever. But how can I justify things with weird timeline hoops and loops?

I’m a friggin’ murderer. How do I reconcile that? How do I live with myself? How am I even sure my own loved ones are safe from me? I’m too dangerous to be around. Though, why is Dippy sitting patiently with a hand on my arm near my knee? Wasn’t he scared crapless a moment ago?

I ask, gulping back sobs I didn’t know I was fighting, ”Dippy? Why are you sticking with me? Aren’t I a dangerous lunatic? Wasn’t I scary?”

Dippy half-smiles, “The, the Reggie saves, saves often, even, even dwarves, when helping kobolds, even, even family of dwarves. Showed up, deep, deep underground, not healed, still showed up, still saved. That?” Dippy prods me in the chest, approximately where my heart would be.

Dippy continues, “That tries. Tries, tries hard. The, the Reggie made it safe so Dippy, me, I could fight. Arrows and bolts, snap snap in the air. Reggie’s powers. The Reggie put Dippy first, even when Reggie was, when you were angry. Could smell it on you. Reggie, the Reggie, the you, you wanted to kill, kill, fight. Instead? Instead the Reggie stayed, protected, saved. Demons, demons all have, we, we all have demons. The Reggie’s are just, just a bit, bit stronger, bit more, um, real.”

I let the tears stream down my cheeks as I bite back my sobs behind clenched lips. I almost snort a laugh at Dippy’s closing statement. They kind of are, aren’t they? I literally have a cloud of wrath within me that could cloak me like a wraith if I let it out. It would direct me to a slaughter spree. Would it spare my friends and loved ones? What limits does this demon within me have? I’m so tired of having to fight it. It would be so much easier to just give in, and maybe find out later, if I ever reawaken from beneath its control and guidance.

I lean forward and hug Dippy, who of course freaks out for a moment before realizing I’m just showing my gratitude. I apologize, “Sorry Dippy. I don’t know how else to thank you. Thanks for sticking by me, for talking me down. We’ve got to hurry”

Dippy thinks for a moment before claiming, “Dippy, I, me, my magics, could, could maybe help, maybe? Dippy doesn’t, doesn’t have much magics, nowhere near Miza. Can, magics can, just, just a few per day, make spells, make just a few spells in a day. Wouldn’t be able to do more magics after. None. But can, I, I can. I can make legs feel longer. Strides farther, faster. Should, should I?”

I gnaw on my lips. Is Dippy offering to use what sounds like an incredibly limited reserve of mana to grant me a spell for swiftness of stride? I don’t want to take advantage of him. I mean, not in the way with negative connotations. Friends should take advantage of help offered, I guess. Utilize what each is willing to give. I gasp a shuddering breath and sigh as I slowly nod. I gaze gratefully, sadly towards Dippy. He just smiles, and wiggles his petrified wood near my legs.

I’m so glad Luni isn’t in my head right now.