Verlone Swamp was a hot and humid mess brimming with bodies. Not the usual crowd that bob up and down on the murky water's surface as an all you can eat feast for the ever-hungry wildlife. No, these particular bodies knew what they were doing. They knew where they were going. Once they crossed the blue vine-laced entrance to the clearing, a blessed wash of pink sunlight led them through the long-abandoned ruins.

Massive fallen statues watched in broken silence, their severed heads lost under the years of growing foliage, degraded into hills housing roots of wires and tubes. Their limbs were reduced to rusted walkways, keeping these enslaving bastards above the deadly waters. Slavers, they came in all shapes and sizes. Didn't matter what kind of mutation they had as long as they were good with their hands, quick on their feet, strong in their stomachs, and messed in the head. The mixed bag of barbarians they sent this time were from lands farther than reasonable.

Kobolds mixed with knockers. Bogeys mixed with brownies. Trows mixed with tengus. It was like someone spun a compass and all four corners of the world swirled into this very swamp. The only thing similar in their melting pot of masks and scales were their red jewel armbands, the gems seared into their skin to never be taken off. Once a slaver, always a slaver.

Not a human in sight. Maybe they knew something these fae didn't. Maybe the slave masters didn't want to risk the more rare human on such a small prize. They were too clean to waste, too pure. Even the enslaved ones cost more, over double in most kingdoms.

This wave of mutated schmucks kept themselves in the open; kept their eyes on the branches and vines draped above them.

If anyone or anything was hiding in the trees, their gargoyle scouts would see them, mounted by starved klabauters of the eastern breed. Those big throat slimeballs, they'd do anything for shrekles. Their bulging eyes made them great for reconnaissance and bad at everything else. Every kekkarian shared that trait, as crooked as their deformed legs. Klabauters were the lighter sort - easier to buy with less coin and didn't jump off at the slightest shine of water like their ever-thirsty Oasisilian sisters.

Crystal shavings twinkled behind them like gentle stardust, their wings shaking off their encroaching sleep. They're pushing these poor creatures past their limit, keeping them up past their bedtime. Whoever they wanted in these ruins was worth the cost of such losses. Worth the time it took to train, tame, and arm up these bags of angry meat they called warriors. The creatures of the swamp cast out the weak, a natural selector that thinned their numbers and trimmed the useless fat.

There were more this time around, with forged blades and smelted armor no less.

They planned to throw bodies at the problem; like that'll solve everything. Wear it down with numbers, death by a thousand needles. Starve it out like a stronghold siege. Joke's on them, there's plenty to eat in these parts. Juicy spiders, endless amounts of meaty centipede legs, the lower levels full of assorted flavorful mushrooms.

The ones that didn't bite back were preferred. That included the mushrooms.

The only problem was the freshwater, or that is, the lack of. There's something black lurking in it, a cloud of what smelled like wet fire and tasted like a handful of rusty razors. An unknown type of nektar from the forgotten metal veins pumping from the abandoned mechanical heart of the place. Seeping from stained tubes hidden behind the walls, channeling who-knows-what to nobody cares. There was no need to drink it with how many creatures filtered it and no need to waste headspace thinking about it. Avoid their acidic digestive tracts, their toxic thorns, and their venom/poison glands... and it's safe.

A gargoyle perched on the sloped roof of the structure, taking no more of it. They weren't made for long trips to oversized mud puddles in the middle of nowhere. They were made for patrols, sticking to patterns, and with plenty of spots to rest between flights. If they had blood, the torn muscles in their wings would be bleeding by now. Steam hissed from between its thirsty fangs and flapped its floppy ears, the nektar in its belly getting dangerously hot.

The trapped klabauter kicked at it to no avail, too stupid to realize its eyes were already glazed over with solid nektar - turning them a pure black, while the rest of its body became a dull grey.

Within the ruined tower, right below the frustrated fae, the kicks loosened dirt from the ceiling. Roaches scattered, disturbed. Blue plants rustled from lanky rodents chasing down their plentiful prey. Bones were entangled among the vines and roots, on every floor, in every room. Most old, some new.

Tap.. Tap... Tap...

Clumps of dirt fell on a brittle skull, reducing it into a puff of dust. Strange energy swam through rusty pipes along the walls; humming, churning, gurgling. The liquid power supply gifted the inside of the ruins with a soothing blue glow between the cracks and joints, all connecting to a lone relic at the very center. Mask stood before it, plugged into it. A part of it.

"... Our calculations determined a meteor is heading towards us. With enough preparation, we can divert this disaster and save mankind..."

Images flashed. The kinds of images that would make a pure soul wither with hatred. The kinds of memories that can make a fist ball up until the nails pierce the skin. He was used to it, exposed to it since he could remember. But these were different, from a different time. From a different kind of civilization he's only seen from relics as if all it was was a relic of a world.

A world he's never seen before. A past long forgotten. Everything was made of metal. Made to last. Made by strange machines made of metal. Everything was made of metal.

The relic was damaged, but there was still a chance of finding out what happened. There was still a hint of revealing the fate of those that lived before. The ones who created this tower before it became a stinky heap of drowning weeds submerged in a methane glow.

Mask's fingers twitched, tapping on a touch screen that wasn't there. It was there for him and only him, only his eyes getting a response. Nobody else could see what he could see, as if anyone cared. Nobody alive had a name for it and he didn't know how he could use it.

Voices returned, fluctuating with the passing pictures. They spoke with authority, making sure he listened. Making sure everyone listens.

"... War has erupted as Remainers continue to battle the Leavers, with parties split between the decision of if staying on this planet is worth it..."

A fire flowed across the land. A concentrated fire, shaped like a mushroom as it blossomed beyond the clouds, covering the entire globe. They destroyed each other. They destroyed themselves. Thousands of years of progress.

Gone in the press of a button. He couldn't believe it was that easy. Was that all it took? A moment of weakness and a machine within arm's reach? Was that all it took to end the world?

The relic gave him more than he wanted, more than he could imagine possible. A global view of the destruction, the mushroom clouds visible from beyond the clouds. Countless stars watched the world crumble. Watched the world destroy itself before it could even attempt an escape. Instead of planning, they panicked.

Panic.

Mask knew that feeling. Knew it enough to get used to it. To live in panic. To thrive in it. To take the threat of death and return it back to its sender.

To keep his eyes on the edge of his sockets and keep his muscles tense at all times. Sleep was a waiting game that was risky to play. He couldn't remember the last time he played. Slavers, serpents, man-eating plants. It was a jungle out there after all; a great big overgrowth of overkill that overstayed its welcome.

The images flickered again, the voice changing into a warped recording that crackled and popped like static. A shadowy figure faced Mask, spoke to him personally. The words came fast, frantic, yet so calculated as if rehearsed. As if repeated in his head over and over again like a contrite prediction coming true. Like an oracle who read the bones of the burned and cindered.

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"... These people are sick, I tell you. Sick to their rotten core. Down to the bone. You wouldn't believe half of the shit they do under the radar. I can't imagine what they do behind locked doors.

They want to take your children, turn them into soldiers, send them out to their doom, and make sure you pay for it. You pay for it with your blood, your sweat, your tears... there's no telling what they're going to do... these are crazy people!

They don't want you dead, they want you enslaved. Docile like the good little sheep you are. Drugged and brainwashed to the point where you can't accept what's before your very eyes. The truth could be so close to your face it could lick your eyeballs and all you'd do is get rock hard thinking about how taboo it is. That's how messed up they make you with their mass conditioning.

I know for a fact they sent the meteor on purpose. They say there's only one. HA! What a load of deep-fried bologna. Yeah, sure, that much space out there and only one meteor is heading our way.

How naive they think we must all be. There are four dots right there in the sky, folks. You can count them out with one hand and keep the thumb for yourself. They don't think at least four people from different sides of the world will be in communication with each other, but they are wrong... dead wrong."

Information flew by in the form of strange text, not having to be read. It could be felt. Easy to understand, like a mechanical body language. It told an endless tale of details about all the crimes against humanity their leaders had done. The world they constructed and the numerous ways they planned to deconstruct it.

Unimaginable technology that could do wondrous things. Wonderful, beautiful things. Impressive reach with communication that spanned the globe. So much potential... wasted. Utterly wasted until there was nothing left but a wasteland.

News reporters garbled outdated trends. Static swallowed them. Colors fought to escape the damaged areas of the recordings. There was off-key music, but it didn't sound like anything he'd want to listen to. Voices came back, rising into proper frequency.

A man in strange clothes stood before a flag he's never seen before. "... Everyone fears our world will be divided into four pieces by this meteor, but before it has had its chance to take us on, it's already divided us in half. The greater the threat, the stronger we will rejoice and overcome.

We will not let this thing divide us!"

The distorted voice returned from before. Seemed to be the most present memory on this sorry relic.

"... you know they want us divided, those damn bloodsuckers, cozying up in their little castle in the clouds. They're up there while we're down here suffering and struggling to make ends meet. All of you have been tricked by their promises of pillows and food while they take your kids and turn them into slaves. Oh, of course! Of course, you may go anywhere you please. Just make sure you leave your child at the door and you can go anywhere you want to go in the world. You name it, you can go there, at our expense, because you're our precious little cattle. And your little calves are so delicious and savory, perfect to make into scrumptious veal. No muscle, no fat, just pure tender meat that melts in your mouth."

Smacking lips sparked in his ears like drums underwater. The smacking turned to laughter. Unbearable laughter that cut off into white noise.

A dirt clod bounced off the top of Masks' iron helmet, getting his attention. Tearing the wires off his head, he held the sparking ends in disgust. The pounding in his heart steadily decreased, but the pounding above him escalated. Back in reality, the smell of mold filled his lungs and the sweat dripping off of him melted the chill in his spine. He had enough with this ancient device, no use in scraping out a dead end.

Mask wore nothing, owned nothing, and needed nothing, other than what was part of him. The vines wrapped around his massive limbs snapped as he strode, dangling on by the swamp remnants caked over his bare sun-bronzed skin. A muddy mane of golden hair clung around his neck like a cowl of nature, with leaf decals and cockroach buttons. His broad chest glistened past the low lights that bled through the holes in the walls, stars dotting over his celestial body as he drew closer to the edge. Critters scurried across his mask as they were revealed by the light, one crawling between the bars that imprisoned his mouth.

A single crunch and it was devoured.

Resting his back against the dripping wall, he peeked his head through a slit in the cold rust, his iron mask making a screech only he could hear. The kind of sound that got the nerves on edge until there's no more edge to go to. He'd lost track of how many days he'd been in the tower. Where was there to run in a world that wanted him chained? It may not have been the whole world, but it felt that way.

They recognized him without even seeing him. Knew him from legend alone. Knew he was valuable. Known to everyone but himself. Something worth capturing over what he did not know and didn't want to find out.

Mask watched them slowly make their way up, the dots amassing into a bubbling blob. Soldier ants, fighting for their fortune and glory queen. It didn't matter. They had no idea what awaited in the waters flooding this tower. Neither did Mask.

He only knew of what popped up for fresh meat and sunk back into the depths.

The waters stirred, and out came the unintentional defenders of this castle with no kingdom. Screams echoed, blades sung, and beasts snarled in a choir of conflict. It was time for this wave to test their might. Their tightly-knit tusudeo quickly split into a skirmish. It was every mutant for himself.

Columns of water shot into the air as a massive purple serpent plucked a knocker off the platform, his mace doing more harm than good as it fell out of his hand and bashed a brownie in its scaly flat face. He cried for help, begging for it; trying desperately to pry himself out of the maw of the creature that separated from the rest of its awkward face. Arrows flew from the small outpost the previous teams established, safe from what looked like a small balcony with a giant mushroom for a roof, a regenerating umbrella against the wilderness. The reinforcements weren't new to battle.

The snake wasn't their only concern, with most of the arrows aimed at approaching wandering loti, devilish flower headed creatures that await under the water for unsuspecting prey and follow any who disturb the waters. Vines wiggled in pain as they absorbed the barbed projectiles of the goblins, acting more like a distraction than a means of killing them. A lotus took hold of a brownie trying desperately to keep its vines at bay, slicing away one and getting grabbed by several more at the legs.

At that moment, as he lay there helpless, corruption poured out of the lotus and clung to his skin like a putrid pink slime. He shook and sputtered, no longer his former self. His scales quickly turned into petals, popping out and fluttering off the edge of the walkway. A powerful gust of wind tossed the petals towards the sky. One of the gargoyle scouts knocked the transforming brownie off the platform while another distracted the serpent beside them.

The corrupted fell into the water with a loud splash, quickly getting devoured by the blood-thirsty fish hidden within the murky waters.

Pulling a javelin out from behind, the brownie wounded by the fell mace reeled his arm back, aiming with his remaining eye. He wanted to hit his teammate for all sorts of reasons, none of them being out of mercy. He figured bleeding to death was enough for the tumor head. Releasing the javelin, he launched it straight into the nostril of the horse-faced serpent, the crystal at the end of it shattering within, transforming into burning shards of pure azoth. Flames filled its lungs, stomach, and skull; its mouth becoming a flamethrower that sent an inferno towards the drooping clouds.

Several of its curved teeth burst out of their sockets, hooking into the walls and anyone unlucky enough to not be behind cover. The team quickly dropped behind their square shields, with a few too busy in a quarrel with loti to react in time. Flesh tore, vines severed, blood splattered over rusted metal. A good amount of them remained standing. Bleeding and suffering, but standing.

The loti were nothing more than a mess of burning petals and puddles of pink latex.

Focused on the fighting, Mask didn't notice he was smiling. He didn't know why, either. The flames of battle were dying, but these slavers were still standing. He had work to do. Nature called.

"Kill them..."

A voice entered the back of his head. Whispering. Demanding. Commanding. Controlling.

His view flashed. A dangling leg, like a pendulum ticking away and reminding him that time is still going by. The stranded klabauter hung by her fingertips on the ledge, making her escape from the roof above. There was a balcony a level below, within reach, and from a drop that provided little risk to those accustomed to heights. Her grunts were childish and her muscles quivered under her meager weight.

"Kill..."

The klabauter released her fingers, her grunt cut short. A firm grip curled around her leg, dragging her up into the small hole. Bracing herself against the opening, she used all her might to fight back. It wasn't enough. Her body wasn't made to resist.

Mask put his other hand on her knee and gave a single tug. Bones screamed, her body cracking and spilling before him like a rotten egg. Intestines coiled onto the floor, the rest of her putrid discolored organs hidden under the mess of loose meat. The other half of her body dangled partway through the crescent opening in the wall, plugging it up and removing any light. A miniature waterfall collected into a bloody puddle, pouring at his feet, hot to the touch.

"Drink it in..."

Kneeling down, Mask cupped his hands and bathed in the fluorescent yellow fluid, lathering it into his iron faceplate. His instincts told him it would cleanse him and ease his sense of privation. The nauseating scent vanished, hidden behind mental barriers summoned by the wash of slain nourishment. His neck and eyes rolled back in euphoria. There was a thirst.

It was never to be quenched.

"More..."

He knew what to do, following the glowing mushrooms he trailed by each door to the lower levels. Darkness was to fall soon, but it was always dark within the tower.