The briefing felt very official. They were in a proper briefing room and everything, one wall entirely taken up by a screen. There were a dozen chairs in rows, but no one was sitting down just yet. They were clustered around the middle, and looked up when Jacob came in.

A stocky, dark-haired man in Guild uniform came over and shook Jacob’s hand. He had a strong grip and a serious expression. There was something familiar about him.

“Terry Winfield,” he introduced himself. “But my real name is Steelfeather.”

Ah, that’s why he’s familiar.

“Jacob Sorenson, nice to meet you. Oh, uh, but you can call me the Hanged Man if you want.”

Steelfeather was an S-Rank. Not just any S-Rank—he was at the very top. His Blessing, Crooked Scales, allowed him to change his mass and density at will. Not a flashy ability, but once with nearly limitless applications. In practical terms, he was an upgraded version of Starman; equal parts speed, strength, and durability. Except hopefully not a raging lunatic.

When Becca learned that Jacob had met Steelfeather, she’d punch him out of jealousy.

“What’s with the sunglasses?” Steelfeather asked.

“It’s just this secondary ability I have,” Jacob said sheepishly. “People who look me in the eye usually run away screaming.”

He’d really have to find a better solution than sunglasses one of these days. He was tired of anyone he shared a room with assuming that he was a self-important douchebag.

Steelfeather nodded. “Well, all right then. I appreciate you taking precautions. Here, I’ll introduce the others you’ll be working with.” He took Jacob by the shoulder like he was a wayward child and steered him over to the larger group. Six of them, excluding Steelfeather and himself, two of whom were Haden and Titaness.

“Everyone, this is Jacob Sorenson. You’re an A-Rank, is that right?”

“That’s right.”

“And what is it you do?”

“I’m immortal.”

Steelfeather’s brows shot up. “I see.”

“Well, kind of immortal. I can still die, but I come back after a while. Aside from that, just basic enhanced strength, durability, and speed. I also have that secondary ability I told you about. Forces people to face their mortality or some such—makes them piss-scared for a bit.”

“Good.” Steelfeather nodded towards a man with a lit lantern hanging from his hip. “Hanged Man, this is Searchlight, B-Rank. His Armament can hold people in place.”

“That’s right,” Searchlight said with a nod.

“I’m Fran,” said a tall, slim woman with a little wave. She was obnoxiously chewing a piece of gum. “A-Rank. I run fast.”

Her unreasonably perfect features suggested that she’d put points in Appeal, and her form-fitting bodysuit, which left no modesty intact, suggested that she was rather proud of it.

“Her real name is Flicker,” Steelfeather added.

“But Fran to my friends.”

“I’m Magpie,” said a man with a pock-marked face and greasy black hair, wearing a ragged cloak of black feathers. “Full disclosure, I was a villain before all this.” He shrugged, making his feathers rustle. “But I thought throwing in with the heroes sounded better than dying, so here I am. My thing is stealing. It’s more useful than it sounds.”

Steelfeather’s gaze hardened. “You don’t need to trust him. You just need to learn to work together until this is over.”

This guy’s a real hardass, huh? I see who Starman modeled his fake persona after.

“I’ve got no problem working with you,” Jacob said and offered out his hand.

Magpie shook it with a smile, showing crooked teeth. “Appreciate that. Your hand’s really cold, you know that?”

“I know. Immortality can’t be all upside, can it?”

“This here’s Superglue,” Steelfeather continued, motioning to a short, chubby woman wearing thick glasses. “A-Rank. She’s our healer.”

“Yes, you did some work on my annoying little friend. Thank you.”

“And you already know us,” Titaness said, ruffling her grandson’s curly blond hair. “Welcome to the team, sweetie.”

“Actually, I never learned Haden’s hero name.”

“It’s Samson,” Haden said. He still had that shy politeness in his voice.

“All right. Samson it is.”

With introductions out of the way, the group fell back into idle small talk. From listening to them, the only one Jacob took any real liking to was Magpie. He had an easy way about him, and didn’t act like he had anything to prove despite the others’ obvious mistrust of him.

Thatch came in not long after with a few support workers in tow. Today, he wore a vaguely oriental-patterned green and orange tie with a big tiger on it—a true masterpiece—and nursed a cup of coffee.

Everyone sat down except for Samson and Titaness, who were far too massive for any of the chairs and had to stand at the back of the room. Flicker sat next to Jacob, which he wouldn’t have minded except for her noisy, constant, open-mouthed gum chewing. She didn’t take the hint when he glared at her, just smiling back and chewing, chewing, chewing. Not one sentient thought behind those eyes.

“I think everyone’s here, so let’s get started,” Thatch said. “A lot of you already know most of this, but we’ve got Hanged Man here with us now, so I’m going to take it from the top. You could use the repetition anyway. Feel free to ask any questions throughout.

“Our target is demon thane Akor-Goram, the Father of Flesh. Now, he’s Paragon’s responsibility, so none of you need to worry about fighting him physically, but there are several vital pieces of information to be aware of.”

He took a sip of coffee. “Firstly, and this should go without saying, get nowhere near him or Paragon. If they come your way, get the hell outta there fast. That includes you S-Ranks. These beings, they’re on a whole other level. Getting in their crossfire will mean near-instantaneous death. So don’t think you’re going to be the one to save the world on your own—leave that to the U-Rank.

“Secondly, aside from general destructive power that could level a city, Akor-Goram exudes a reality-distorting influence for roughly three kilometers around himself.” He motioned with his cup towards the support workers. “Our people with mystic abilities will be on-site to establish a stabilization field, but we assume that they’ll be able to carve out a small wedge of stable space-time at best. Basically, expect things to get weird. The distortion won’t be lethal on its own, but it’ll cause unpleasant effects such as warped perception and sense of time. His field makes his surroundings more like his home plane, so don’t expect the lesser demons to have the same problem with it. They have the upper hand there. Be on your guard.

“Once Akor-Goram has been subdued, it’s also our mysticists’ job to perform a ritual of banishing and send him straight back where he belongs. So take good care of them, yeah?”

There were scattered murmurs of agreement from the heroes.

Thatch continued. “Which brings us to Akor-Goram’s army. His soldiers and lieutenants. Some of you have fought a few lesser demons out there—those are classified as ‘strays’. They’re like flies on a corpse. Scavengers. These soldier demons, they’re different. Bred for combat. Stronger, faster, better equipped. The little drone footage we’ve managed to recover suggests anything between five and ten thousand of them. If we’re lucky Paragon might be able to whittle that number down a bit, but don’t expect miracles. This is going to be a long and bloody fight, and you’ll be outnumbered the whole way.

“Then the lieutenants. There are three of them. Suttrakk, Eris-Kord, and Yethelgor. Most of you will be familiar with the last one. Yethelgor is the demon who turned the top half of the Lodge to powder and played with Arcadia like his own little sandbox. Took a lot of good heroes to fight him off. You get the chance to avenge them.”

Thatch let the silence rest for a while as he took a few more sips of coffee.

“Obviously, Yethelgor is the one we have the most intel on. The Great Worm. He’s also a reality-bender. He can change people too, turn them against their allies. The best strategy against him is to hit him hard and fast, before he has time to bend anything. Steelfeather, I’m putting you on that.”

“Yes sir,” Steelfeather said in a grave tone. “I’ll take care of it.”

Thatch nodded. “Good man. Then there’s Eris-Kord, the Blood Lover. I’m sure it sounds more poetic in urgek. She’s one of Akor-Goram’s favorite concubines, apparently. We don’t have any information about her abilities, but she’s supposedly very attached to her hubby, so she’ll try to stick close to him. Separate them if you can so Paragon can focus all her energy on the big one.”

“Uh, I’ve got a question,” Jacob said.

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Where are you getting all this information from?”

“Good question. Drone footage, fragmentary records of urgek beliefs, field reports—ones that were bought with blood, for the most part. And we’ve got a few urgek guests locked up in the basement, left over from the invasion. We’ve been… persuading them to talk.”

“Torturing them, you mean?”

Thatch rolled his eyes. “Torturing them, yes. We’re supposed to play coy about that kind of thing.” He swept the rest of his coffee and looked mournfully into the bottom of the empty cup. “Does that answer your question?”

“I think so. Thank you.”

“Good. Onto the third one, then. Suttrakk, the Perfect Destroyer. He’s something like a duelist, likes to fight one-on-one, drag things out. Plays with his food. I say give him what he wants. Keep him out of the fight by splitting him off into a smaller engagement. It’ll put you at great risk, of course, but it’ll take some pressure off your allies.”

Another wave of lukewarm agreement.

He went on a while longer about timelines and logistics. Jacob’s attention drifted during that part. Once it was over, Jacob approached the director and pulled him aside for a private conversation.

“Listen, I’ve got an errand to run in the city. I’ll be gone for five, six hours tops. I thought I’d be a good little soldier and let you know beforehand.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Thatch said, stroking his mustache. “Everyone should stay put, save their strength for what lies ahead.”

“I knew you’d say that. But you’re not going to stop me, are you?”

The director sighed. “No, Jacob, I’m not going to stop you. I’m not interested in starting fights at the moment.”

“Good. In that case, I’ll be going. Oh, if the kid asks, don’t tell him I left. He’ll make a big fuss about it. Tell him I’m, I dunno, shitting my guts out or something.”

“I won’t lie to him. That’ll be your punishment for leaving. Just imagine the disappointment in that big monster eye of his. He might cry.” Thatch stuck out his lower lip in mock weeping and traced a finger down his cheek. “Inconsolable. How could you?”

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

“Guilt trip someone who cares.”

“You cared enough to lie.”

“I care enough to avoid unnecessary annoyance if I can.”

Thatch laughed. “Nahhh. You’re softer than you look, Jacob. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your habit of picking up strays.”

Jacob walked away. He was done with that conversation.

*****

Jacob snuck through Arcadia down to the Gray District. The apocalypse had remodeled everything so much that he got all turned around, and it took longer than it should have to find the right street.

The Sleeping Cat Bar and Inn: Home to Hero for Hire was no longer recognizable as anything other than one mound of broken architecture packed in and mingling with all the others. It took a good half hour to dig away enough debris so that he could enter the basement.

Everything in there was either burnt black or wet and moldy. He had hoped to find a note, some confirmation of Becca’s whereabouts, but if she had left anything of the sort, no trace of it was left.

Neither was there any sign of Becca’s beloved dancing cactus, which she kept on one of the liquor shelves behind the bar to wow patrons. He took that as a good sign. She would have brought it with her. Of course, there were no corpses, either, which was the most encouraging sign of all.

The only thing of any value he found was a single Sleeping Cat employee t-shirt with only a small burn down the side. In a fit of nostalgia, he put it on.

At least I’ll be able to rep the business while I’m fighting demons.

Next, he headed for the apartment. That turned out to be a complete bust. The building had been smashed all to pieces, and any attempt at recovering belongings or a trace of Becca’s trail felt useless.

But as he got ready to leave, he had a thought.

The wolf came with me across the water. Why would it do that if it had already decided to ditch me?

Unless it knew I was going home, and it wanted to get there, too.

“Wolf!” Jacob called out. He looked around in case a gangly one had heard him, but none of them were peeking over any roofs. He was in the clear. “Wolf, you there? I’m sorry I treated you bad or whatever! I didn’t know. If you’re there, please don’t make me do a whole rom-com speech. Just come out.”

His voice echoed out. He watched the empty streets, listened for the sound of soft paws on asphalt. There was nothing.

Somehow, he still felt a single red eye on him. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or not.

“Last chance!” Jacob shouted. “I’m not doing the speech! I swear to god! If you don’t come out now, I’m leaving.”

Nothing.

He tried the same thing at the Sleeping Cat. Nothing again.

Well, it was worth a try.

Jacob headed back for the Lodge. It was getting late, and Thatch would probably nag at him if he stayed out too long. The kid, too.

Then, while traversing the sea of wreckage that Arcadia had become, Jacob saw something strange. There, at the end of the road, stood an intact building between two slumped and broken ones.

Except it wasn’t just intact. It was completely unharmed. There was even light coming through the windows.

What in the world…?

Jacob approached with caution, smelling trouble, but he refused to leave without investigating. When he got close enough, he read the sign above the door.

Cullyn’s Curios.

“That little alien fuck,” Jacob muttered. “I should have guessed.”

His alarm simmered down to a vague wariness. He approached the door, opened it to a happy jingling of bells, and stepped inside.

Just as cluttered and just as smoky as he remembered. Cullyn sat with his feet up on the counter, watching abstract colors dance across his fat TV. A plume of colored smoke rose around his head.

“Ahem.”

Cullyn sighed, withdrew his feet with no great haste, and spun to greet his customer. This time, he was wearing a blue velvet dress and a plastic princess tiara.

“Looking very snappy there,” Jacob said.

“Sarcasm,” the thune replied and puffed at his three-headed pipe. “A facet of human social interaction I have long-since mastered.”

“Any reason why you’re here? I don’t know if you noticed, but Earth isn’t really the best place to vacation on these days.”

“Yes, I made a note of that at some point. If you must know, I’m waiting for an important customer.” His four eyes blinked all at different times.

“Okay. Do I happen to be that important customer?”

Cullyn took in a lungful of smoke. He gave no reply, just grinned, smoke escaping through his teeth.

“I see. I don’t suppose you’ve seen Becca recently?”

“Oh, yes. Rebecca Hartley visited twenty-one earth days ago.”

“Wait, she did?” Jacob stomped up to the counter and put his hands down on either side of the cross-dressing alien. “Did she leave a message?”

Cullyn blinked. “Yes.”

“Well? Give it to me.”

“She said that she will be going to Mars along with some unimportant people whose names I did not bother to memorize, and that she will be waiting for you there. She said not to worry about her, and that she’s in good company.”

“Good.” Jacob felt himself deflate, used the countertop for support. A tension he had carried inside him for so long had suddenly snapped. There was relief, but also a great weariness. Like sitting down after a long day and feeling all the aches and pains descend at once.

“That was it? Nothing else?”

“I don’t want to say the last part.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s filthy, and it forces me to visualize parts of human anatomy I’d rather not be familiar with.”

“C’mon. Be a bro.”

Cullyn rolled his four eyes one at a time. “Very well. She concluded her message by saying, and I quote: ‘You’d better hurry up and get here bro, because the next time I see you, I’ll fuck you blind.’ End quote.”

It was strange hearing Becca’s words come out of the alien’s mouth, but that was definitely her, all right.

Jacob grinned so hard his cheeks started aching. “Thanks. You don’t know how happy that makes me.”

“I believe I have some idea. Human anatomy is really not that complicated. Just unsightly.”

“Not that kind of happy.”

“I see.”

Jacob took a step back. His chest hurt.

Cullyn restuffed his pipe and kept on smoking.

“Who even are you?” Jacob asked. “Like, really. Because nothing about this is remotely normal.”

The thune cleared his throat. “I sell exactly what you need, exactly when you need it. I am Cullyn, and these are my curios.”

“Okay, and beyond that?”

Cullyn fell into still, thoughtful silence. Then, he said: “It’s really not for me to say. I work for Mr. Ender. If you’d like to know more, take it up with him.”

“Who the fuck is Mr. Ender?”

“A great man, and a credit to your race. I will politely ask you not to disparage him.”

Okay, so he’s a human, at least.

“Elaborate, please?”

“As I said, I cannot. Pick another topic to discuss.”

Jacob sighed. “Whatever.” He looked around at the shelves filled with invaluable Relics, piled haphazardly with no regard for their value like a magpie’s hoard. “I don’t suppose you’ve lowered your prices since the last time I was here. I’m still a little light on cash.”

Cullyn fussed with his tiara to get it perfectly straight and brushed out a fold in his dress. “No, I have not. Haggling is an ugly habit, you know. Indicative of a dishonest spirit.”

“I think that might be a little prejudicial.”

“No. It is a true and honest fact about dishonest hagglers.” He stared at Jacob like he was looking at a convicted mass murderer.

Jacob held up his hands. “Okay, Jesus. I was just asking.”

Cullyn gave a smoky sigh. “However, Mr. Ender has instructed me to make you an offer.”

“He did, did he?”

“Yes.”

“And the deal is…?”

“You will be allowed to purchase any Relic you desire with the promise of future payment.”

“Oh, nice. I’m assuming there’s a wrinkle. What happens if I don’t pay?”

“If you don’t pay me back within three months, you die.”

“I die?”

“Yes.”

“Like, drop dead, just like that?”

“Something like that.”

“Is there interest on this?”

Cullyn frowned deeply at him. “What’s interest?”

“Nevermind. Can I think about it for a moment?”

“You may have several moments.”

“Thank you, that’s very generous.”

“Your sarcasm is noted.”

Jacob walked a bit away from the counter to get a sliver of privacy.

Okay, so I can just walk out of here with the shiniest, most expensive Relic he’s got. All I have to pay for it is one death in three months. That’s probably worth it, right? I mean, how many deaths would a good Relic save me in the long run?

It concerned him a little that this enigmatic ‘Mr. Ender’ fellow was pulling the strings behind this deal, but it was simply too good of a deal to pass up. Or at least too good not to hear him out.

“All right, I’ll consider it,” Jacob said as came back over. “I wanna know what my options are first, though. What’s the most expensive Relic you’ve got?”

Cullyn gave a courteous nod and a sweet little smile. “I’m sure Mr. Ender will appreciate your patronage as much as I do.”

His tone sure changed up quick.

The thune set away his pipe on the countertop, got out of his chair, and shuffled through the shop, deftly avoiding heaps of trinkets left on the floor. He adjusted items along the shelves here and there, placing them in some new arbitrary location with great precision and care as though there was some kind of highly specific, but completely incomprehensible method behind it all.

He squeezed past Jacob and pulled up his skirts before going down in a squat. He rooted around the lowest shelf and struggled to lift up a shield, getting out a small jewelry box from underneath it. He got up and presented the dusty box to him.

Jacob took it. “Thanks, I guess.”

He opened the box, and inside on a bed of blue sink lay a ring of some greenish metal, a wreath of leafed vines entwined about each other. Delicately crafted, with tiny details on the leaves.

“What is it? The System doesn’t work, so I can’t read the description.”

“It’s the Creator’s Ring.”

“What does it do?”

“It raises all of the wearer’s attributes by two.”

Oh, damn.

“All right, not bad. How much is it?”

“Eight million in your local currency.”

Jacob could certainly use something like that.

Cullyn sighed. “You could go with the Creator’s Ring, yes.”

“But…?”

“But it’s not the one you want.”

“Be a little more vague, please.”

“Said the smart human who definitely knows what simple words mean. See, sarcasm. We both know how to do it.”

“Really cut me to the bone with that one.”

“Yes, and I find your constant use of hurtful insincerity so impressive.”

“Okay, just tell me what you meant! The ring isn’t the thing I want, yes?”

“Yes.”

Jacob looked about the shop, arms spread. “Which one, in your estimation, do I want?”

Cullyn took back the jewelry box, shut it with a sharp click, and tossed it back on a completely different shelf. He shuffled away into another row of shelves and came back a minute later holding a ragged purple teddy bear with several brown and red patch repairs. The thune held it up to him expectantly in both hands, like it was some great prize.

Jacob took it, but he wasn’t happy about it. It smelled like a damp attic. He turned it around in his hands. “What am I looking at?”

“This is the Deady Bear.”

“Funny.”

“I will need to implement a ‘sarcasm jar’, I think,” Cullyn muttered under his breath, stroking his chin in serious consideration.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Honestly. Okay, this is the Deady Bear. What does it do?”

“It stores souls inside it.”

Oh.

Oh, I see.

“To be clear,” Cullyn continued with a finger raised high, “it can only store one soul at a time. If a stored soul is released, a new one may be stored.”

“Forever?”

“Assuming the soul itself remains stable, yes.”

Jacob looked down at the limp teddy bear. “Since you gave me this, I assume you’re familiar with my Blessing.”

“To some extent.”

“You’re still offering me the same deal, knowing about my Blessing?”

“The deal is of Mr. Ender’s making. I trust his judgment completely.”

“This thing, is there any way to bring it with me when I die?”

Cullyn shrugged. “I’m not the man who wants a teddy bear.”

“I never said I wanted it.”

“It’s my job to know the hearts and intentions of my valued customers.”

“Mmhmm.”

“I know that the Deady Bear would bring you joy. That is what I know. How I know it is my own business.”

Jacob gave it a little shake, watched its limbs flop around. Once at rest, its head rolled forward and its dead black eyes looked back at him. “And how much does this one cost?”

“Three million in your local currency. More reasonable in terms of repayment, I should think.”

Sure thing.

Jacob didn’t know how far to trust the thune’s nose for Relics. Amassing all these priceless artifacts clearly required some real skill, but the way he conducted his business and tossed everything around like garbage… It didn’t exactly inspire confidence.

Jacob glanced up at the spot where Cullyn had thrown the Creator’s ring, then back at the foul little teddy bear. He thought about it for a good minute. Cullyn waited patiently, playing with his skirts.

“You know what,” Jacob said. “I think I’ll take—”