Gregor Gobechov awoke to a burning sensation all over his body. When he tried to get upright, his arms wouldn’t listen. He grasped his chest, and his fingers pulled back a sticky, gooey mess. He tried putting together a single coherent thought of how he might have arrived in this mess—April! Jeremiah Mason’s granddaughter. Another wave of pain overcame him, and the familiar blackness returned.

Two years earlier

Somewhere off the Gulf of Guinea

Gregor awoke to a series of alarms, screaming, and a lot of pushing. He choked as smoke filled his lungs.

Where am I?

He opened his eyes as much as he dared. The pale green lighting that could only be some kind of emergency illumination system filled a wide hallway. Smoke engulfed the upper portion of the passage, and he couldn’t make out much from his current vantage point. Pain shot through his neck when he tried moving his head ever so slightly.

I’m at a hospital? But where?

Moments later, he was greeted with tropical night air. He coughed out the acrid layers of phlegm that seemed to have latched on to his throat.

An ebony-skinned face came into view. The person peering into his eyes was female and attractive. She said something in Portuguese. He understood only fragments of the language. Jeremiah’s head of security was a massive, imposing force.

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What was his name?

Gregor had made it his business to personally drink with all the guards.

That is probably how I got out?

He heard the familiar slam of a car door. Two well-dressed men approached the nurse. He couldn’t see much from the gurney, but he knew suits when he saw them. And these men barely fit into them. He didn’t recognize the men, but he was about to make out two words: Gregor and Pretzelverse. After a moment, one of the men approached. A thick blocky head came into view.

“You’re awake!” the man said as a massive fist rocked his world.

Blackness…

“Full sensory overload imminent,” a female voice said.

“What?” Gregor asked.

“Hello, handsome, are you ready to go up against a Magi?”

Who is this woman?

A tall, slender figure approached his line of sight. Her pale white skin was complemented by a black dress. Her black hair was combed back and braided. Two massive horns protruded from the back of her head.

“Lord Aldoor, you look as handsome as ever,” the woman said.

She looked familiar, but Gregor couldn’t remember where or when he had seen her.

“Who are you?”

“I need to be… Lord Aldoor.”

“Who’s that?”

“Don’t be coy. I know that’s your alter ego. You’ve recruited many, and I need to do the same while we still have an internet left.”

“Okay. What are you talking about? What’s wrong with the internet?”

The woman gave him a cool look. Her icy glare was beginning to unnerve Gregor.

“I know you have been out of touch, but thanks to one of your recruits, the internet backbone is failing.”

“That’s impossible. There are many redundancies.”

“Yes, but I’m afraid that there are few humans left to operate them.”

Gregor tried to say something else, but the woman placed a finger on his lips.

“In due time. All will be revealed.”

“Who are you?”

“You can call me by my proper title. Queen Amerdelle.”

A lot has gone on. I feel disadvantaged. I must find out what happened. It’s probably one of those teens. Bastards—

Gregor’s eyes closed. He could barely keep them open. Laughter enveloped him as he drifted into a dreamless slumber.