Camelot division headquarters, Birmingham, 2030

Gerald Reyes is a meticulous man.

Pay attention, lad.

He is a cautious man.

Good. Cringing when shown the back of my hand is how any son should act.

He does not make mistakes.

Do you want to be punished again? Do you want to feel the pain and shame of everyone who couldn't do this, along with yours?

He grew up surrounded by rules. Of course his magic is to make laws.

Nature versus nurture? Nonsense. I will mould even a failure like you into something halfway resembling a man. The others broke, but you  will bend.

The protection of Earth is being spearheaded by nearly two hundred national supernatural defence agencies, and, of course, ARC. The world's armies, usually sent to purge eldritch monsters in their lairs, are waiting to meet them at the gate today.

Gerald is not nervous about what he has been chosen to do, no matter how high the stakes, and consequences of failure.

I swear on the dead gods dreaming, boy, you'll fear me long, long after I am gone.

Gerald...does not lie to himself.

Anymore.

"The people of this world shall be sent to the afterlives of their faiths, or to the aether, if they follow no gods. They shall be placed into a trance-like state, starting now, and until the world is safe once more."

Nearly seventeen billion baseline humans are whisked away by his magic, beyond mundane reality and into the Clusters. Even some supernaturals are affected.

But not all.

Across the multiverse, Earth, this Earth, is seen as an impossibly dangerous backwater. Not only are some of its inhabitants faster than lightning and strong enough to pulverise mountains, they are also immune to esoteric effects, barring specific powers or materials.

These, however, are not his business. His fellow Head, Alemoa Elga of External Affairs, will deal with them. Gerald, personally, thinks EA has long since outgrown its remit to liaise to instead become a political circus.

There are ARC agents giving interviews on TV! Only non-classified information, of course, and some of it still has to be censored, but...no one wants Gaol John coming after them.

Gerald shudders at the thought of his colleague. Even here and now, preparing to defend Earth from chaos itself, he can still feel John's cold, dead eyes burning through him, all the way from the Internal Affairs headquarters inside Uluru.

John...terrifies him.

And not just because of the sheer hatred he feels for him and every countryman of his. The Head of IA began as a gestalt formed from the souls of Australia's long gone prisoners, those who had never found peace with their gods, but...no one can really tell what John is, nowadays.

Perhaps not even, or especially, himself...

Gerald's head snaps up as the ocean under Australia ripples, followed by the crust and the mantle. Something like snapping jaws, like a serrated beak, like a closing flower or a hand of shadow, is closing around the continent-

Clang.

There is a sound that is not sound, chains whipping flesh until it is raw and bleeding, then dropping onto a stone floor. Then, the chains twist, and the flesh tears. The monster John caught is larger than the planet, and would eat all worlds, given the chance.

John gives it none. The chains tighten, and a scream that would have shattered the Earth or reduced all its mundane inhabitants to gibbering wrecks, is silenced by a door slamming closed, forever.

For John does not let the guilty escape. He never has. He never will.

John's gaze moves away, and Gerald lets out a breath he only just realises he has been holding. Foolish. He does not need to breathe, nor would his colleague harm...him...

The world really  is going mad, if he's thinking like this.

'Gerry,' a bubbly voice, usually brimming with amusement at the irritation it brings him, fills his dark office. It is filled with concern, and that almost scares him.

Alemoa Elga is like something out of the Third Reich's propaganda pictures, all curves, blonde hair and blue eyes. She hates the comparison, so, despite the delight she takes in needling him, Gerald never mentions it.

'Elga,' he does not turn, looking out at the window at the still-lit city. So full and peaceful it looks, for an empty soon-to-be battlefield. A microcosm of the world.

A pair of cold, ghostly arms wraps around him, and Elga buries her face into the crook of his neck. Her touch makes his blood curdle, but he does not push her away. This time.

'Thank you,' the ghost whispers. 'The evacuation went perfectly. Now, my agents can concentrate on those your magic can't touch.'

'I'm just doing my part, old bird,' Gerald stuffs his hands into his suit's pockets, like they're on that disastrous first date as recruits again. His gold-rimmed glasses are all fogged up, too. He supposes the universe wants to recreate that moment.

Elga does not answer, instead reaching through the mage's chest and gently squeezing his heart. Gerald takes a sharp breath, but stands still. In her own way, she's just as awkward at him, though for different reasons. He is, he thinks, the only man who has been with her and lived.

'Can you say something inappropriate? I would kill for some normalcy, before it all comes crashing down,' he jokes.

Elga hums, a sound like wind through hollow bones, and twitches a finger. Her telekinetic grip reaches across the world, stopping a falling dropship aping the shape of a meteor in its tracks. Force that would have shattered South America is rendered harmless, and a pulse of Elga's will throws the ship off Earth and into the sun, so fast the alien captain might be forgiven for thinking the warp drive has been activated by mistake.

An instant later, he and his crew crash through a dozen solar flares, before beginning to sink towards the core. It will be a long time before they die.

'Inappropriate, for me?' The ghost grins. 'I'm just doing my part.'

***

Giza was only thirty-two hundred kilometres from Urziceni, which meant a fairly short flight, from a human's perspective. From mine, seconds passed millions of times slower than they did back when my heart beat.

Still, you'd think not much could happen in one and a half seconds.

And yet, I got hit by a shaped sandstorm somehow strong (say that six times fast) enough to flay my face off, almost got tackled by a squad of Nigerian army werecrocs who were doing long jumps across Africa, and got a power washing when something that looked like a rainbow chestburster slips into the Nile and reshaped it into a water golem reaching into orbit.

Before I could even stare drily at the bullshit, a watery punch hit me like the world's biggest jet, sending me out of Egypt and to the North Pole, which became two islands as my body smashed through it. Thank God Reyes emptied the underground habitats...hope he'd fix this, too.

I was back, angry, though, thankfully, no longer drenched (high speed flight will do that), a few seconds later, but the monster was gone, as was the possesser. I'd have liked to think it fled, cowed by my righteous anger and the image of virile, warlike masculiny I presented, but the truth was that my boss took care of it, or so the postcognition inherited from Mimir insisted, showing me the strange creature getting ripped out of its watery construct and torn apart by invisible hands, before the river was redistributed across the continent.

Wasn't it always that way? Behind every strong man, et cetera.

I touched down in front of headquarters, went through the rice-counting test, and went to Reem's office as fast as I could through the twisting corridors. Her marble guardians didn't twitch, but I could practically hear them rolling their eyes.

"Look who's entering like he's at home'"

Reem wasn't really undressed (and I'd have to thank my worse half for that mental image-Mia would like it-later, after I slapped it), but she felt like she was. I knew that feeling of being vulnerable before the world. I saw it in the eyes of my reflection, sometimes.

In the mirror, too.

So, as a mummy, Reem was always wrapped up in linen, covering her from toe to neck. Now, she was wearing a suit of golden armour, the helmet held under one arm and her thin, stringy salt and pepper curls reaching down to her shoulders. I briefly wondered if it was the death mask from her sarcophagus.

That wasn't what struck me, through. Reem's eyes were gone, empty sockets turning my way when I entered. Her face, looking even drier and more cracked than usual, slowly gave way to a smile.

I hadn't realised her eyes were an illusion, but it made sense. During the process of mummification, everything but the heart was removed. I wondered what had made her stop keeping up appearances, though.

'Agent Silva. Agent Szabo left shortly ago, to rendezvous with Head Shiftskin and agent Faith.' The smile widened slightly. 'And, if I know Sam, they're already in the UK by now, and he's carping about you being late.'

'I didn't receive a deadline, ma'am,' I said, maybe more gruffly than I had intended. 'Nor any information about the mission. Which, I presume, is why I was called here?'

Reem nodded. 'With Cortez incapacitated, we have no time to look for another Romanian senior agent. As such, I will be debriefing you.'

'What happened to that vampire?' I asked curiously as Reem sat down, setting her helmet, with a faceplate that resembled her features, if they were made from gold, with sapphires for eyes, on the desk.

'You will be coordinating with New Camelot. Their Grandmaster is expecting you, but not expecting you.' Her look would have probably been meaningful if she hadn't been eyeless. Maybe it'd have helped me realise why she had ignored my question. 'I fully intend to make the most of your strange new ability, Silva, and the best place to grow is in the field.'

Was that a fucking farming joke? No, wait, don't grin, what if she was serious?

'However, that does not mean you should reveal it to our opposite numbers, unless it is absolutely necessary. Unlike the gods, if they want to exploit your power, they can just join ARC and rise through the ranks to become your superior.'

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Inter-organisation politics? Oh, just kill me again-

'No can do. We need you, Silva.' Damn, was I awful at concealing my thoughts. 'And on that note...'

Reality rippled, falling away to reveal a realm of colours that had never existed on Earth. Reem reached through it, ignoring energies that would have reduced Szabo to nothing, and pulled out what looked like a scroll.

'Is that a list of our, ah, opposite numbers' weaknesses, ma'am?' I asked, while she pinched the distortion in space between two fingers and closed it.

'Close. You might or might not be aware of the ARC equipment lost during past joint ops with the Roundhouse-minor supplies, guns that refill and aim themselves, things like that. Since none of your teammates have the temper for it, I would like you to request them back.'

'Huh,' I blurted out before my brain caught up. 'So they follow the British Museum's approach to acquiring stuff? Dangerous. What if they steal me and put me on display?'

Reem gave me the most deadpan look I'd ever received from an eyeless person, which instantly endeared her to me. 'And what would you display, Silva?' she asked in a voice drier than the desert outside. 'I can't believe I'm saying this, but maybe I should ask Sam.'

The instant Shiftskin's name was mentioned, the world shook, and reality lurched sideways. A huge ivory triangle, dwarfing any mountain, pierced thousands of kilometres every second, before coming to a halt.

My jump saw me end up in high orbit, though I quickly flew further away. The thing that had just pierced Earth, almost as thick as the planet, was just one fang in one of the many mouths of something that resembled an octopus the way Aaron resembled a gecko. Other fangs had skewered the rest of the rocky planets, outright turning Mars and Mercury to dust, while a tentacle the colour of blood lazily swiped through the gas giants, dispersing them.

I only perceived this by tapping into my sight to the point everything slowed down to merely blindingly fast.

The monster's body was wrapped around the sun, which was slowly shifting from plasma to a tumour-riddled, fleshlike substance wherever it made contact with it.

There were many beings on Earth whose power blinded me, by being either too bright to look at or too dark to see through. And they were all tensing in anticipation, waiting to see if Reem could pull this one off or if they'd have to step back from the incursions they were fighting.

The star-sized monster's body twitched once, twice, before cracks that glowed a blinding white spread through it-its insides, revealed to the universe.

A circular shape covered in beaks and glassy, lidless eyes turned to nothing as Aya burst through it, before grabbing hold of the monster with gauntleted hands. The mummy spun on her heel, twisting her torso until the armour creaked, then let go, throwing the thing that outmassed the solar system out of it.

The Oort Cloud became atoms as it smashed through it, not slowing down. In fact, it seemed to grow faster and faster, through the sheer, impossible speed reduced its body to almost nothing as it left our universe, and kept going.

I turned my eyes to Reem, who had put her hands together and started muttering an incantation that made my bones shake. Space folded, then regained its normal aspect, the planets reappering in their orbits. My sight, though, showed me the shape behind the curtain of reality, its throat bulging up to spit out the things that looked like worlds, but were not. Its eggs, perhaps, sent to our universe to grow by feeding on the inhabitants they tricked into living on them.

Aya sneered, hands on her hips. 'No, you don't. Gilles!'

A black and white blur flew at and through the false Earth from nowhere, smashing it to smitheerens. A moment later, it was on the sun, now a sphere of cancerous flesh.

'Aya! Think you can make a new one?' the weregryph asked in a booming voice. At the mummy's nod, he gripped the sun, arms flexing, and threw it so it smashed through all of the fake planets, before continuing in its flight.

'Now...time to restore the proper order of things,' Reem said, more to herself, before putting her hands together again.

I couldn't tell you if time was rewound, or if she just made a new solar system from nothing. My sight fluctuated, when it came to precision. Or, maybe, I just couldn't make the most of it yet.

Either way, I was back on a restored Earth moments later, pulled back to the mummy by an irresistible force whose touch burned me. Reem smiled as she looked at me, still with the list in my hand like a chump, and I told myself it was just the aura of order she radiated that made me want to ask what she wanted, then do it.

'Now that distraction has been dealt with...please do request the listed items back from the Roundhouse, agent Silva. Oh, and be sure to give Sam my regards,' she put on her golden helmet, regarding me from behind a face just as unblinking as her natural one. 'That will be all.'

***

'You're Silva?' Shiftskin asked as I landed on London's southwestern outskirts. 'Hmm...'

'That's me, sir,' I said, not sure whether to shake the towering wendigo's ever-shifting hand. I didn't want to brush against his hooded leather cloak.

Fucking hell...did he really have to spell his victims' names out in their teeth?

Ask him how he maintains them!

Fuck you, you Mr. Game and Watch-looking arse. We're not going to do that, I thought back at my strigoi side.

'You look like your voice sounds,' the wendigo sighed, before running a hand through his shoulder-length hair. His face changed from a flayed old man's, to white-furred and apelike, to a fanged, grey elk muzzle, but the hunger never left his eyes.

Szabo smiled and waved at me from Sam's left, while the Fourfold nodded from his right. The woman had to be sixty-four by now, but, save for a few streaks of grey, her hair was still black and thick.

'We are not four anymore, David.'

I blinked, but nobody had spoken-out loud, that was. Unable to directly speak to my mind, she had instead spoken into the aether, letting us hear her.

'Then...' I began.

'You and the Fivehold will have time to compare mindmates later. Hell, have a tea party. We're going to the Smoke, after all,' Shiftskin crossed his arms, cloak rasping. 'You went to Aya's office before coming here, Silva. My candies. Do you have them?'

I stared at him, unsure if I was being made fun of, but this guy was insane. Had Reem forgotten to give me something she'd promised him? And if yes, would he take his anger out on me?

'She didn't give me any, sir,' I replied carefully.

'Well, I would hope so. I haven't been getting any lately, either.'

Shiftskin was one of those guys people were too scared of to know whether their jokes were jokes, and if yes, whether they should laugh at them or not.

We saw why moments later.

Picture an universe where Freeman Dyson's dream became reality, then surpassed his imagination a septillion times over. An universe where every stariwas encased in a mechanical sphere, all energy harnessed to serve the purposes of that reality's masters.

Now, picture a septillion stars being converted into energy, then shaped and focused into an energy beam the size of our Earth, barely small enough to fit through the sky-filling breach in space.

The beam flew down at us as fast as light, intending to shower Earth with a frankly disgusting amount of overkill.

Or, perhaps, given some of the beings that lived on pur world, those aliens should have armed for wendigo.

The Hunger intertwined with Sam's being rushed to the fore as he opened his fanged mouth in a broad grin, nearly unginging his jaw, before swallowing the galaxy-destroying energy beam like it was water.

He didn't stop there.

While, I imagine, the aliens were elbowing each other and mumbling their equivalent to "you seeing this shit?", Sam swirled enough power to reduce the Mily Way to a memory in his mouth. Then, with a deep breath, he drew in all the heat out of the other reality, stopping every particle's motion.

Snickering to himself, the wendigo opened his mouth and spat a fusillade of energy beams through the tear in reality, which curled around each other to make sure no Dyson Sphere remained that wasn't molten debris.

With a satisfied hum, Sam shifted his neck into a snake, before stretching upwards. From my perspective, it looked like his fangs clamped down on the portal's edges.

Then, Sam closed his mouth, and the portal disappeared, filling my ears with the clanour of a million shattering mirrors.

Shifting back to his default form, Sam sketched a sarcastic bow before the laughing, clapping Szabo and the approvingly-nodding Fivefold. It looked like, unlike me, they had both expected...this.

Maybe they'd worked with the Salem head before.

'Wanna become Crypt Head, Silva?' the wendigo asked me, smirking. 'Maybe I'll convince the mummy to retire and let me take care of her. Then, you can deal with shit like this on a...well, not a  daily basis. But often enough it will feel like that.'

'You don't seem overly bothered, sir,' I noted, trying to keep my voice from wavering.

'What?' Sam scoffed. 'If I let Gilles' uptight ass show me up, I'd have to kill you all for knowing, then myself out of shame. Motherfucker threw the sun! I'm sure Amara had to erase that thing before it evolved into something...don't know how his wife can stand him. I'd call her a trooper if she wasn't already in the army.'

As fascinating as the wendigo's ramblings were, we still had a job to do. I suppose I was excited to meet the Round Table's heirs.

'Oh, and Silva?' Sam asked, taking point, his long legs covering what I would in two steps every stride. 'This is a joint effort by the Global Gathering. Hope you liked working with the Circle Bizarre, because they've sent someone too. So has FREAKSHOW, the Karma Delivered...'

And...everyone else.