BETRAYAL? No. Not when it came to snitches.

Their character was clear from the moment Trey laid eyes upon those couture-wearing fools. He’d always hoped they’d choke on their bow ties. Condescending, hateful, avaricious—Trey had expected them to turn on him far quicker than they actually had.

Alone but not without recourse, Trey shrugged after returning from his [Zlide] dimension. He scanned the surroundings, seeking Bristles and company, but everything was dark, far darker than it’d been when he executed his warp. Anxiety spread through Trey as he slowly turned his gaze skyward, knowing the answer that'd meet him there.

Dozens of fiendish slavetalons closed rank across the sky, enclosing Trey in their black and indigo feathers. A tremendous shadow cast over the surrounding woods as the Bristles-bound birds stole the sky. Their claws and beaks were encased in blackwheat. Some of them sucked stray crumbs into their mouths, their eyes reddening from the effect.

Their ankle chains behaved differently, too, exuding a mysterious smokiness. The vapors then solidified into newly conjured links. As the darkness swelled, the shackles lengthened in kind, both binding and embittering the captured birds. High-pitched whines passed into Trey’s ears, barely perceptible, infusing Trey with an unsettling feeling.

Curses…they were curses absorbed and retained within the chains. Each link whined in submission—Trey heard them, he felt them, and he cemented those dog whistle woes into his mind.

The chained curses wailed nonsense, but their pain marched upon Trey’s empathy. Release us, free us, kill us, die for us.

Bristles, of course, occupied the center of the flock formation, standing upon the backs of several blackwheat-boosted birds. He posed with crossed arms and an imperious gaze, heartily commanding his eclipse to move. “Capture him! I hath devised a novel torture for Trey.”

The birds—the blackened sky itself—surged toward Trey. The diving flock sounded like a collapsed wall, pressing upon the forest as one.

But Trey slipped into the woods. [Zip] at first, then [Zoom]. He rode upon the darkness in standing position the same way Bristles rode upon his birds. His path remained true, heading in the direction of Swishy’s floating “v”. He phased through tree after tree, ditching the enemies, desperate to escape the eclipse to glimpse the postcard pinks of the Stormcellar’s sky.

The sky, the sky. Just a little bit of space. A little bit of light.

But the slavetalons were fast. They were well-acclimated to Trey’s primal desire for light and knew well to smother it. As property of Bristles, deprivation was their lot in life. They were masters of deprivation, having long suffered under the clutches of unfulfillment. The birds sorrowfully pursued Trey, enforcing the darkness that also now resented. Trey wasn’t prepared to feel these sorrows. His soulful body was more in tune than he’d given it credit for.

Is this how Swishy lives? Trey mused. Feeling everything? Seeing all the pain? This is horrible, I wouldn’t wish this on anybody…

Trey grew sorry for the birds. The soul possession games wore his mind and heart down to the quick, and tears welled within his immaterial gaze.

“Boo-hoo!” The bird-surfing Bristles said. “Thou art weak. Swishy would never accept thy sad, impotent condition.” He brandished his bow—but Trey made himself scarce, the eclipse darkness aiding his retreat.

But upon Trey’s retreat, his soul shaved down from the terror. He felt…off. The longer he rode upon the [Zoom] shadows, the more of his ghostliness he consumed. He sensed himself grow smaller—he became smaller. His form had lost inches off of itself, his eye level noticeably sinking from the lost height. With every inch drained, its equivalent reservoir of shadows and power went with it.

But he couldn’t quit when beaten down: that meant quitting on Swishy, relinquishing his body, and casting aside the path to Heaven and healing.

“Reveal thyself,” Bristles laughed. “Give up thy ghost.” He laughed so hard that he could barely nock his arrows. And the birds could barely carry him—so they had to switch shifts, Bristles jumping off the old birds and landing upon fresh ones. Once the man collected himself, he nocked several arrows from his back basket, nocked them at once, and then fired straight into the air.

Bristles outstretched his arms and laughed. The doom-derived glee sustained him.

Arrows, arrows, arrows—a dark rain filled the sky. Trey phased into a tree, merging with his ever-reliable shield. A pair of slavetalons saw him, though, as Trey recognized their gleaming red eyes glowing in the trees. They zoomed from their perches and caught two of the arrows—then soared straight at Trey. He stood his ground, floating as deeply in the bark as he could. The birds jammed the arrows at him—strongly, too—puncturing halfway into the tree’s thickness. Only a little further and Trey would’ve been soulfully impaled with darkness.

Whew! Trey thought. These close calls are shaving off my lifespan.

But the birds surrounded the tree, cawing loudly to summon their flock. And surely enough, several more birds came, each of them now tornado-ing and taking nibbles from the arrows stuck into the tree. One bird under the blackwheat spell became two, then three, then eight. The skies darkened with slavetalon reinforcements. Their combined presence and force colonized Trey’s senses. The crown of birds tightened their formation around the tree, blinding Trey with their iridescent wind, as their clamorous shackles resounded like heavy rain. Blackwheat and indigo feathers were all around him, a cyclone of curses trapping the young man, only for the coup de grace to lower upon him.

Bristles. He couldn’t see him or hear him through the storm of chain-wearing birds. But Trey sensed the wrathraven soul right above him—always above, never failing to flex his superiority. Trey heard the bowstring strain backward, its straw crackling like a snapped chicken bone.

“Goodbye.” Bristles fired through the birds.

Trey reached with [Zip] dexterity through the trees, grasping for the passing birds. His soul warped from every touch—five birds, he counted five.

“ZLIDE!”—darkness opening, darkness swallowing, darkness closing.

(…)

Back into the dark tunnel, gliding through the path of shadows as the snitchtalon trio that abandoned him laughed at his passing soul.

Why are you so small? The snitchtalons mocked. Where’s your babysitter? Don’t you have a curfew?

“Yes, but me and your mom are getting pizza!” Trey wouldn’t miss an opportunity to laugh in their faces, but he was concerned. It scared him that his form had diminished to the extent that the snitches noticed it—because the birds appeared giant, people-sized, suggesting that Trey was now bird-sized.

He inspected his body, stealing glances at his stubby hands and thinning wrists. Trey was small, severely lacking in soul and shadow, and he didn’t know how much longer he could maintain the [Zlide] antics. The smaller he physically became, the less shadow he could draw within him. He estimated that he had one more [Zlide] in him, maybe two if he were lucky. But what would that cost him? Would there be a speck of him left by the end of this?

The birds gawked with unhinged beaks, then raised their blackwheat-wrapped claws. They floated over Trey, primed for descent upon their long-time enemy. But that’s when they noticed the invited guests, the nervous slavetalons that lingered at the portal entrance.

The five birds that Trey had dragged into the realm—plus a dozen more. They’d arrived, shackles and all, to pursue their master’s sworn enemy.

Trey was out of breath. The nerves were getting to him. His mental stack strained from the checkmate scenarios his formidable enemies kept inflicting upon him. But the Bristles birds didn’t attack as expected. They gazed around the [Zlide] realm, inspecting the tunnel, mystified by it.

“Are you guys…scared?” Trey asked.

But the slavetalons ignored the question. They softly flapped against the current of the tunnel, which invisibly urged all inhabitants toward the exit. Their shackles clinked slowly and off-beat. They purred in discord and shame, confused in their purpose now that they were separated from Bristles—yet bound by his chains.

They feared the [Zlide] realm yet found refuge in it. They weren’t yet ready to leave.

Trey exhaled, briefly relieved at his luck. He drifted along the current as slowly as possible, taking a breather, recovering whatever soul he could from the shadows. He focused on his breathing and the ghostly growth spurt set upon him—just an inch or two, enough to feel better but nowhere near what he’d need to turn the tide against Bristles.

Meanwhile, the three snitches inspected their captive family members. They descended and Trey braced himself—but they flew past him toward the Bristles’ birds. Each snitchtalons viciously pecked at the dark shackles. Bristles’ faithful birds initially resisted, pulling their claws away, glaring at their well-meaning brethren. They weren’t brethren anymore. They were divided by Bristles. Divided by the altar. Divided by the label of property.

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Every bird looked into each others’ eyes, desperate and longing. They wanted to become a flock again, their own flock. The slavetalons wanted their free will, too, but their altar contract made them anxious to return to Bristles, their master. They couldn’t help their forlorn gazes at the portal exit.

Come here, they said, It’s okay. Just rest. Focus on flying against the current. It’s tiring at first but it’s not that hard. It’s just a little wind, nothing a shadowclaw can’t handle. Don’t go yet. Let’s figure this out.

With those words, the almost twenty Bristles birds calmed down, flying against the current as the snitches resumed their chain-breaking work.

Trey was moved by their actions, even if they came from mean-ass snitches. He drifted toward the portal exit and relaxed his zix-zhooter fingers. His thoughts moved to Swishy—he couldn’t wait to release his friend from the Straw City bondage.

And then blasted out of the exit at full speed, using [Zip] and then [Zoom] with all his might.

Back into the feather eclipse, the legion of blackwheat talons, the arrow rain of a domineering psychopath.

The tornado of birds had converged upon Trey’s exit area—they’d been waiting. Bristles and company grew skilled at triangulating the warps. Their strategy was simple: divide and conquer. The purple cyclone of birds occupied multiple clearings while Bristles patrolled another area. Bristles, their commander in plumage, was a cunning one.

Trey struggled through the onslaught of avian attacks. A barrage of blackwheat-covered beaks nipped at him. A stray blackwheat claw scratched his cheek. Death by a thousand cuts, Trey sustaining minor damage here, there, everywhere. Each inch he glided forward costs him a strip of soul—from his stomach, his shoulders, his face and neck. His opened wounds became amorphous, slightly formless, as he leaked disparate blue molecules.

He’d escaped, though, harmed but un-obliterated—from the birds at least.

Bristles was right on his tail, jamming blackwheat into his ride’s mouths. The man fed himself, too, by reaching into his screaming satchel and clawing out handfuls of scarecrow wheat. He had no practical reasons for a soul-wheat meal. He’d taken no damage. He possessed no anxiety or nerves. But each bite filled him with bliss. The sickly harmonies of crying scarecrows made his eyes roll to the back of his head.

The slavetalons underfoot were distraught, their feathers slick with sweat.

Trey? Less distraught. He’d forced himself to get used to it. Couldn’t be me! He put a little more oomph into his [Zoom] pallet, staring Bristles’ down, reacting to his hand gestures as arrows were released, one after the other. Again, his ghostliness combined with the tree’s non-ghostliness shielded him from arrows. He’d gained some distance. He knew he’d arrive at his destination soon.

The encroaching darkness closed upon him. The woods were a chaotic mishmash of bark and torn leaves. The trees, once properly spaced, had now crowded together in grotesque angles. Branches held themselves out to him, outstretched in jagged spires. Trey couldn’t shake the feeling that he rushed straight into a demonically constructed mouth. Oblivion had set upon him but a glimmer of hope remained. His hopes were conjured in a cloud of soft blue dust around his chest, extending outward into a line. The tether from his soul to his body came into focus. Arrows shot over his head and he walled the fear out. Lurking slavetalons battle-cried from unseen perches—and he remained steady. Every unit forward thickened the rope even more. Determination, resolve, grit. These concepts filled his diminished, grade-school-sized body, drawing him along the soul tether toward his destination.

Go, just go!

His chest swallowed more and more of the soul tether, and then, at long last, he’d arrived.

(…)

[Straw Guardian] towered over Trey: ravaged, broken, eaten beyond repair.

Trey gazed at the massive scarecrow in terror, its tattered structure, its chomped-through ribs and arms and shoulders and head. Wilted and curse-wracked, the guardian leaned at a diagonal, propped upward only by the black stakes that impaled and anchored it. His vessel inside the wheat giant, a deduction made from the chest string extending toward the scarecrow’s chest—the only part of its body that remained fortified and un-eaten. He was close-close-close; he only had to make it past the wrathravens.

He noticed the trio of giants then, bashing their faces against the guardian’s chest. They turned their heads to the side to give themselves the best chomping angles. But every attempt at cracking the rye-woven heart armor was met with an incredible intent of RESOLVE. The creatures ate through several layers but several more returned in their place. During one of these straw regeneration cycles, Trey saw Swishy within a hollow indentation of the chest. Along with Swishy, Trey glimpsed his own body and the blue tether that linked them. Soul Trey reached out on reflex, but Swishy’s wheat powers covered them.

“Swishy!” Trey yelled. Soulful tears dribbled down his face from the realization that Swishy protected his body with everything at his disposal. “I’m here! I’ll come get you!”

The wrathravens turned their heads toward the blueness, their curiosity piqued by the spirit that dared interrupt their romp within the golden expanse, before resuming their chest destruction. They appraised the tired, soul-worn Trey. He was reduced to the size of a garden gnome, the accumulation of damage and shadow craft costing him. As the wrathravens stared at his ghost, he prayed that returning to his body would heal his soul. The bird-beasts expressed minor interest in the soul tether leading toward Swishy.

But then three six-winged shrugs occurred. The creatures dismissed tiny little Trey. Their attention returned to dismantling the [Straw Guardian], cycling the structure for a definitive weakness.

All the while, the voodoo intent revealed itself from behind the guardian’s shoulder, orbiting the structure with the deliberate pacing and presence of Straw City’s trademark zeppelin.

Fearful tremors shot through Trey. His soul body gelatinously wobbled.

“I can do this! One more spell…” Trey breathlessly said. He steadied his breaths and concentrated, drawing shadows into himself for one last [Zip] to his vessel. Shadows swelled around Trey’s hands. Trey was scared and excited. It was time to return to himself—

“What dost thou smile about?” Bristles flew in from above with a quizzical expression. “Thy death is assured. And I shall make it a painful, soul-rending one. Seek sense and eliminate that smile.”

“I don’t know Bristles, maybe I’m having fun. Maybe I know that I’ll make it back to Swishy. Smiles mean I haven’t lost yet.”

Bristles was on the ground now, properly walking. With each step, the eclipse of feathers followed after him, pacing themselves in accordance with their master. “Thou sayest that one wishes to return to Lord Swishy’s side? How it pains me that mine liege offers thee such love—more love than an insect deserves. Fine then…earn thy position with might. Prove thy worth. Prove that Trey is not…a beetle…an ant.”

Bristles took an arrow in his hand and made a fist, crushing the wheat into molecules, then tossed the black crumbs into the air.

The birds took off into the crumbs and allowed the blackwheat to enter their beaks, their eyes, their feathers. The flock became one with the rage, one with the injustice. Their chains rattled, the links lengthening. The feather eclipse, their flying shackles, drowned the forest in broken fence sounds.

Each bird glowered at their master, hateful that the strength they now were imbued with couldn’t be turned against them. Even as the first birds rocketed toward Trey, their blackwheat-covered talons and beaks at the ready, they cast sidelong glances upon Bristles, swearing to themselves to eliminate their captor.

Bristles smirked toward the birds with opera mask evil. “GO!” He screamed. “Go on, property, chop-chop. Make haste and return with mine victory!”

Under the shadow of the [Straw Guardian] turned dead guardian, beneath the collapsing veil of feathers and shackles, Trey was tasked with making his last stand against the scourge of Bristles. Trey knew that he had the ingredients to succeed. Heart, soul, expression. All that remained was to win.

The birds were upon him, swiping and pecking, some of which Trey dodged but most of which he couldn’t. His toddler-sized soul stood little chance against the head-on assault. Not only did the blackwheat-covered beaks and claws damage Trey—but the shadowy chains did, too, knocking against the side of his head. His soul shaved down; his will weakened; his inspiration, at long last, flared. He molded his remains of shadow, his remains of soul, crafting the most useful intent for the moment: ZPREAD.

The boy disintegrated, his joints disappearing first, then his extremities, his fluffy hair. His eyes were last—for he needed to properly aim the next maneuver. Dots. He became a mass of unorganized dots—which then became grains, that next reduced to specks, molecules, and atoms.

The birds were confused as there was nothing left to swipe at, only a blue mist. Trey landed amid their eyes and wings and chest, careful to avoid their mouths—and their shackles, especially those demonic shackles. His soulful atoms [zpread] through the flock, tagging dozens upon dozens of the birds.

One more spell, one last maneuver to escape the situation. “ZLIDE! ZLIDE, dammit, ZLIDE!”

“Thou art sure one has enough soul for that?” Bristles mocked. “Breath him in, slavetalons, CONSUME HIM!”

“I have all the soul I need. And the heart too! Now ZLIDE!”

The birds inhaled upon command, sucking up all the air they could.

Trey focused on his soul, his will, his resolve. As his soul diminished and his awareness dimmed, he at last felt the surge of power coursing through his subatomic blueness.

[ZLIDE] activated.

Each bird was torn away in chunks. Their wings were vacuumed away first, then their heads, and finally the rest had siphoned away in a spiraling black amalgam.

When they arrived at the [Zlide] realm, the slavetalons appeared right after him—without their chains—before those bonds reintegrated around their ankles. But for a moment they gazed at Trey—and Trey gazed back—marveling at the freedom. All parties were celebratory about it. Every heart jumped. Not a single entity within the warp dimension missed that. A precious moment was shared and then passed. But the mourning didn’t return, nor did the despair. Only the plotting, only the movement forward, the path toward becoming unchained.

The slavetalons shared one sentiment—in unison—because they were not yet individuals. They remained bound to Bristles. But that shared moment of autonomy allowed them to say one thing: these blasted chains are loosening!

”Yeah…they are!” Trey said, collecting his atoms, undoing the [Zpread]. But by the time he’d reformed, he was little more than a sprite, a fairy. He knew the birds were gigantic—their beaks alone were three times his size.

How’d you vanish their shackles? One of Trey’s original snitch allies said. We’ve worked on these other ones. We’re down to one link. The shadows in them are strong.

“A new spell…but there’s not much left of me as you can see.”

Whatever, we’ll work on the new arrivals…and uuuhh…

“Uuh, what?” Trey dozed off, fatigued and about 90 percent dead.

Thanks…The snitch looked just about ready to vomit. Trey didn’t like how the graciousness felt either.

“That’s awkward,” Trey groaned. “Let’s just go back to hating each other after this.”

Deal.

And then a warbling sound occurred at the portal entrance. The closing entrance…reopened. Fingers appeared first, then two whole hands, Bristles himself spreading the darkness open. The Stormcellar light filtered into the [Zlide] realm, drawing everyone’s eyes. Bristles crawled through the portal—which snapped shut right after him.

The snitches, the slaves, and the fairy-like Trey were terrified.

“Greetings…” Bristles said, pouring blackwheat powder into his mouth. “And farewell.”