I don’t dream very often, and I never remember them.

Nightmares though? Those stay for hours after I wake, sometimes even until I’m ready to revisit them the next night. Granted they’ve grown less frequent in recent times, as several months away from the front lines and two wonderful marriages has done much to ease my troubled mind, and my tried and true tactic of smothering the bad thoughts with floofs is always applicable. Still, there are mornings where I’ll wake up in a cold sweat with visions of dead comrades, horrific Demons, and zombie pig-men haunting my memories, while Mila or Yan stare at me funny and ask if I’m alright. Thankfully, I don’t kick or scream in my sleep, I simply tense up, tremble, and sweat, but it still can’t be a pleasant experience for my beloved wives. One good thing that’s come from all this is I’ve learned that Mama Bun is a genuine, self-taught support animal, who throws herself across my chest if I’m trembling too much and nuzzles me until I settle down. According to Yan, this usually works and calms me down almost instantly, though Mila has yet to witness it since my nightmares are rarely bad enough to wake her in the middle of the night.

I can tell they’re both worried, but they came to some sort of agreement with the rest of the family to let me deal with it on my own terms. I can’t imagine nightmares are a rarity amongst the survivors of this hellish death world we all inhabit, and while everyone has been extremely supportive, no one has come out and forced me to talk about it, which is good because I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Do I talk about reliving through my times in the mines, or should I explain about the immense backlog of guilt I have yet to process, from soldiers lost to truths left unspoken? What about my irrational regrets, like being unable to save Mahakala from Anathema, or not telling Grandpa Du about Panacea, or getting more people killed because they were trying to protect me...

That last one really hurts for some reason. Like, they all hurt to think about, but the last one hurts so much I can’t keep thinking about it, so I go back to musing about nightmares. They’re not all about blood, pain, and gore, because let’s be honest, I’ve gotten pretty used to all of the above. This means my brain has to get creative when trying to torment me, and believe you me, it’s up to the job. Sometimes, I’ll be running from something unknown, or frantically trying to complete some impossible task, or rushing to an exam I’d completely forgotten about, and the sheer terror is enough to carry me through the nightmare and keep me from wondering about the details, because my brain just feels like panicking for no real reason. That’s just how it is, and considering my history of traumatic events and mental issues, I’m grateful things aren’t worse. The nightmares are simply a fixed constant of life, and I’ve been getting by well enough with the support of my beautiful beloveds, loving family, and adorable floofs.

As for dreams, those are as rare as unicorns and double rainbows, unless you count daydreams. Okay, maybe less rare, since I don’t think either of those things really exist, but I can’t remember the last time I woke up from a nice dream, which makes today all the weirder. I don’t exactly remember dreaming, but I remember... doing something and having a sense of accomplishment maybe, with many other warm, fuzzy feelings. Still half awake, I bask in the aftermath of these good vibes and try to remember what I was dreaming about, but the more I struggle to cling to the memories, the faster they slip away. All I can really bring to mind is a fleeting sensation of concepts I don’t entirely understand anymore, but somehow did in my dreams. It’s like dream logic, where everything makes sense, until you wake up and wonder how you ever got from point A to point D, without coming across B or C.

All I remember is I did something, and it worked because I know things. Knew them. I knew something about... Dio? It was me? No, that’s not right. Dio Oxyotl Ribs and Nuclear Acid. How do you say that word? Nuh-cu-ler. New-clear? I think the dream also had something to do with Panacea, though there’s a curious wrongness to the word now, as if I should be calling it something else, but I can’t remember what. There was a table of periods too, though I’m kind of glad I don’t remember what it looked like, because now that I think about it, that sounds real gross.

Long story short, there was a problem, and I think I fixed it, but I don’t remember what the problem was, what I did, or how I did it. Something happened, then I felt a big sense of accomplishment, so I’m pretty sure I succeeded, except now I feel... empty. The accomplishment is still there, but it’s... foreign. Unfamiliar, like it’s not mine, and now there’s a void in my heart, mind, and soul, because I’ve just lost my greatest accomplishment ever to someone I used to be. I was warm, confident, and most importantly, happy, but now I can’t even remember what that felt like, and the emptiness remains to remind me of the loss I can’t remember.

Which sucks a big one. I still remember every last detail of having my fingernails pulled, but the greatest feel-good moment of my life was so fleeting it already seems like an illusion, and so unreal I’m not ever sure if I really dreamt it, or I’m dreaming of dreaming it. If that’s the case, then there’s something seriously wrong with me, because then I’d be dreaming about a dream in which I was unequivocally, impossibly happy. Probably because there’s no other way I can envision that level of happiness. Fucked up right? It’s easier to inception the idea of happiness to make me believe it somehow exists, that there’s true perfection out there, because I believe I will never make it that far on my own.

Hang on... Inception? That means ‘the beginning’ or ‘the starting point’ of something. What the fuck is wrong with my vocabulary? I don’t really know what that word has to do with dreams, but it fits, so whatever.

With that cheery thought in mind, I ignore my throbbing headache and force open my eyes, only to find myself enveloped by darkness, but no matter how much I yawn, blink, and stretch, my enhanced night vision refuses to kick in. Pretty sure I got that from almost going Defiled, seeing how no one else I know has night vision like me except for other, almost Defiled Martial Warriors like Dastan, Ulfsaar, and a few others. Eventually, after inwardly grumbling about my malfunctioning eyes and muttering about candles, I steel my nerves and shift a leg to slide off the bed, only to discover I shifted the wrong way. The edge of the bed is on my right, which throws me off since I almost always sleep on the other side and never have trouble orienting myself in the dark anymore, but as I slide the other way to get out of bed, the world finally comes into focus and I shy away from the cold air to retreat back into the warm comfort of my heavy blankets.

Scanning my familiar room with head buried in the pillow, I’m struck by a certain sense of wrongness in everything around me, though that might be the headache talking. I can’t quite put my finger on what it is, other than the fact that it’s not the colours of the room, the texture of my blankets, the firmness of my pillow, or the physical arrangement of objects. Nothing stands out as different, but nothing seems entirely right, as if I’m looking at things from the wrong perspective, but not in a physical sense. It’s as if this isn’t my room, but an exact replica which lacks the homey, happy feelings I associate with the place. Maybe I’m just not used to my new manor, though you’d think I’d have gotten used to the place after three months of living here. Then again, it’s been a long time since I’ve woken up alone in bed, which might have to do with why everything feels wrong. I’m not bragging about my sex life or anything, since there are mornings when Yan wakes before I do and leaves me to sleep, but I can always count on Aurie and Mama Bun to keep me company, except they’re curiously absent, and I don’t like it.

I was... doing something... before bedtime. Something important that kept me out of the house. Something unpleasant too, which means I’d rather not dwell on it, so I give up on going out to forage for floofs and roll over onto my side instead, hugging my pillow tight as I close my eyes and silence my tortured and conflicted mind. Part of me wants to get up and find out what’s wrong, but another, larger part of me wants to wait out this headache, go back to sleep, and chase down that happy dream. Instead, neither side gets what it wants as I drift about in the unsatisfactory space between blissful dreams and waking consciousness for an unsettling amount of time. I’m not even sure if I fell asleep, but each time I return to my senses and open my eyes to the lonely, not quite right room, I surrender to inertia and go chasing sweet dreams once more. How many times I repeat my futile efforts, I cannot say, but I am... not happy, but satisfied with wallowing in this indistinct non-action, at least until the fog lifts from my mind and the world feels right again.

Except...

Shouldn’t I have to pee? I’ve been lying in bed for like... forever now, but I’m as empty and unhurried as can be. And it’s quiet. Really quiet. Too quiet. No rustle of leaves or whispers of wind, no crickets chirping or frogs croaking. I’m not hungry either, or even tired if I really think about it, just unwilling to get up and face the day without a hug from Aurie and a nuzzling from Mama Bun. In the absence of modern pharmacology, my floofs are my choice of drug, while a snuggle session with Mila or Yan is like methamphetamine for the soul. Well, without all the bad side effects of course, since drugs are horrible and will ruin your life, except for good drugs given to me by my loving Taddy and sweet wifey Lin-Lin.

Still unable to sleep, I shift beneath the blankets and peer out the window, only to get the direction wrong again and have to readjust. No idea why I don’t just move to my side of the bed, but it’s warm here and I don’t want to change things. Straining my neck to get a good angle outside, my efforts earn me nothing as all I can see is the dark night’s sky, with the moon and stars hidden behind inky black clouds. Maybe less time has passed than I thought, or maybe I’m just having trouble sleeping again. I’m no stranger to insomnia, though it’s been a while since I’ve felt its disquieting hands settled upon my shoulders, like an unwanted frontal massage with full on eye contact from the creepiest person in existence. My insomnia pretty much went away after... well, after Baledagh ‘went away’, since it turns out having a split personality does horrible, horrible things to one’s brain chemistry. Natal Souls are really an incredible useful application of Chi, but there are downsides to be wary of. While Chi appears endless in the Natal Palace, practising there does come at a cost. My constant fatigue and insomnia was probably a symptom of overusing Chi, which is an actual thing I never knew about. No one warned me because they didn’t know I had a second personality toiling away inside my Natal Palace at all hours of the day, and I never cared to mention my constant fatigue, throbbing migraines, and inability to think clearly.

Other symptoms of Chi overexertion, headaches and a fogged mind, so maybe I can’t sleep because I’ve been using too much Chi? Doubt it, considering my Core is in shambles, but like I told Yan, human beings and Martial Warriors use Chi or ambient Heavenly Energy far more often than they suspect, so it might be overuse of Heavenly Energy. Humans use it to regrow teeth, and I assume animals use it to live for ridiculous amounts of time, so who knows what else we inadvertently use Heavenly Energy for in our daily lives? Hell, we could be dependent on Heavenly Energy in so many ways and never even know it, like needing it to filter life-ending contagions out of the air or shield ourselves from flesh-melting levels of radiation.

Oh man... What if I never transmigrated, and merely reincarnated? I mean, what if this was earth all along?

...

Nah, that can’t be right. I’ve seen maps, and poorly drawn though they might be, it looks nothing like the world I sort of remember. For one thing, I don’t recall any giant super-continents from my old world, and... well, that’s all I got.

Whatever. Who cares? Old world, new world, same difference. The world still sucks, so I might as well stop wasting time not sleeping and do something productive, like sleep. Or, failing that, I could get up and read or something, but that would be productive and I don’t like that. Even though it’s technically the middle of the night, any day that doesn’t start off with wives or floofs is bound to be a bad day, so I just want to put it off getting up for as long as I can. I should’ve installed pet doors, but I still haven’t gotten around to it. No chance Mama Bun or Aurie will come looking for me, but maybe Yan will pop over for a midnight liaison, or Luo-Luo will try to seduce me again. The Naked Woman play, a bold, yet effective gambit. Totally would’ve worked too, except the Abbot made his presence known just in time. Then he did it again, except I was the one trying to seduce Luo-Luo, sorta. Man, that girl has some of the worst luck ever, getting clam jammed by the Abbot twice now. In his defence, he had a really good reason the second time around, considering...

Oh shit. The Abbot. GangShu.

...

And Guan Suo!

...

AND PING PING! NOOOOOO!

Leaping out of bed, I pause briefly to make sure I’m clothed before bolting out of my room, though it strikes me as odd I was sleeping in my normal, everyday outfit. The unlit courtyard flashes by as I sprint through the overgrown grass and out the manor doors, which for some strange reason have been left open and unguarded. Rationalizing it as my Death Corps guards having been deployed to set a perimeter before I blacked out, my argument falls flat as I do the same after tripping over something hard and metallic only a few steps outside the manor. That’s what I get for running headlong into the night with faulty night-vision, but my muttered curses die down as I get a good look at what I tripped over.

Or rather who. Whom? No, now is not the time, this is serious business.

Pale face frozen in death, Kuang Biao stares back at me with unseeing eyes and lips stretched in a silent scream. There’s no mistaking his corpse for a sleeping soldier, as his torso abruptly ends around the rib cage, with the clean, glimmering cuts in his dark, Death Corps armour indicative of the work of a Honed edge. My knee-jerk reaction is of course to look for his lower half, but the investigation doesn’t take long as I spy another armoured, Death Corps corpse.

And then another.

And another.

And still, another.

Dozens, or maybe even hundreds of dead lay strewn about the fields, familiar Death Corps and Sentinels who died defending the manor doors. Dried blood, broken weapons, severed limbs, and putrefied organs help sell the picture, and as far as I can tell, these Warriors died quickly. Many died like Kuang Biao, bisected across the chest, and a bit of mental rearrangement is enough to conclude that whatever killed them did so as easily as killing chickens, slaughtering multiple Martial Warriors with every slash. Even Spiritual Weapons provided no defence against this foe, as I spot the remains of Tenjin and Tursinai lying side by side, with their shattered weapons scattered in the blood-blackened grass around them.

The further out I look, the more powerful warriors I recognize, and I slowly piece together the story from the clues left behind. There’s Kyung, lying atop Grandpa Du’s frail form, no doubt dying in an effort to protect him. Binesi and several comrades from the Famed Fifty came up from behind the assailant, but it did them no good as their opponent was not caught off-guard and killed them all in one hit, Peak Experts dying like chaff to whatever calamity befell them. Ghurda and Naaran led several former members of the Iron Banner in one last valiant stand right in front of the doors, and the killer took its sweet time with them. The aged, amber-eyed Naaran left behind a whole corpse, embedded – no, pulped and plastered across the manor walls, while Ghurda, strong, sweet Ghurda, kneels with axe in hand, as if ready to surge up and fight again even though her guts had long since spilled out of her belly.

This can’t be happening.

Following the trail of violence away from the manor, I head towards the pond where I last saw Ping Ping and continue unravelling this grisly tale. A massive crater in the earth stretches across the once beautiful fields, with bits of steel and bone embedded within the soil itself. Standing at the epicentre of the impact is Nian Zu himself, whose ragged corpse is only recognize thanks to a shard of armour with half the ‘Situ’ characters written across it and his unremarkable trademark mace sticking up out of the dirt. It seems he unleashed the Shooting Star directly at his feet, in a desperate gambit to take his foe out with him, but given the mess back at the manor, it would appear he wasn’t successful.

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The crater removed a good chunk of ground, so I circle the outer edges in search of more clues. After an empty stretch of grass and nothingness, I arrive at the exact spot where Guan Suo breathed his last, which I only know because his corpse is still there, utterly untouched and exactly as I remember it. The furrows of dirt where Ping Ping dug in to guard him are still there, but as I approach, a splash of vibrant red catches my eye and my heart stops in my chest. There sits a lock of Mila’s beautiful hair, as fiery as her personality and attached to a section of tattered scalp. With detached dread and growing horror, I spot more bits of my wife dispersed about the grass, including two untouched legs lying beside one another and directly under the majority of her splattered corpse.

Something stomped her flat, probably where she stood, unarmed and still groggy from sleep. My wife, my Mila, is dead and gone, and I wasn’t here to save her.

No, I was here, I just couldn’t save her. Nor could her parents avenge her, as evidenced by Akanai’s cold, lifeless remains splayed out face first in the grass, with Husolt’s hulking form kneeling in the grass beside her, his grieving, horrified expression frozen in death. Mom and Dad are also here, their corpses lying just short of the Shooting Star’s blast radius and only a few centimetres shy of holding hands. Mom died first, which I know because Dad left a trail of blood and guts behind him when he dragged his broken body over to her, but it seems his body gave out mere seconds before he could make it to her side.

Cold anger burns in my chest as I turn away from this gruesome and heartbreaking scene, my grief and anguish given over to the fiery inferno. This is my fault, I brought this upon them, why did I survive where no one else did, these thoughts and many more tumble through my mind as I make my way back to the manor, but my singular purpose drowns out all the noise as my smouldering anger takes over. Inside the courtyard, I spot the clues left behind which I missed in my haste to leave, with Yan and Eun dead in a corner and the corpses of my pets tossed haphazardly about. Luo-Luo and her handmaidens are also here, though not much of them is recognizable, as are several of Grandpa Du’s student guards who moved in along with him. Grandpa really made himself at home here, but that was kinda the point when I invited him, so I really shouldn’t complain, though I could do without Eun’s efforts to frill up the place. Without bothering to study any of these macabre displays in depth, I march back to my room and take a seat on my bed before closing my eyes to seek calm. That’s more or less what Balance is, or at least, that’s how I used to see it. Returning yourself to a neutral state, unaffected by emotion, though the more I learn about Balance, the less sure I am about anything.

But I am sure about one thing.

This is all bullshit.

“You know,” I say, once I feel calm enough to control myself and ignore the torrent of accusations playing on repeat in my mind. “It amazes me that I used to believe your bullshit. Like, how gullible do you think I am?” My words echo out into the silence of the void, and after a few seconds without a reply, I shake my head and sigh. “Really? You’re going to pretend I’m not talking and keep playing games? Real mature.”

The dark room fades around me, and is replaced with a sterile, white room, so bright and nondescript it makes my head spin. There’s nothing to focus on, so I focus on my hands instead, until out of nowhere, I become aware of a kindly grandfather type sitting across from me. There is no chair underneath him, merely empty air, just as there’s no bed underneath me, for this is not the real world. I don’t know whose Natal Palace we’re having this meeting in, but I’m guessing it’s not mine seeing as I haven’t been able to visit since I shattered my Core. That means I’m either in Ping Ping’s Core, which has implications I’d rather not get into, or inside this stately and imposing aged senior’s Core, which means I’m kinda boned.

Why do all my enemies look so sharp and put together? Just once, I’d like an enemy with a hunched back or is prematurely balding or something.

“You look better than I expected,” I begin, studying Zhen Shi from head to toe and taking in his elaborately embroidered robes depicting horrific acts of war, engraved jewellery fashioned in the shape of human body parts, and his silken, luxurious, and neatly groomed full-faced beard, all white and soft like a unicorn’s tail. “I figured you’d look younger. Weird right? I mean, I know you’ve been alive for eight-hundred years, but like... who wants to live that long as a geriatric senior?”

The amusement drops from his expression like a sack of bricks as his eyes narrow in irritation, which is suspiciously transparent. You’d think he would have learned how to hide his emotions better, especially considering how he used to be an Imperial Scion of worth. I don’t know the details, but according to Luo-Luo, they don’t hand out ‘Shen Zhen’ (Divine Truth) titles to anyone. ‘Divine True Corpse’ doesn’t sound like the most prestigious designation around, but even ‘Divine True Diarrhea’ would be miles above my station, though I have no idea what the criteria are for naming conventions. Either way, Zhen Shi, or more accurately, Shen Zhen Shi, is quite possibly the most dangerous person alive right now, which means angering him probably isn’t the best idea in the world.

Well, I whatever. I have a headache and I wasn’t feeling very kind. Also, I’m pretty sure he can’t directly kill me here, else he would’ve already done so instead of playing make-believe with Spectres and illusions.

“The young and the foolish know not the true meaning of fear.” Stroking his beard with a strong, supple hand, Zhen Shi sighs and shakes his head. “No matter. Little Worm will learn this lesson soon enough.”

Little Worm? Psh. Sticks and stones. “Falling Rain thinks Old Fart needs to hear how speaking in the third person sounds pretentious as fuck.” See how he likes it. Jerk. “Now, is there a reason for this visit, or are you just smitten by my dashing good looks and rakish charms?”

“Quips and insults do little to hide fears and insecurities, little worm.” Despite the puffed up retort, the set of Zhen Shi’s clenched jaw gives away his anger as he studies me close. “A mystery, you are, an insignificant fly who irritates this Sovereign so, yet evades death time and time again through nothing more than random chance and fortunate happenstance. Long have you been a thorn in this Sovereign’s side, and for this, you, little worm, have earned some small measure of respect.”

“Gee, thanks.”

My next words cut short as his hand clamps around my throat, and all of a sudden, I’m not sitting anymore. He didn’t rush over and lift me off my invisible chair, he just appeared with hand around my neck and my chair disappeared, leaving me caught like a chicken bound for slaughter. “Your impertinence does you a disservice, so this Sovereign shall help you hold your tongue, while enlightening you on matters of importance.” With a smile smug enough to be called gloating, he materializes a War Bond in his free hand and holds it up for inspection. “While your ability to elude death is but a minor annoyance, this scheme of yours is vexing to the extreme, for its existence stands in complete opposition to the ideals this Sovereign holds dear. Finance and politics have no place in this world, for they are the tools of the weak to control the lives of the ignorant. Greed is a powerful weapon, so this Sovereign commends little worm for his clever innovation, and sees you in new light.”

Releasing me from his grip, he smiles and waits for me to gasp and catch my breath, but I don’t give him the satisfaction. While he was droning on about his ideals, I was remembering that this isn’t my body and I don’t need to breathe, so I could speak even with his whole fist wedged down my throat, though I’d really rather not try it. Brushing my chest off before taking my invisible seat once more, I raise myself until I’m looking down on him from above and say, “You have a curious way of showing respect, considering I just caught you making an elaborate illusion meant to drive me to despair.”

“What makes little worm think what he saw was an illusion?”

For one brief, terrifying moment, I wonder how much of what I just witnessed was true and how much was false, because some of it might well have come to pass. We forget because Ping Ping is always so careful, but she could easily kill someone like Mila whilst lost in the throes of panic, and I could see Akanai and Husolt losing themselves in rage while trying to avenge her. What about Mom and Dad? Would they hold back if they thought I was in danger? Not a chance, which means they could very well have died...

No, none of that happened. It was all made up. It didn’t make sense. The bodies all told a touching story, an obvious and picturesque one at that. Mom and Dad, Akanai and Husolt, Tenjin and Tursinai, Kyung and Grandpa Du, one or two such heartfelt tales of death and sacrifice I can believe, but there were just too many to have happened organically. Real life isn’t so neat and tidy. People die in ugly, messy ways, leaving things unsaid and tasks unfinished. Even people I didn’t really recognize had stories about them, and then there were stories I didn’t entirely understand, like Naaran smushed against the wall. Why him? Why leave him mostly intact for me to identify? Why not Grandpa Du, or Dad, or someone who I’ve actually had a real conversation with? Not to say I don’t care about Naaran, but he holds himself apart which means I don’t really know him all that well, yet a lot of effort went into arranging an artful death for him.

There were other things. The smell, or rather lack thereof. The fall didn’t hurt enough either. My missing night-vision and the shitty replacement. Mila’s pulped body strewn in untouched grass, and, the most telling thing of all, the fact that I can’t sense my Spiritual Weapons sitting in my room over in Mom and Dad’s manor, which kept throwing me off. For the last year, I’ve been unconsciously using my connection with them to orient myself, and without it, it’s like I’m walking around blind and deaf, which is incredibly disconcerting. That’s why I felt like everything was off, because Zhen Shi didn’t bother to replicate it, because...

Because he doesn’t know about it, or my night vision, and he’s gotten so used to fields of corpses he completely forgot about the smell. He’s not perfect and all-knowing, and neither are the Spectres. He has blind spots, he makes mistakes, which means that even if he’s a Divinity, he’s as mortal as the next person.

Which means he can die, and that’s good enough for me.

“Please,” I retort, rolling my eyes with feigned indifference. “Your half-assed illusions are barely believable, once you understand the game. That’s the only reason you’ve stayed ahead for so long, because no one else knew you were playing, but now that you’re out in the open, your parlour tricks are mediocre at best.” Like watching a soap-opera with ham-fisted acting and immersion breaking product placement. Once you see it, you can’t unsee it, and while he had me going at first, I don’t think I truly believed him even for a second.

“Such disrespect,” Zhen Shi hisses, and his hand darts out to grab me, but this time I’m ready for him. No matter how far he stretches his hand, it will never reach my throat, simply because I will not allow it, and my will makes it true. From an outsider’s perspective, the two of us zip about the unending whiteness in a struggle to capture and evade, but from mine, we simply face one another while the world moves around us. My practice with Pong Pong serves me well, as this is almost the same as moving through water, except now, I’m moving the water around me.

Zhen Shi is good at the game, but not as good as Pong Pong, so we are stuck at an impasse. Maybe he can eventually chase me down and overpower me, but it wouldn’t change anything, because I am not here in the flesh. Our little back and forth lasts longer than it should since Zhen Shi refuses to give up, but as the seconds stretch into minutes, my amusement gives way to awkward pity and I consider throwing him a bone. Brightening up at the idea, I sigh and say, “Fine,” while allowing him to grab me by the metaphysical throat. “Happy?”

“Insolent worm,” he hisses, releasing his grip in a rage. All but growling his next words, he says, “But you are a talent who shows much promise, and much can be forgiven. Not just in the Martial Path, but in the tools of man as well, and this Sovereign has always been magnanimous in the search for Truth.” Extending a hand in invitation, he says, “Join this Sovereign, and he will not only restore you to glory, but also guide you along your new Path and bring you to never before seen heights. Refuse, and this Sovereign will crush everyone and everything you hold dear, while you stand crippled and helpless to stop it.”

Taking all of a second to consider the offer, I shoo him away and say, “Hard pass. Tempting offer, but I bet you made the same one to Gen, and we all know how that went.”

“Hmph, Gen.” Zhen Shi’s sneer drips with contempt as he scoffs at my refusal. “Blessed with luck and talent, yet possessed by such meagre dreams and lack of ambition, a waste of potential and promise. Still, not an investment entirely without return, for this Sovereign is nothing if not adaptable.” Eyes burning with fervour and excitement, he extends his hand once more, this time as if asking me to take it. “You, little worm, live in the dirt, and you cannot see the grand designs this Sovereign has in mind. You stand on the wrong side of history, for the Dog Emperor and his Imperial Clan are but parasites on the human race, and this Sovereign intends to remove them. You, little worm, you toil day and night to help the people, but while your intentions are good, your methods are flawed. You seek to feed, clothe, shelter, and provide for them, and in doing so, you consign them to death. The strong thrive, and the weak die, such is the law of nature, and what you do goes against it.”

“Sure, if we were all still dirty apes living in the jungle.” Scoffing at how stupid Zhen Shi sounds, I shake my head and explain, “Humanity’s strength doesn’t come from strength of arm or durability of hide. It is our minds which set us apart, and my ‘flawed’ methods are indicative of that. Your ‘Grand Design’ would have us down in the dirt fighting wolves and tigers with fists and fortitude, while eschewing bow and spear because it would make us weak, but you don’t understand the heights humanity can reach with our minds alone.” I do, because I’ve seen it, and I won’t let some power-crazed maniac hell-bent on ‘elevating’ humanity into half-Defiled abominations ruin my dreams of indoor plumbing.

I’m sick and tired of shitting in an outhouse. It beats shitting in a chamber pot, but it stinks and I hate it.

“Bah. Only a fool who knows not the heights of the Heavens would dare scorn its power so.” Waving his hand in dismissal, Zhen Shi harrumphs and says, “So be it. This Sovereign sees in you the hand of fate, a tool sent to stop this Sovereign’s grand designs, but fate is not enough.” Curling his lip in a derisive sneer, he adds, “Especially when fate’s champion is a broken, beleaguered, failure of a child who knows not what he is meddling in.”

“I know enough, and I’ll muddle through the rest.” Seeing an end to the conversation, I decide to test my theory and raise one hand to grip him. Not his neck, but Zhen Shi’s entire body, held fast in a giant, invisible hand controlled by mine, and to everyone’s surprise, it actually works. “Look at that,” I say, marvelling at my work and enjoying Zhen Shi’s shock and anger while I try and fail to outright kill him. “I’m learning already.” It takes an incredible amount of focus to keep him from slipping away, like holding onto a thousand slippery eels trying to wiggle free in different directions. There’s no way I can keep him here though, not without staying forever, so I might as well get rid of him. Positioning my other hand to flick him square in the nose, I add, “By the way, tell Zhen Shi, the real Zhen Shi, that I look forward to meeting him. You may have been the one to cripple me, but ultimately, I can’t hold a puppet responsible for his actions.” Doing my best not to smile, I plant a small seed of dissent in the Natal Soul before me, because I’m positive that’s who I’m dealing with. The real Zhen Shi can’t possibly be this... temperamental, which means this is his Natal Soul whose been infected by Gen’s mannerisms. If that’s the case, then maybe I can sow some discord between the Natal Soul and the original. I’m not sure if Natal Souls can actually take over the original, but that would be an improvement since it would be much easier dealing with this... Gen/Zhen Shi amalgamation persona than the scary, unseen puppet master himself. “After all, you only exist so long as he wills it. I may be a worm, but you? You’re nothing more than a slave.”

With that said, I unleash the godfather of all finger-flicks and send Not-Gen flying into the all-white walls, which shatter to reveal the empty darkness of the Void. Taking a moment to look around, I see and sense nothing, which is less than helpful in determining if I’m in my Natal Palace or someone else’s. With nothing else to try, I close my eyes and will myself awake, but when I open my eyes again, I’m faced with the same black, unending Void all around me, and with no Ping Ping, Pong Pong, or Zhen Shi to send me back to my body.

...

Okay then. Might as well try again.

And again.

Andddd again.

One more time.

...

I’ll try twenty more times, and then I’ll think of something else.

...

Might as well keep trying, since there’s nothing else to do.

...

Having long since lost count of which try I’m on, I close my eyes, will myself awake, and open them again. Closing my eyes to try again, they snap open as I take in the darkness around me, and find that it’s not so dark after all. This isn’t the void, this is the real world, with me back in my room at the manor. Rolling over to sit up, it takes a moment to register I barely even moved and that it takes a lot more effort to sit up than it should. “Hello?” I croak, or at least I try to, as my voice comes out dry and strained. Thankfully, I don’t have to try again, as something shuffles in the darkness and scampers around on my bed, as if running in excitement yet mindful of my presence. After a few circuits around the bed, the floof finally slows down as my eyes adjust to the dark in splendid Defiled darkvision.

Only to find an adorably pint-sized Ping Ping wagging her turtle tail on the bed beside me while tippy-tapping up a storm. Her smooth curves and wide eyes melt my heart, as does her loving Aura and furiously wagging tail. Before me is Natal Palace Ping Ping, albeit much smaller than usual, though now she’s the perfect size to cuddle and hold. “Hey sweet girl,” I half-croak and half-whisper. “Good to see you survived. Learned how to Aura too I see, which is cool.”

So still I didn’t even see it, I flinch as another floof ambles across my bed, and I come face to face with the chonkiest, grumpiest red panda in all of existence. Rather than coming to say hi, the darling bandit bear ambles over, hugs Ping Ping around the neck, and glares at me in a fit of adorable pique, all of which strikes me as too cute to be real. Reaching over to pat the panda earns me a dainty swat, though it looks like the little chonker gave it his all. It’s adorable, he’s baring his claws and fangs, but they’re so smooth and nubby. Leaving him alone for now, I tickle Ping Ping’s chin and ask, “So you remade your Natal Palace already? Why’s my room here now?”

Of course, she can’t answer, so I settle for a hug and nuzzle instead, and she finally gets so excited she lets loose with a chorus of squeals. Footsteps sound outside the door, and some seconds later, Luo-Luo sashays through wearing her silken nightgown and a tired smile. “Shush sweet girl,” she says, her voice melodic as ever, “You keep doing this, and we might stop coming in to see what’s wrong. Lord Husband will wake when he is -” gasping in fright, Luo-Luo freezes in place before letting loose with a piteous cry of, “Lord Husband!” Rushing over with unladylike haste, she jumps into the bed and wraps her arms around my neck while driving me headfirst into her frilly bosom, which oddly enough is more unpleasant than it sounds. I think she wrenched my neck clean off, and I’ll need a long, hot soak to smooth out the kinks. “You’re finally awake!”

“...Ugh,” I rasp, worried about the implications of actually being in the real world with a pocket-sized Ping Ping, but there are more pressing concerns to worry about. “What do you mean, finally?”

“You’ve been unconscious for almost two weeks now, Lord Husband.” Freeing me from her warm, bosomy embrace, Luo-Luo cradles my head and forces me to look her in the eyes, her expression a mixture of joy and concern while I idly wish I could hug the red panda which they no doubt got to comfort Ping Ping. “The Defiled have marched, and the war has begun in earnest. Rumours say the front line is readying to fall back, but whether they can evade capture before arriving at the second line of defence is a matter of some debate.” Pausing as if unsure she should tell me this next bit, she bites her lip and says, “Sister Mila, Yan, and Alsantset left almost fifteen days ago to lend their efforts to the fight, and I am unsure how they currently fare.”

...

Welp, out of the fire and into the frying pan. I suppose a few days to rest and recuperate would’ve been asking for too much, but at least I have a chonky red panda to cuddle now...

Chapter Meme