They tried to stick a dead body inside of me!

Trolley pokes his head through the face of the trapper, scanning his surroundings. It’s nighttime, but the sky is still bright, dispersing its glow across the fine mist along the landscape. In the distance, a deep silhouette approaches. It’s a large, heavier-set creature, around three meters in height. With its shriveled arm, it drags another much smaller corpse across the wasteland with rigorous intent. The carcass sticks and tears along the landscape, like dragging velcro across a wool blanket. The creature was tired, and the body was heavy. He had been dying for a long, long time.

“Wait!”

Before Trolley can escape, the thing calls out to him. “Please! If I don’t get rid of my brother’s body, it’ll become a Shame and kill me!”

Trolley’s head sinks back into his hole. He had known this desperation all too well. That fear— the toxic fear that would drive anyone to do anything. He shouldn’t respond. He shouldn’t have responded.

“...You are lying. You killed that man.”

The creature stops, dumbfounded. It cocks its head unnaturally far forward, fizzling its demeanor. It jerks the body off the ground, tearing the flesh from the ground. “You can speak? I’m sorry, I took you for a fool.” He steps towards Trolley, effortlessly hauling the body in the air. Trolley hunches backward into his cave with caution.

“Alright then. Let me be straight with you. You want out of this, right? ‘Course you do. Everyone does.”

Hes lying. Hes lying. He’s a lying, lying liar, and he’s going to hurt me.

Trolley hunches back into his shell. Bits of light and color peak through the fog, as he can just barely make out the details of the creature’s stature. Its mask is shaped like a crow, with a beak protruding downwards toward its long bulbous neck. Around its snout sprouted hundreds of little malformed beaks scattered about its edges like teeth. Its left arm is long— long enough to reach the floor, spouting loose skin from a long boney finger like an old wing. He can’t quite tell what the creature was before its transformation, but its volant nature implies that he may have been a Kepshi.

The beast reaches out toward Trolley. “My name is Ives— I’m thinking… maybe we can help each other, huh?”

***

“...Therein lies the true wrath of Utu, does it not?... Staving man’s reprieve—? Our ability to pass on—? Is that not what we all desire most?” Trolley’s jaw retracts back into his face— behind his sharp mask, dripping saliva from god knows where.

Pan shakes his head. “I’m looking for a more permanent death, I guess.”

“...No such fashion. In the first hour of the first century, when humanity first encountered Utu’s growth, many sought means of death. Those on her Northern face— those in Ulmarak— were the first to burn bodies. It wasn’t long before they realized the ashes would turn into airborne spores, decimating everything and everyone in the surrounding area— All of which is to say that nothing you can do will work.”

“But you eat things, right? I’ve been feeding my old organs to you. What happens to them? Ives said that—”

Trolley arches himself forward into the skylight. His innards were strung around his neck and torso like a harness, binding him to the walls of Ut’thru’s stomach. Their rigidity bore into his chitin, scratching his skeleton from thousands of years of age. He rears his mask directly into Pan’s face. “...And just what do you know of Ives—? The one who trapped me in here, four hundred thousand long years ago…That— thing who drained the marrow from my bones and the blood from my heart, stranding me within this umbral pocket… Hmm?”

Pan shrinks away. At first, he could barely look the creature in the eyes, but now he couldn’t draw his own away. What is this strange kinship he feels with the creature Ives—? And why did Trolley keep referring to him as a familiar?

“I don’t know. What— do you know of Ives?”

“...He is an executioner…A traitor. When I first awoke, he sold me lies— tales of freedom. They cost me my life and soul. He fed me the bodies of Irdusvil’s men— prisoners and innocent alike. They live in perpetual unrest within me now.”

“Why? Why go through that effort? Why not leave them to—?”

“...You were there too. Yes— I remember… Merely five hundred years ago. That’s right. I never forget the stink. That stink!”

Pan is taken aback. Now he understands— This isn’t the first time we’ve met, is it? Pan shifts his resolve toward Trolley’s predicament. “I’ll tell you what— if you help me out of here, maybe I can help you out of this bucket— thing. You can be free. You can be free again.”

Trolley cranes his neck and trunk backward. His eyes don’t change, nor does his mask convey expression, but his voice seems to be holding back something. “...If you desire peace, there is a Scarecrow in Tuvyek, North of here. These are mechanical surgeons designed to cripple the body and mind beyond repair. You will not die, but at least you won’t be conscious or harmful to others.”

“Works for me. Wait— Tuvyek—? That’s where Ives said he was taking me.”

“...For good reason. I imagine he desired to remove your head and adopt your vessel.”

Pan shifts his head towards the broken mollusk pinned to his shoulder. Much of the blood had dried up now, obscuring the face behind it. Shattered fragments of his old mask bore deep into his skin, enveloped by the tissue. As much as he wants to maintain his fleeting glance, he can’t resist but look away from the vile thing. “How did you know—?”

A strange expression creeps up the side of Trolley’s mask. “Within the mountaintops— where the setting sun and the ribbon of light connect— you should encounter a small ravine. Its crevasse bears a slice of time and space in discord called a Slipstream. Under no circumstances must you leave the ravine until you reach your destination. Drink the mud— eat the meat if you must— but do not leave the Slipstream. Do not listen to a word others say, and do not read any inscriptions you might encounter. Follow these rules until you can travel no longer. If he wakes, you will have no chance.” Trolley sinks back into the shadows, where no eye can spot and no ear can catch. He freezes into a pale blue hue along Ut’thru’s walls as though he had never existed.

Pan is all alone again. His eyes adjust to the darkness, allowing him to see the many tunnels within Ut’thru’s mouth leading up, down, and every which way. Many of the holes had been stitched, boxed, drilled shut, or otherwise locked up. Others bore fine sediment left untouched, killing tissue’s nerves like rotting oak in an unkempt home. These decaying rooms almost seem more pristine than the healthy ones. With unused branches, tarps, and tapestries left behind, every corner bears the familiarity and culture of a species trying to live. Here, a small pocket where something may have slept; there, heaps of wire and tendon strewn about like doorknobs or handlebars; somewhere else, sheets of imprinted metal handled with the gentle care of a real, thinking being. The home was once alive, literally and figuratively. Even though Pan could not relate to it, he could understand the innately human struggles, loss, and history which once existed here.

He awkwardly turns toward Ut’thru’s esophagus, a small, dilated doorway leading to the surface where the entrance of the bucket lay undisturbed. A sense of solidarity washes over him. He returns to the pain in his jaw, the numbness in his arm, and the exhaustion overall. As though a vice gripping were his sanity together, Pan picks himself up, now prepared to climb. The pit exudes a small amount of residual heat. He gently places his hand on one of the walls, clutching the loose skin sinking at its edges. He aims his spear-like arm. With all his might, Pan strikes the wall and begins clawing at its surface until he breaks clean through the barrier of tissue and meat. It was— warm. Not from mucus or blood but a tender warmth, unaltered by wind or liquid. He firmly situates himself within the wiring on the inside of the meat, lifting himself from the ground.

With his other arm, he clutches another blob of loose skin, fastening his grip and, slowly but surely, climbing out of the pit. Strangely, he found the climb easier than walking on two legs. With each pull, he drags himself further into the suffocating tube until the floor beneath him disappears entirely.

With the last of his energy, Trolley glances back up at Pan. “...Until then, keep a tight leash on that head of yours. Now you may be wiser, but without your mind, your only fate will be to meet me— again, and again, and again.”

Suddenly, the slime beneath Pan contracts, vomiting him upwards. A burst of light fills the cave, cleansing his skin with mucus and blinding him. When he reaches the surface, Ut’thru’s gag reflex spits him out of the bucket. Surely enough, it was alive again. He squirms on the ground for a while, peeling the blood off his face. The soot and dirt from the terrain’s humidity coated his once-pale skin, turning it into a dark, soot-black. He lifts himself off the ground looking at the mouth of the bucket.

With one arm, he moves toward Ut’thru, lifting it upward from the bottom. He still couldn’t wrap his head around it. It was only three palm-lengths in diameter and four in height, but his frail body— so devoid of flesh and muscle— fit through like a glove. He swings the bucket around his shoulder, using Ives’ mutilated head as a coatrack for Ut’thru. The creature seemed much more docile at night and, quite possibly— a little more comfortable around Pan.

Ravine, ravine, ravine, ravine— Where the ribbon— and the setting sun—

Pan glances back towards the obscured light of the asteroid belt, dispersing its glow amongst the stratified clouds. It is nighttime, and the sun is nowhere in sight. Midday had passed when he first entered Ut’thru’s bowels, but now it was nearly nightfall. Somehow, entering Ut’thru’s mouth had dilated time to a quicker pace than what he was used to. At a glance, only a day passed, and yet— the surrounding terrain was now worn, tired, and pale. Without the sun, he was truly and entirely lost.

Alone and astray, armed with nothing but the blade of his bone, Pan sets forth toward the collapsing horizon. Step after step— hour after hour, he trudges down the quiet mountainside. At some point along his journey, the meat below his feet turned to ash— and the ash to soil— where a smooth slated foundation lay, forged under hundreds of thousands of years of compression. Every so often, he uses his weaponized arm to pierce through the slate before drawing it back out again, and every so often, the amount of blood drawn out along his arm decreases. About four centimeters this time— I think. Three centimeters— three— two and a half— two and three quarters— two and a half— two and a half… The further he treads, the less blood shown below the surface. The distance between his elevation and sea level is decreasing— in other words, he is moving away from Utu’s growth. The thought didn’t delight him as much as he desired, but it was still good news. After all, he hadn’t walked so much in his life. He certainly wouldn’t have been able to, but his body is healthy, and his mind is sound— well— sound as sound can be on the surface of this— thing.

As Pan approaches a cleft in the mountain, he reaches another impasse. The orbiting belt in the sky travels in only two directions: one, down the steep end of the mountain, and two, through a small ledge along the cliffside, above a bottomless sea of clouds. Without the aid of the sun, his journey could only progress one of two different ways.

Pan slumps to the floor, weighing his options. Traveling down the mountain would undoubtedly be easier, but—

He looks over the side of the cliff. It was a straight drop, what he would estimate to be 3000 feet from where the hill’s base met the clouds’ lower canopy. He would survive this fall. It would be quick— painless, even. It could also quite possibly delay the growth of Ives’ head. After all, time is of the essence, right? If this were the case, there could be only one option.

He places one foot at the edge of the cliff, looking downward. The mountainside seems to grow larger the longer he stares. Pan snorts, breathing rapidly. “Shit— why is this so hard?” He stumbles backward, reevaluating his approach.

Considering the terrain, many creatures developed mannerisms without regard for their health. Where most Earthly attempts at survivability were made to limit physical damage, on the face of Utu, speed and efficiency took precedence. In dire circumstances, health could be borrowed, and limbs could be replaced. This ferocity was an unfamiliar concept to Pan. Pain and fear had become obsolete to success, yet in this situation, his body hadn’t realized it.

Pan rests his head on a slight hump in the wall, calming his nerves. A wave of clouds crashes against the mountainside before constricting behind another forgotten village buried within the landscape. It was far more extensive than the rest he’d seen— perhaps a port where smaller territories once bought and sold material. He was glad to see some similar cultural traits between the two worlds, such as their tendencies to position cities around trade routes and other nonsense— but this was just to distract him from the fact that eventually— inevitably— he had to jump. Even if he were to descend the mountain, he would still have a fifty percent chance of traveling in entirely the opposite direction. It is an impossible scenario.

…

One of the mountains seems to be— moving. Pan jolts upright. Surely enough, like little ants marching on a fine stone, three figures traverse one of the village ruins. He rubs his eyes, unable to draw the dysphoria from his psyche. From imposing monsters to root-like sprouts, he cannot comprehend what commoners might look like in these lands. It is so foreign— so strange to see such order in navigating a land so unfamiliar. The sight alone could’ve given him a heart attack. Of course, Shames were always a possibility, but in Pan’s case, any form of movement at all would be worth the risk.

“HEY—!” A band snaps in Pan’s throat, and his screams escape with a whisper. The weak larynx in his neck had fractured, smothering his cries in the heavy atmosphere. He stumbles forward as if to follow them, only to be bound by the cliff’s looming precipice.

Another wave of clouds washes over the island. Jump. I have to jump. Pan takes four steps back, swallowing his fear. He sprints toward the precipice, but before he can leap, he slips under his own weight, barely catching himself on a dangling bit of stone at the cliff’s edge. He desperately reaches for safety, only to sink further into the sky overlooking a vast, infinite sea of clouds. Adrenaline fastens his grip, turning his knuckles white. He can barely think. The more he tugs at the jagged stones on the cliff, the more they loosen. Suddenly, the column cracks. His feet slip, and his lifeline is severed. With remains of rubble in hand, Pan falls down, down, downward into the abyss.

…

His memory had grown fuzzy after that point. When had he hit the ground? Perhaps he had a heart attack before then. The cacophony of bones and muscles unwinding, peeling, and prying in an attempt to repair himself occluded his hazy consciousness. When had he first come to his senses? How long had he been lying in this ditch? For the life of him, he couldn’t remember. He loosens the cloak fastened around his neck, letting it slide to the floor. A string of clouds had beset the sky above him, trapping the frigid air within his atmosphere. He landed in a house, crashing through its roof and caving the floor. His body had opened up, revealing the bones just under his skin. He had nearly forgotten they were there.

What the hell just happened?

An ornate door clicks and unwinds. A feminine creature, dwarfed by the hatchway’s sheer size, shuffles in before placing herself in the center of the room. The maiden isn’t a native, nor had the terrain warped her meek figure. She wore a rather stoic mask, with two wide, overarching ears peeking out from behind her head. Her eyes widen at the sight of him. “My lord…”

She takes a deep breath. “KATUK! ARMUS! IT’S ALIVE!”

A skinny creature clad in Aes armor bursts through the door as if it were paper. The two both bore similar armor. Their masks and metal were of the highest quality— pristine and littered with ornate details along the ridges, firmly sealing any gaps. Buried in the creases of their armor lay thickened muscle, undoubtedly different from natural tissue. The few scraps of fabric strewn along their waist and shoulders held many translucent flasks, baggage, and weaponry. Both were soldiers of some sort, armed with means to survive the wasteland. Following close behind, a larger, half-naked brute enters the door. The creature drags a large club along the floorboards in its right hand. Its mouth droops downward, loosely dangling its long jaw along the base of its clavicle. Every surface of its exposed skin is blotted in holes— ears— twitching and fluttering at every vibration.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Wordlessly, the three of them wait for his response. For a moment, he questions his sanity and whether the past merely belonged to his imagination. He trembles slightly, turning his eyes toward the torn ceiling. It feels impossible to piece together a single coherent thought. Instead, he focuses on the atmosphere and the blue rays of light creeping through the rotten wooden walls. He had left such an imprint on the shed’s roof that he could almost see his figure in the sky like a cartoon character.

The woman stands up and dissects the contents of her bag. She retrieves a small slate with strange writings and holds it to her face. Clearing her throat, she begins to speak. For around two minutes, she poorly recites the foreign inscriptions as though she has any idea what she is saying. Even from Pan’s perspective, the words seem phonetically incorrect, like speaking in another language. She glances up at Pan every few seconds to gauge his reaction. The brute to her left appears to be listening intently. Am I— supposed to know what she is saying?

Finally, she sets down the tablet. The creature looks up at Pan, wiping the downcast shadows from her crusty, overgrown mask. Like many other intelligent beings, her voice sounded a few clicks south of natural but still recognizable enough to interpret. Pan could tell that behind her foul mask lay an even fouler face— a far cry from anything he would consider human.

Gently, she turns toward the monster, reaches into one of its earholes, and retrieves a torn bit of cloth. The creature flinches at the gesture. Placing the mouth of her mask toward the open hole, she whispers: Don’t let him run away.

The creature flicks its nape, dropping its club to the ground with a mighty thud. “Märr. Sòfja”. It conjures an aggressive posture, shaking the loose skin around its torso like a wet dog.

The feminine creature crams the loose fabric back into its earhole and directs her attention to Pan. “Howdy, Pan. Apologies, I needed to ensure you weren’t one of them.”

Pan shakes his head. “Oh, uh— nice to meet you. Look, I’m gonna save you the trouble— I have no idea who you guys are. Something went wrong when I was reborn, and I—”

“—I am an Oceanologer. I study the tides and use them to predict the future. I only predicted your name and when you would arrive. You wandered onto my property. I have no idea who you are. ”

Pan perks up from his position. Waves? The beast twitches at his motion like a wild mutt prepared to attack.

“Wait— am I close to the Great Sea?”

“Ah— another Straggler? You wish to leave the face of the holy one?”

“Yeah— yes. I— just wanna get out of here. You said you could see the future—? In the waves—?”

“It’s just a party trick. The villagers get some semblance of strength in knowing the future— As if accepting their fate grants them control over it. I suppose life desires control— even the illusion of it, if necessary. We derive this control from knowledge.”

She snaps out of her daze, glancing back at Pan. “Apologies, I digress. I am legally bound to inform you that my recitations are those of the Death Chant in the Hokan language. Having seized my words, you may now enter Irdusvil territory.”

“But I didn’t understand anything….”

The maiden chuckles to herself, placing the tablet back into her bag. “I should hope not! Comprehending such a truth drives many fair men mad!” She lightly gestures to the monster covered in ears. “If you’re unlucky, that is.”

Pan’s attention is drawn elsewhere. The bigger creature is the only one of the three not coated in armor or weaponry. Assuming he was assimilated by Utu or driven mad by the Death Chant, it would only make sense. “You’re Aes armor— is that what prevents you from being infected?”

“Infected?”

She peels back a plate of metal on her leg, revealing bits of rotten Aes consuming her skin. “It is civilization which hath robbed me of this.”

Aes. A metal forged into mighty armor with the minerals drawn from Utu’s blood. As expected, most of the metal had fixed itself into her humanity. Aes had a funny tendency to eat at the wearer’s body if neglected, and even though she tried so vehemently to shed the fragments, much of her tissue had still been consumed and replaced. Like a disease, limbs, and organs had grown into a slob of wires, gears, and remaining bits of bone, allowing him to see straight through her forearm and thigh. The maiden’s boots had eaten her feet, wrapping their way into her ankles before submerging under the skin. At the very least, it had been cleaned of rust, but the grime seemed to have embedded itself into the metal, staining it a permanent grey tint.

“Your body is unkempt and rotten. Katuk here tried to restore you as best he can, but—” The two glance at each other, as if preparing to break a horrible truth. “You have healed. Many lose their sanity after such an occasion. Somehow, you are still here, still human. You must have a good head on your shoulders.”

Katuk glances at the woman, giving her a nudge on the arm.

“Ah! Yes.” She retrieves a scroll from the baggie around her waist. She snaps the small tendon binding the parchment together, unfolding it before Pan’s mask. The silhouette of a humanoid creature is etched into the fabric. The ink on the paper has bled irreparably toward its fringes, making the depiction unrecognizable.

The woman flips the paper in her direction. “Ah. Pity. We are hunting a bounty in this territory. Have you seen him?”

Katuk gives her a tougher nudge on the shoulder, gesturing something with his hands.

“Ah. Apologies. He wears a beaked face. No armor. Naked as the day he was born. Not us”

Pan shakes his head in denial and disbelief.

The woman’s head slouches to the floor. She rolls up the scroll, restrings the binding, and places it into the pouch. She looks back up at her monster, which breathes an exasperated sigh. She faces Pan. “Ah. And your friend?” She gestures toward Pan’s shoulder. From behind the clotted blood, Ives’ face had returned. His nose, eyes, and lower jaw had just begun to take shape from under the soot. From within the chill breeze of the rotten domicile, Pan could feel Ives’ warm breath along his neck. Pan’s stomach drops. His healing factor— it had already brought Ives back to life.

He looks back at the ferocious creature, weighing his options. His numb leg tugs against the rest of his skeleton from inside the grimy puddle. As his adrenaline rises, his hands begin to shake. Beads of sweat form at the tips of his fingers, trickling down the crevasses of his exposed muscles. Pan sneaks a glance at the hulking beast. His foot twitches, and so does the brute. The sheer terror of its stature and stance seemed unmatched, like a force of nature, silently observing his every movement— every breath— every heartbeat. Pan could feel the beast paint the walls with his blood or peel him apart in any number of ways, even at a distance. He forcibly directs his eyes toward the woman. Her posture hadn’t changed since first sight. A great many monsters along Utu’s face bore this stiffness. Depending on her political persuasion, the truth might cost him dearly, but if she were to discover he was lying— that could be even worse.

Pan raises his chin. For the life of him, he couldn’t get his jaw to sit still. With a certain desperation, he spits— “I don’t belong here— I was just born six months ago in one of Utu’s wombs. I’ve been traveling ever since. I think— I’ve done this before— many times before. Sometimes people remember me. They know my name— or the scent of my blood. I don’t know how this is possible, but I’ve made many enemies in a past life— some of which are even centuries old.” Pan’s head sinks to his lap. “I guess I’ve been doing this for a very long while.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Pan’s thoughts begin to race. He had never seen Ives with a ‘beak face,’ but considering his temperament, it was entirely possible he was their bounty, in which case Pan would become their target.

“A freeloader. He won’t come loose, but when I reach Tuvyek, I plan on removing him.”

Technically the truth. She looks back at the monster, who remains unresponsive.

“Ah. You are going to Tuvyek? Pity— it might take you some distance. What is your business there?”

“Removing this head wasn’t enough?”

“The head must have bonded with you while you were in Kaur-Kaurth. Therefore you must have once had some other plans there.”

She takes a more defensive stance, arching her back unnaturally forward in Pan’s direction. She suddenly points toward the bucket on the floor next to him. “Where did you find that bucket of yours?”

A heavy silence washes throughout the room. Pan can feel the room’s rotten boards creaking with every heartbeat. The woman inches closer to him. “I recognize that bucket— ‘belonged to a friend of mine. I haven’t seen him in a long while.”

“I— can help you all out of here—”

“It’s ok. We have no intention of leaving without our bounty. I would just like you to answer my questions; then I will give you as peaceful a going as I am able.”

Pan is taken aback. Peaceful— what? “Woah, just wait a second—”

“We’re well past that.”

“Please— Please! I can help you! I can—!”

“I do not need your help.”

“Goddamn it, I know! I know—! I’m just telling you what I know—”.

The beast, calmly staring at the two, finally rises, and with a snort, it delivers a powerful kick straight to Pan’s gut, knocking a few tendons loose and sending him sprawling onto the floor. Pan’s arms, legs, and muscles shut down completely as he desperately struggles to kickstart his lungs.

“Mòhn Frágm.” It hunches over him, eagerly anticipating Pan’s paralyzed diaphragm to recover.

“The woman approaches the monster, retrieving the bit of scrap from one of its earholes, and whispers, “T-thanks, Armus. I’ll take it from here”. Armus pats the skinny woman on the head and returns to his post.

With a limp, she approaches Pan’s squirming body. “I know you’re telling me the truth— I know—” She turns to Armus, giving him a quick nod. “—But you murdered one of my soldiers. Please understand— I can’t just let that slide.”

Pan’s lungs still aren’t working. He can’t hear, see, or feel. Each second feels like an eternity as deoxygenated blood dilutes his arteries.

“This encounter is no coincidence. If you really believe what you’re saying, assimilating with Utu shouldn’t concern you.”

With a gasp of breath, Pan’s senses return to him. He had been knocked into a corner where the group had left Ut’thru. In a futile burst of energy, he lunges for the bucket on the floor— His means of escape. With his bladed arm, he lands a right hook directly on her mask with all his might. Instead of stabbing her with his pointed bone, his wrist lands bluntly on her mask. His arm, the once-pointed dagger along his wrist, had healed completely, reforging itself into a normal hand.

Before he can even process what has happened, Pan is knocked through one of the walls with a force he can barely comprehend. He crashes onto the earth, sprawling across the ground for a few meters. The maiden’s heavy gaze turns towards him. The cold touch of death sends a ripple down Pan’s spine. A familiar feeling. Unmistakable. That horrible, humiliating feeling of a pounding heart desperately trying to escape its cage. His paralyzed limbs refused to act. Sounds of metal and bone approach as the maiden carves through the shoddy house, gutting its walls like a hot knife through butter.

Before he could register his next thought, another blow paints the floor, shredding his arm into millions of distorted fragments. Each swing effortlessly breaks the sound barrier, generating a loud snap like high-voltage electricity. With all his might, he conjures a desire— no— a necessity to react. He channels his strength into clenching his jaw. It’s sore. He closes his eyes and leans on the mess of fresh blood coating the ground, conceding whatever hope he has left into his worn muscles. He turns and bites down on his lower lip, immediately drawing blood.

The pain jumpstarts his heart, kicking his mind into overdrive. The crackle of energy sparks adrenaline through his veins, forcing his limbs awake. He reflexively dodges. Like a bolt of lightning, the maiden appears, sending a narrow blur only a hairs length away from Pan’s head, cleaving his ear in half. The proceeding shockwave cracks the wind, dispersing smoke upward from the mountain’s base.

She arches her broad axe above her head. Its blade is long and slender with a flattish edge like an executioner’s axe. The wind parts once again as she prepares for a lethal blow. The blade plants itself firmly into his wrist, dividing the mimic from his hand. Freed from his palm, Pan swats at the woman with his stump, only to be relieved of his other remaining arm.

Katuk and Meathead are not far behind. They quickly arm themselves, surrounding Pan. She drops her axe to the side and kneels over his body. With two fists raised against the sky, she begins to beat his face into the ground. Each strike echoes throughout every fiber of his being, stinging the heart of his mind with its compacted force. The events transpire as if they were in slow motion. The resounding impact obliterates not only his face but his body, skeleton, and the floor below him. Bits of reverberating shrapnel from the floor riddle his body like arrows through smoke, while the remains of his jaw catapult through his skull— and he was conscious for every second of it.

Pan’s withered vessel fumbles to rise, reorienting his numb, feeble body— or was he falling? Strangely, he could not even tell where his limbs were at any given moment. He was conscious yet unable to feel nor determine where he was in space. He tries to bend his dislocated head as his remaining nerves writhe in agony, begging to be put out of their misery. He scrambles with what remaining muscles he has to breathe while his body begins to piece itself back together. Was this hell? His pathetic legs are the first to rebuild, only to humiliate him further. Next, his arms, torso, and head take shape until finally, his lungs reignite, fueling his body while his heart beats weakly. The statue breathes life once again.

Pan’s blood leaks from the crevasses of the woman’s mask. Before her platoon can inspect him, a grisly voice emerges from the maiden’s throat. “Stop— leave him.”

The two look at each other as she hoists the weapon out of the ground and onto her shoulder. The three surround Pan encroached within a circle of blood, coating the soot below. From the ground, a set of tendrils emerge around Pan’s body. Aimlessly they flounder around his mutilated body. For a moment, they all watch as— nothing happens. The land refuses to reclaim Pan, instead coiling like octopus tentacles when exposed to salt.

The shadows creep back up her mask, as a mixture of horror and concern directs her posture. “What are you…?”

I don’t want that. I don’t want that. I don’t want that. Pan rolls around on the floor in agony. The pain never gets easier. Never. He relives the events over and over like a broken record. Even though the pain had subsided, the shock still radiates throughout his mind, pumping his heart furiously. What does one do with these feelings? What can be done? He collapses to the floor.

Nothing. Nothing can be done. He bears the trauma, whimpering like a dog.

The woman turns to Armus as if to expect a response. She receives nothing in return. She faces the squirming child on the floor. It was no longer a being to her— only a mixture of muscles and tendons reflexively bouncing between stimuli— just like everything else.

The emotion drains from her stature and voice. She is empty and tired. “You will not speak of our platoon. You will not follow us. You will not travel anywhere near Irdusvil or Tuvyek. From now on, you are banished from there.”

She takes a step back, lifting her axe from the slime. Armus and Katuk dissolve their weaponry and walk away.

Pan coughs a mouthful of blood on his face. His bones felt raw and fragile. The world around him spun uncontrollably, making it difficult to recapture his bearings. He can barely see. His remaining eye is blurry and tainted with blood, but it didn’t matter. He had fallen off a cliff for these people— died for these people. He coughs another mouthful of blood from his lungs, spitting some strange, chunky bits along with it. “Or… what…?”

The woman whips around in shock. “What was that?”

She furiously approaches Pan, drawing her blade up to his knee, which she thought was his head. The edge bites into him, drawing blood to pool down with the rest from his stomach and face. “What did you say to me?”

“I said, ‘or what’— what? Are you going to kill me?”

“I am letting you walk. I am letting you walk because you are a monster, and I pity your miserable existence. Take the deal— or I will torture you until you forget who you are. I will spend the last of your willpower until you wish you were dead. I will flay your mind and body until you can no longer interpret what is happening around your thick skull.”

Despite her outward appearance, she was scared, as were the rest of her group. The axe was practically shaking as she held it up to his face. She loosens her grip and walks away.

Pan’s blood felt cold. He doesn’t want to be alone. Even with monsters, he doesn’t want to be alone. “But— but…” He stammers, smearing himself along the carpet of meat. “I— I—” He pushes himself up from the floor. “I—

—I HAVE HIM! I HAVE HIM HERE! PLEASE! I HAVE HIM RIGHT HERE! I HAVE HIM! I HAVE HIMM!”

The eerie wilderness of rot responds with a cold silence. Pan can’t tell if they left. His eyes had long since stopped trying— his body is devoid of all energy. His only sight is an empty void amidst a broken house. What is he? Where is he? What is this feeling dispersed across his skull? Just a statue— a vegetable planted along the sidelines, writhing in his own filth. What is he to do with all this pain? Where would it even go?

It will subside. It may take a while, but it will. All you have to do is wait. Wait and endure.

With an empty mind, Pan falls asleep that night.

…

The crunch of displaced ash sounds underfoot. Something is here— with him. He can recognize the tingle of Aes armor in the dusty atmosphere. Three sets of feet— three weapons, drawn and ready.

“Speak.”

The woman and her posse have returned. Pan’s eyes well up with a spring of hot tears. Somehow, he was glad they returned, even if he didn’t want to be. How unfair.

“His name is Ives. He is an executioner from Irdusvul. He brings villagers into this region of Kaur-Kaurth and feeds them to— to—” Pan pauses before sinking his head back into the ground. His mind will not allow him to continue.

The woman glances up at Armus, then Katuk, who shakes his head solemnly. They both look back at the sorry sight on the floor. Armus storms off, leaving the two to stare.

It’s quiet. Concepts of time and space have long since drifted away as the two pause motionlessly in the foreboding atmosphere. The first few rays of dawn trickle through the mountain peaks onto her face. It was warm— warm like the hand of a mother caressing her rough mask. A strange feeling— something she hadn’t felt since she was a small child. She wheezes a bit to manage the pain in her leg before regaining her composure. With one arm, she hoists the stringy bits of meat comprising Pan’s body onto her shoulder.

“...He is alive.”

Katuk nods.

“You are to report him to the elders.”

He nods again.

“He is your responsibility.”

“...”

“Good.”