Suddenly I feel more sane, and my senses are no longer overridden with gustatory nonsense. It worked! Clambering back to my feet, I dash into the room. Sure enough, the conjoined broodmothers are gone, the tear is gone, mostly.

I missed a tiny wiggly fragment. I gulp, hoping that that doesn’t come back to bite me in the arse. Ah, unfortunately, it already is. Tiny bits of the realm-between-realms leaks in. Those nonsensical senses, and a creeping feeling of dread press in around me. And of course, because I gulped, I inherited a new passenger. The taste of peanutbutter smeared across castor oil, baked at nine hundred degrees for one hour. How? Why? Why so specific? What? Argh! Bluh, anyway, focus.

Now I’ve got to get there, that sea of stars, just in case the broodmothers need—well, no. I’m going there regardless. I want to help them all the way, not half-arsed. Sure, this already rescues them from Terrorzin, but the next step is giving them back their lives and freedom.

Plus, I don’t want to be hanging around here with two left arms for too long. I just know that something weird is going to happen with the one in my bag if I do. Flexing my freshly regenerated left arm, and glancing at it, I just shake my head. My other arm is thankfully lifeless, at least it’s not… misbehaving. My life is so effing weird.

Alright chaos magic, please, please, a sea of stars. A sea of stars. Please, a sea of stars. I’ve been there before. I’ve seen it. Please let this work. I’ll continue to utilize free cantrips, my innate subtle-spell metamagical rigor proc’ing the chaos magic clip, over and over. Though, so that I don’t accidentally nuke my equipment out of existence, I should probably stop after the tenth attempt.

Huff. Can I really get myself to stop though? Would I give up, having sent them to another realm? They’re at least out of reach of Terrorzin. That’s something. But I can do this though! I believe in the me that believes in me!

Puffing breaths slowly, I focus on the moment. Each moment will grant me a chance at six seconds in that sea of stars. I’ll use free magic, a cantrip I’ve used a hundred times before, but engage the chaos-magic runic clip.

The cantrip, the magic I use to do it? I cast a cantrip to summon a whoopee cushion for several seconds with prestidigitative ledgerdemain of all things. Despite the absolute absurdity of it, a weak smile remains on my face, despite the unease, the dread, the horror edging in on my psyche.

It’s Tiktik’s signature use of the spell. My Kitten. Littlebit’s love of her life. Tiktik prestidigitating whoopee cushions into her hand every single time she introduced herself to someone new, and shook their hand, was such a staple, stable thing for her. That compulsive behavior, the way Tiktik is in some ways, a chaotic gremlin, and others, the most structured individual I know, it’s a balancing act. It’s one she wears as beautifully as the sheer robe she wore when we, erm, koff, koff.

Blushing, I’m glad no one can see my thoughts right now as I picture Tiktik in that robe, the nights we spent together in The ‘Twixt. Whew. Tugging at the collar of my armor, I virtually steam. Come on Reggie, focus on the magic, and the chaos. You can do this. You’re probably the most chaotic person most people know. Chaos and you are friends. No reason to fear it.

Upon my first cast, a number pops into my mind, silhouetted by strange shapes, it appears like it’s carved into a pair of pentagonal trapezohedrons. 42 [42] I suddenly feel fast in a way I haven’t felt since my temporary cosmic king transformation. I can bend space, and move between points within a short and visible range.

This is amazing! Too bad it’s only going to last a minute. I chuck the conjured whoopee cushion over my shoulder, and it makes its pbbblblblbt sound against the wall behind me before dissipating. Deep breaths Reggie. No whammies, no whammies. Go again. I cast prestidigitative ledgerdemain once more, engaging the chaos magic runic clip.

Pft. Those strangely silhouetted pentagonal trapezohedrons are back, this time, reading 22 [22]. My second cast brings the chaos magic into a realm of irony at a level I didn’t know existed.

Me, the sourceless sorcerer, the absensorcerer, the non-Rayileklian caster completely incapable of using any Rayileklian mnemonic gets a short boon. Suddenly a mnemonic from Rayileklia is available to me, for a single minute, granting me quickened casting of my spells.

I roll my eyes and shake my head at the luck of it all. One more thing I wish was permanent. So far, chaos seems like it’s teasing me, trolling me. It’s granting me beneficial effects that I can’t keep. That speaks to the idea that we’re friends. Some playful ribbing. That’s all it is, right? Chaos? Pal?

One more whoopee cushion tossed over my shoulder, another pblblbt. I think the realm is backing off on the existential horror a bit, either amused, or confused, that I’m using the lamest gag in the book.

Phew, get ready to cast it again. Summon another whoopee cushion. Another go, more deep breathing, more fingers crossed. Oh wait. Do I suddenly have more fingers? Oh, whew, no. Just kinda paranoid in here. Need to watch what I say, or think, in an area with a partially-bleeding realm like this.

Alright, is the third time a charm? The pair of, huh, I guess they’re ten sided dice, returns. This time they read 90 [90]. Yowza! Chain lightning ricochets out from the whoopee cushion and leaps about aimlessly for several seconds. Okay, well, not the worst thing to have happened to me today, by a long shot.

Fourth time? The dice show up in my mind as 64 [64]. When they do, all of my clothing ignites.

This is fine. Sigh.

My non magical gear was already vaporized by dragon’s breath or Worldstorm lightning anyway. I just have a one minute fire aura I guess. Two more whoopee cushions get tossed aside. Again, it’s mostly funny, like the playful ribbing between long-time pals. Chaos hasn’t harmed me, so much as teased me. It knows my clothes being on fire is mostly just silly. Hopefully.

Getting closer to where I want to cut myself off from trying more of this, but come on, try number five. I cast prestidigitation once more. A new whoopee cushion appears as I engage the chaos magic runic clip again. The fifth set of dice reads 30 [30]. Mana swells in my veins fit to bursting, causing me to temporarily hyperventilate. I recognize the effect though. It’s the magic steroid that Al’pa’ca used to maximize the damage from his spells.

It’s short-lived. Another almost-too-bad effect. This one I’m glad is temporary though. I don’t want to get addicted to power flowing through my veins. I don’t even want to use it for this minute. I just drop the whoopee cushion at this point.

Gulping, I try a sixth cast, forgetting that gulping is the most awful thing to do with the bleed-through of this realm. A new flavor passenger joyously leaps down my throat. Eugh. The dice quickly flash twice for some reason. It reads 06 [06], then 1 [1]. Okay… what happened on the sixth cast? I don’t feel any different.

Did I turn blue? Nope. Quirking a brow, me and the little starfish robot on my shoulder look side to side for several seconds before I nearly leap out of my skin. It’s absolutely comical, like a character that sneaks up on another in a cartoon, and mimics their exact movements.

What in the name of the hells? Well, I remember two of them accidentally dying to worldstorm lightning last time I engaged chaos magic. I tentatively wave at it, and it begins speaking ASCII through binary at me.

Ugh. I do not have the patience to try to calculate the bit values and try to remember what numbers correspond to what characters in ASCII. I try to save its rambling to my retrocognitive memory, in case it becomes important, and I have time to decipher it at some point.

My, erm, friend I suppose, rattles off, “01001000 01100101 01101100 01101100 01101111 00100000 01010110 01101111 01101001 01100100 00100000 01001111 01101110 01100101 00100000 01000011 01100101 01100001 01110011 01100101 01101100 01100101 01110011 01110011 00100000 01010011 01100011 01101000 01101001 01110011 01101101 00100000 01000001 00100000 01110000 01101100 01100101 01100001 01110011 01110101 01110010 01100101 00100000 01001111 01101000 00100000 01110100 01101001 01101101 01100101 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01110011 01101000 01101111 01110010 01110100,” before disappearing from the realm.

Alright, drop another whoopee. Come on Reggie, come on. Gulping—oh gods please stop gulping! For the love of everything holy. Oh my lord. That is the most rancid, foulest tasting, eugh. Just stop gulping! G—Don’t even think about moving your throat an inch.

Glp. AGHGHGH! Okay, that one’s not so bad… it tastes kinda like… living alone in a rainforest. Which, I mean, isn’t all that far from how I began life. On Can’Z’aas. Hey, shush. You’re skirting a trigger. Alright, alright. Anyway, cast number six.

As the dice come up 02 [02], everything grips me. The mana woven in intersecting parallel and perpendicular lines across Rayileklia suddenly squeezes me til it feels like I’m going to pop. It does me the favor of letting me horf up my newest passengers. It also sinks its claws, its hooks, its talons into me. I feel a curse enchanting itself about me, laying down a punishment for brazenly—hah. Chaos, haha, chaos you’re such a troll.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Hahaha. Hahahaha. My punishment is chaos magic surging ten times in the next minute. Without needing to engage my runic clip. Shrugging, I roll with it as the dice rapidly flash the following progression, 86 [86], 52 [52], 51 [51], 81 [81], 43 [43], 90 [90], 33 [33], 12 [12], 28 [28], 34 [34].

Necrotic bursts flicker in three spaces about the room harmlessly. A shield rotates aimlessly about my face, distractingly. Another one rotates about my crotch, embarrassingly. Suddenly I glow like a street lamp. Ow, my eyes. Thanks for that. The space-warping boon sticks with me for a bit longer. Another burst of chain lightning bounces aimlessly about and into the hallway.

My skin takes on a steely hue and I feel more durable against every type of damage that could come my way for the next minute. Also for a minute, my already speedy regeneration quickens even more. Suddenly I flicker into a sea of stars! Also, while here, that steely hue on my skin granting me more durability extends itself. Alright magic, sure, thanks.

What matters is we’re here! We’ve only got six seconds to get this done, something I’m all-too-familiar with having. Like this temporary chaos-magic-granted ability to bend space, my cosmic king form only lasted six seconds.

It’s so astounding, time is fleeting, and the madness has taken its toll. But listen up Reggie. It’s not much longer that you’ve got to keep control. Remember why you’re doing this. Drink in the moments between moments, the non, the blackness and nothingness of the void.

Gazing about, it feels like I’m floating in a river of starlight. I’m surrounded by distinct nebulae and galaxies that are simultaneously close enough to paint across the visual scape, yet obviously so far away, as to be tiny specks coloring the vast, the infinite.

There are what look to be meteors, rocks, floating about, some of which seem perfectly stable, with what might even be objects set atop them, semi-permanently. Other meteors are those that roll, endlessly spinning like wheels on a bus.

Some of the meteors even seem to flicker in and out, or virtually dissolve before my eyes, disappearing entirely. While here, in this weightless, nearly euphoric float amongst the infinite, direction ceases to have meaning. There’s not really an up or down. I can orient myself any which way, and I still appear to be buoyantly bobbing in a silver river of shimmering starlight. Each little motion, each bob, sends ripples shimmering through this endless river, bouncing into eternity.

In this realm, this cosmic realm, where things are askew in a whole new mindbending way, less horrific than back on Rayileklia, I have only moments here to do what I need to do. What’s more, since I’m focused, intent on being here, in the here and now, I realize something about this realm. About me being in this realm. I gain… influence.

My mind, my imagination, my intellect, somehow, in some small, minuscule way, shape, or form, the realm bends to my will. I’ve got to be quick about this, then get into the ‘Twixt, or I’ll be trapped behind enemy lines in cosmic-horror realm again. I don’t think I could survive the mindbreaking things it has in store for me *and* having to fight or fly my way through and over Terrorzin’s horde to get home.

What little time I have in this beautiful location is a reprieve for my senses, and I’d rather not go back to the gustatory overload. It’s a break from the ceaseless whispers of the cosmic horror from before, our location is nearly silent.

Nearly silent. Save for a faint melody. It’s the sound of emotions. Somehow, everyone, everywhere, has a song, and here it plays quietly, for those who choose to listen. A haunting dirge, for those in mourning, a lively waltz for those in love, and on and on.

My temperature senses feel non-functional here. As if temperature simply isn’t a thing in this realm. It’s a sort of sterile feeling, no heat nor cold, no warmth nor cool. Just being. It’s a bit unnerving to me, as I’m so used to my thermokinetic abilities. Yet it’s simultaneously relaxing, putting them on hold, not needing to interpret the speed and friction of every molecule within range.

The lack of one of my senses is almost a weight off of my chest, letting me breathe for once, in a way I didn’t remember or notice that I’d been lacking. With such a pause, such emptiness on a whole new level, I can think more clearly. It’s certainly more clearly than in the vault, but perhaps, more clearly than I’ve ever perceived thought before.

Alright world, worlds, sea of stars, conjoined broodmothers. Be conjoined no more. Be temporarily tethered to that ‘Twixt tear, so that you go where it goes. No longer sent with that tear from location to location by Terrorzin.

Let’s see if we can do this, yeah? I’m reacting in microseconds, trying to take advantage of every split instant that I’ll be in here. What do I have to do in order to enact my will, to help these women have some semblance of autonomy again? Those that still have individual souls at least.

Grimacing, I turn my head and blink back tears, noticing several who don’t, whose souls are burnt out. Like Selunie Tavner was, though she died before we could get to Victo. Like Selunie, according to her cousin, or like the ancestors. All the ancestors in Aasimovia, they were husks, soulless, waiting for the Aasimovians to complete the great work. If it weren’t for the curse placed on Dawn, they’d still be wandering around.

The Aasimovians wanted to reunite souls with their loved ones’ bodies and live in an immortal utopia, with the option to opt out, and leave Rayileklia behind permanently. That option was Noirdivinhoz. The Aasimovians truly respected the dead, and the soulless, in a unique way. I’m sure they’d understand, and be sympathetic to what I’m trying to do for the broodmothers. Even without souls, these women deserve respect and autonomy. I won’t leave them like this. Not if I can help it.

Come on Reggie Shellcracker. Wrack your brain for ideas. How do we use this tiny, infinitesimal influence within the next five point five seconds? Hm, wrack, brain. Rack. Brain. Brain. Rack. Server rack. Parallel processing. Slowly, in these split microseconds, an idea dawns on me.

This sea of stars, it’s known as the Astral, or the Astral Sea. It’s a place of astral projection, a place for spirits to traverse, free of their constraints. Spirits and souls are near-interchangeable, nearly. If, if the burning of their souls didn’t manage to also burn their spirits, I might be able to replace the souls of the ones who’d had them burned away, replace them with their spirits. Maybe.

It’d be a bit like a clone, or a copy, piloting their body. And that clone, or copy, would never be able to astral project, but, well—. I don’t think they’d care that much. That’s if I can get them un-conjoined, with their bodies surviving the split. That part will take finesse.

Then there’s the fact that I’d like them to be able to live in a realm where they’re not stranded in a sea of stars, no matter how beautiful this place is. Gotta get them and the tear back to Rayileklia, after moving it. Moving it itself is going to be a hell of a trip in more ways than one.

I only hope that Littlebit and Nala have gotten their signal-works up and running, so I have something to home in on. And that those signals are as close to the Can’Z’aasian digital shop structure as possible, so I have something to grip and pull towards. Letting my form drink in all the waves in this realm, the signals, I think I know where I’ve got to head. I think.

No matter what I do though, if I want to be able to move The ‘Twixt tear back to Rayileklia, and the broodmothers along with it, I need to process this all in parallel. That is, I have to do it simultaneously from across two realms. The only one I have access to where that’s remotely feasible is The ‘Twixt. Thankfully, there’s an entrance right there.

Plus, I know for a fact that entering The ‘Twixt will lead to me existing in both realms simultaneously for a split second, as time passes quickly in The ‘Twixt, while that split second is nearly paused in reality. Nearly. Still, I’ve got a migraine from trying to think faster than reality can move forward in time.

Also, being in The ‘Twixt when my six second timer is up might be the only way to not get spat back out into the Vault. The chaos magic would return me to the realm I came from, if I was in the realm it sent me to. I think as long as I’m not in the Astral realm when the timer is up, it can’t tug me back from there to Rayileklia.

Swimming through this galactic painting, this spiraling cosmos, I use my mind to keep the broodmothers from drifting out of reach. This reality responds to my will. Carefully, oh-so-carefully, I begin pulling them apart from each other, performing acute surgery. It’s nerve-wracking, no pun intended, because I can tell nerve endings are fused, as well as blood vessels, and so much more.

I have to… my Space skill. While I can free one half of each conjoined pair, the other half would perish, or be sent spiraling into sensory insanity. For each pair, I have to duplicate objects’ positions in space. Just like, well, back home, on Can’Z’aas, copying stuff in my inventory to multiple locations in space. Hell, I used it to perform an attack against the Evil Claws and Damnations a day or two ago. Just gotta… duplicate nerve endings and blood vessels instead.

Something that I might be the only person in any universe suited for. With my Space skill, back on Can’Z’aas, duplicating objects’ positions in spacetime would produce temporary duplicates. Here, in the astral, I can duplicate without regard to temporary restraints.

Gnawing my lip, I hyperfocus, bending down the microseconds to petaseconds. Each action that my brain sifts through feels like it tears something out of me, reacting this fast. My body spasms, an object not meant to be in a realm meant for spirits. Muscles in my neck and back pinch and twist, painfully locking and knotting.

After performing a surgery that no being should be able to perform, my everything hurts. My brain is complaining about overuse, my muscles are tight beyond belief. My heart hurts on emotional and physical levels I never thought possible. All of those pains increased more staggeringly exponentially each moment of the surgery.

But it was all worth it. The women, no longer broodmothers, no longer conjoined, begin to regain their senses, and their individuality. It’s a slow process, and they aren’t able to react in petaseconds like I am, so I just barely notice their senses slowly returning.

They’re slowly acclimating to having individual senses, individual beings. I do what I can, to locate and infuse the spirits of those who’ve lost their souls, into their soulless husks. I can’t tell if I succeed. I’ve only got split instants to get into the ‘Twixt, and move this entire congregation to the corresponding point in the Astral Sea that relates to Mount Verdimenn, where they’ll be safe to acclimate to having lives again.

Diving towards the tear in space, a simple touch will drop me into my realm. Usually quite literally. The ‘Twixt liked to drop me on my face, or to drop me on my back, and drop Tiktik on my face. Blushing, I try not to think about the erm, ways in which that occurred. Rattling my skull, ow, my pinched neck and spine, I touch a bit of the energy pouring from the tear to The ‘Twixt.

Reality shifts, and, while I don’t entirely expect to be dropped into my ‘Twixt town, Nichtshire D’locke, I do expect a bit more than the emptiness I’m greeted by. Far more appearing like nothing at all, I try to gaze about the void, the non, that lie in wait for my entrance. With little to react to, I manifest my Honoris Causa, reciting my titles.

A tad unexpectedly, I’m greeted by that shady shopkeep from Nicthshire D’locke, “Tsk tsk tsk. Such an unacceptable entrance.”

Furrowing my brow, I apologise, “Excuse me? Err, sorry. Look, I don’t have time for that right now. Sorry.”

More sinisterly, the shopkeep insists, “Well then you’d better make some, now hadn’t you? I think you’ll find yourself more than capable of making *time* Void Dragon.”