I sat on my trusty trunk with a bag of popcorn in hand, dangling my feet over a deep drop to the side. A precarious position, balancing the trunk on the edge. The dreamscape was bland and moody otherwise; my surroundings were limited to bare walls and wooden bars.

“It sucks that we couldn’t even meet the High King,” I said, rocking back and forth. The shades stood on the other end of the trunk, acting as a counterweight.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” Tamie said. “Have you looked in a mirror, Roland? We look like a mess.”

“We look like a villain,” Lee said. “We couldn’t even get past the entrance.”

“It’s not my fault,” Wolf said. “I told you to kill that doorman.”

“Yeah, well,” I said. “maybe next time. I appreciate your ideas, but I was only lamenting the missed opportunity. The Inspectors are obviously brewing something in Skyward, pulling threads together and watching the pieces collide. Huge things might happen and we’re going to miss them all like this.”

“It seemed like a usual gathering of nobles to me,” Wolf said. “Where was the string-pulling?”

“We missed it, duh.”

“Roland, you need to try harder if you want to convince me.”

“I don’t want to convince you.”

“He has convinced me,” Randel said. “Where the Pheilett is concerned, there is no such thing as coincidence. The Inspectors steer the course of this world—just open your eyes and look around! Do you think it’s a coincidence that we ended up here?”

“Shut up, you glowing freak!”

Randel opened his eyes and looked around. From what he could see in the dim glow of the time-worn Light runes, he was in a long tunnel with smooth gapless walls all around. The hollowed inside of an enormous root, most likely. The Scarlet Hand had dragged him to this prison, close to the city’s World Seed, deep within the jungle of roots. A place where the opposing gravitational fields of the sky-gazers and the shadow-lurkers met in weightlessness. Zero gravity. Living under these conditions was a punishment by itself.

The prison’s cages grew out of the walls organically. Wooden bars and branches everywhere. Familiar material. Randel had once been locked into a similar cage before—a cage that canceled his Abilities. Yorg, Black Moon, Stanley, Nosy. Memories bubbled up in a rush. It hadn’t been a coincidence back then, and it wasn’t a coincidence now.

“But perhaps,” Randel said, “the Inspector didn’t even have to meddle too much this time. I mean, how many places in Skyward are actually capable of holding a Reaper? There are only so many places they can use for stowing us away.”

“You done talking to yourself?”

“Gods damn you all, shut your yap and let me sleep!”

“Stop yelling, you lunatics!”

“Enough!”

Randel blinked. He looked down but instead of a deep chasm, all he saw was his cage. He was no longer sitting on his trunk and balancing on the edge … or was he? The sensation lingered. One wrong move and he would fall. Well, kinda. There was no gravity in his cell. Was that a fateful sign? Was he still dreaming? When did he wake up? When did he go to sleep? Was he sleepwalking? Without actually walking, of course. He had only one leg. It hurt.

The Scarlet Hand had told Randel that he wasn’t going to thank him for long. Although the Emperor’s hitman hadn’t been needlessly cruel while locking Randel up, he hadn’t cared too much about his well-being either. Neither the Hand nor the knight had, of course, fulfilled Randel’s wish of sharing a cell with the other shadebound Player. That was fine. Expected, even. The important thing was that Randel prolonged Tanaka’s life. The Emperor wanted the Mad Painter alive, and the Mad Painter was interested in another mad Player like himself. Until his motives were uncovered, Tanaka would not be executed for whatever villainy the knight had pinned on her. Hopefully.

“It’s not a coincidence,” Randel said. His voice sounded odd—as if his mouth was half-full. “Tanaka! Are you there?!”

“Shut up already!”

“I’m going to rip your tongue out, cripple!”

“Stop yelling!”

The voices were male and so probably not Tanaka’s. Randel pushed himself off and drifted closer to what was presumably the front of his cage. He remembered now; he had been waiting for there to be no guards present. Like now. They preferred to spend as little time in here as possible; this zero gravity room had to be inconvenient to eat, sleep, and pass the time in. The guards were posted only at the prison’s entrance—or so Randel assumed. He should have taken his time to observe his captors’ routine, but part of him was impatient and he wasn’t very good at observing in his current mental state anyway. He would just zone out again. Time to make a move.

He detached the lump stuck to the roof of his mouth and spat it out. It was a glowing orange gemstone with just a tiny bit of black metal attached to it; Soul Eater in its smallest form. A risky hiding place, his rooftop, especially with how it made the inside of his mouth glow … but Randel couldn’t bring himself to put it somewhere else in his body. He didn’t care much about public perception, but he wasn’t above pride or shame either. Besides, this tactic had worked. His flesh was so full of orange veins that nobody thought his glowing mouth odd.

He expanded Soul Eater into an axe and floated to the supposed front of his cage. Dirty faces peered at him from the neighboring cages, their sleepiness gone now that they saw his weapon. Randel ignored them and hooked his foot between the wooden bars of his cage to stop himself from drifting away, then swung the axe with all of his might. Soul Eater struck the cage with a loud thwack.

The blow barely chipped away any of the wood.

Randel struck again and again, the lack of gravity making it difficult to keep himself in place but hitting the same spot nevertheless. The prisoners grew more and more excited, but they were background noise to Randel’s ears. Something was wrong with this wood; Soul Eater’s infinitely sharp blade didn’t bite as deep as it should have. Randel’s arms started to ache by the time he got halfway through the first bar. This wasn’t going to work. He had to remove at least two of the bars, both of them cut in two places, and the prisoners were making too much noise. The guards could check what the commotion was anytime.

Randel huffed as he lowered his axe. There was a wooden panel jutting out of his cage just out of his arm’s reach. The panel for deciding which of his Abilities was canceled—all of them, of course. And unlike last time, Randel didn’t have unused points to unlock a new Ability to circumvent this issue.

So, what were his other options? Fire. Last time Randel used fire and the cage shied away from it on its own. But Nosy was no longer with him and even if he had been able to make some sparks with Soul Eater, it wouldn’t have been enough. Soul Eater. He could also turn his demonic weapon into an extension of his arm and reach the panel. Except, the panel was facing the other way and Randel didn’t know what the interface looked like. Would pressing the screen blindly be any better than swinging his axe? No, not really. Both of them had a decent chance to succeed eventually, but he had to escape now.

What else, what else? One last thing came to Randel’s minds. It was something that all Players had, but Roland and Lee and Wolf found it useless and unworthy of their attentions. Tamie, on the other hand, had possessed Players before who made excellent use of Weapon Skills. Randel braced himself against the front of the cage again, lifted his axe above his head, and activated one of the simplest Weapon Skills that could be used with an axe: Chop. His collar seized his body and performed a perfect downward slash at the wood beneath him. Soul Eater struck the cage with a loud thwack. Randel frowned. The new cut wasn’t any deeper than his previous tries.

“I’m so done with this,” he growled, then opened his collar’s menu to look at the panel on the right side of his screen.

> Attributes

> [+] Tenacity: 0

> [+] Strength: 0

> [+] Dexterity: 0

> [+] Magic: 0

> [+] Spirit: 0

> Unspent attribute points: 29

Randel pressed the plus button next to Strength twenty-nine times, then confirmed his choice. He closed his collar’s projection with a huff, raised Soul Eater, then activated Chop again. The Weapon Skill didn’t feel different than before—the collar took hold of his body, moving it, straining his muscles as his axe swung down. The only difference was that this time, Randel cut straight through the unnaturally tough wooden bar. He stared at the clean cut, his axe halfway lodged in the second bar. Part of him felt really smug right now. Part of him was appalled. He shook his head and repeated the Weapon Skill a few more times, then slipped out of his cage.

The shouting around him ramped up in earnest. Randel pushed himself off, floating down the row of cages. There was no floor to speak of; only cages upon cages wherever he looked. He had to touch some of those cages to change his momentum and alter his course, which had the unfortunate complication of prisoners trying to grab him. Randel had to be very persuasive with his axe, wetting it with blood—but he didn’t pay attention to the prisoners any more than that. It wasn’t them he was looking at, but their cages; there had to be another panel somewhere around here with disabled Abilities on it.

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He found it at the far end of the hollow root.

> Mirror Slashes (level 7) – disabled

> Shadow Shell (level 5) – disabled

> Aura of Insanity (level 2) – disabled

The occupant of the cage was a huddled bundle of dirty rags. A woman, Randel guessed, going by the long oily hair and the narrow eyes that watched him. He grabbed her cage with his free hand to arrest his momentum, pulling himself close to the bars.

“Hello, Tanaka.”

The woman stirred at the sound of her name but otherwise did not react. Randel considered waiting, but he didn’t know how much time he had before the guards came. Some provocation could go a long way.

“Only three Abilities, I see,” Randel said, cocking his head. “You’ve been slacking, sister. Even one-legged, I could kick your ass.”

Tanaka looked aside as if trading insults was beneath her. No—that wasn’t it. Her eyes were dull and unfocused, her expression blank. There didn’t seem to be a single thought passing through that head of hers. Was that a clever act of misdirection, or was she really so far gone? Randel sighed.

“Listen, we don’t have much time,” he said, raising his voice over the prisoners’ shouts. “Tanaka, I’m challenging you to a duel. I’ll free you, and then we’ll fight to decide who’s the strongest. How does that sound?”

Tanaka just stared blankly ahead. Randel frowned. He had to do something that spurred her into action. He could give back her Abilities and cut her free, but there was no telling what she would do with them. Randel wanted a fair fight, sure, as long as he actually won that fair fight. Which was kind of crazy, because if he thought like that it wasn’t really a fair fight, only a calculated risk while he still had the upper hand—oh, he had zoned out again, hadn’t he? Part of him wanted a fair fight. Part of him didn’t. So he just floated there, pressed against Tanaka’s cage, breathing hard as that unnatural orange blood coursed through his veins. He was—

“You must be Randel,” Tanaka spoke. Her voice was whispery, which made her hard to understand. She hadn’t moved yet, but it was definitely she who had spoken. Right? Randel wasn’t just imagining it. Perhaps he had trouble thinking straight, but he had never hallucinated before. Probably.

“Yes,” Randel said, his voice hoarse. “I’m Randel.”

“Tanaka has been watching you. You killed Ryder.”

“Kind of.”

“Yes. Kind of. Tanaka agrees. There is no murder here, only a convergence of shades.”

“Is that what you think this is?”

“Yes. Tanaka thinks you are here to gather her up too.”

“That’s a rather romantic way of putting it,” Randel said. “Tanaka is right, though.”

Tanaka nodded, finally moving. She turned to Randel and rose to her feet. This had the unfortunate consequence of pushing her body off the floor, making her drift upward until her head hit the top of the cage. She didn’t flinch from the impact, just kept staring at Randel, her head askew.

“Well,” Randel said, speaking through his own headache, “you’ve convinced me that you have no master plan in motion. You aren’t pretending to be a prisoner, and you aren’t using the knight as your puppet. Do you even care about what happens to you at this point?”

Tanaka watched him with a faint frown on her otherwise slack face.

“Not really,” she said. “The Inspectors lied to Tanaka. They told her to take care of her body or get trapped in the dagger forever. But when one of us died, we joined each other. Tanaka sees no point in any of this. We are all trapped already. We will all become one in the end.”

“Hmm,” Randel said, rubbing at his temples. “Good argument, I give you that. Personally, I’m kinda attached to this body—but hey! If it’s all the same to you, would you do me a favor?”

“What favor, Tanaka wonders?”

Randel transformed Soul Eater into a dagger, then slid it between the bars and gave it a gentle nudge. The weapon drifted toward Tanaka until it bumped her lightly in the chest. The woman kept staring at Randel, unflinching.

“Please kill yourself.”

Tanaka slowly, ever so slowly, looked down at Soul Eater—at the sharp and sinister edge of the blade, at the dark material that drank in the light, at the mysterious orange gemstone that fueled the weapon’s obscure powers. Tanaka took it all in, then glanced back at Randel with a deep, sad finality in her eyes.

“Sure.”

She grabbed the dagger with surprising speed and nimbleness, slashed it across her throat once, then turned the weapon around and rammed it into her own heart. Blood spurted out of her neck and she choked even as her heart stopped beating, her body thrashing weakly in the throes of her death. It didn’t take long. Her hands fell limp, leaving Soul Eater in her chest as she floated weightlessly off, trailing blood. Dead.

The epic battle of two shadebound Players had come to its conclusion.

“Thanks,” Randel told the corpse. His voice, for once, was perfectly audible in the silence of the prison.

Something was wrong. Something felt wrong. Although Randel felt the usual rush of pleasure that accompanied any murder with Soul Eater, Tanaka’s shades missing. The demonic weapon hadn’t taken them, most likely because they were still bound to Tanaka’s weapons. Which was surprising, but it didn’t explain why the prison was so silent. Something felt wrong.

It wasn’t Tanaka’s suicide that shut everyone up. A thick fog had crept over the prison, pushing through the cages, shrouding everyone and swirling around Randel—who found himself unable to move. Not because of the fog, which avoided him altogether, but because his collar had paralyzed him from the neck down. Someone behind him began clapping.

“I should congratulate you,” said an attractive male voice, “though much like my colleague after your fight with Ryder, I fail to see what for.”

A gentle force spun Randel’s frozen body around until he was facing the source of the voice. Pristine white suit with a featureless mask that had three eye-holes. A tall man. A powerful man. A god.

The Inspector was gliding closer at a leisurely pace, clapping in a rather lethargic manner.

“You must be Tanaka’s Inspector,” Randel said, keeping his voice calm.

“Yes. An Inspector who has found himself with one less subject to supervise.”

Randel scoffed. “I doubt you were doing much supervising anyway, with Tanaka wasting away in her cell and all.”

“I do not dispute that,” the Inspector said. “Still, throwing her prototype away would be a waste of resources. Ah, but I need not explain it further, do I? You already know what happens next.”

The Inspector held out a hand and a black scythe appeared in it. The weapon then folded around itself, orange lines racing, shrinking into a dagger. A wicked, cursed dagger much like Soul Eater.

“The brave heroes of Skyward wanted to seal that thing away,” Randel said. “Their god is doing them a disservice by—”

He winced, his vision swimming. It wasn’t anything the Inspector did; Randel was just reaching his limits. His head felt like bursting apart. Tears sprang into his eyes as he struggled to hold on. The journey to Skyward, the fight with the Scarlet Hand, escaping from his cell, talking to Tanaka—he had pushed himself too much. No. Focus! He couldn’t afford to miss a single word of the Inspector. Randel was talking to him. Or was he talking to Randel? Couldn’t remember. Randel had zoned out again. White-gloved fingers snapped twice in front of his face, drawing his attention.

“Subject Randel, you’re testing my patience.”

“You’re doing the heroes a disservice by taking their hard-earned weapon,” Randel continued as if nothing had happened. Tears gathered in his eyes, glowing orange. He blinked them away.

“I left the heroes of Skyward with a replica weapon to seal,” the Inspector dismissively said. “Now, Subject Randel, please don’t believe for a second that I’m unaware of your plan. I know what you’re thinking in that muddled head of yours: if you can keep this conversation going, I might just let slip some useful information. That just won’t do. That won’t do at all! As per custom, you are allowed to ask only one question—a single question that I’ll answer with utmost honesty. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Randel gritted his teeth and kept his sudden anger bottled, almost passing out from the effort. He was bleeding. Orange blood trailed down his cheeks and dribbled from his nose. The Inspector’s posture radiated disgust as he waited for Randel to recover himself.

“That was an invitation to ask your question,” the Inspector said. “Kindly stop wasting my time.”

And so Randel let go of his anger; scowling, growling, he spat out the first question that came to his mind.

“Is it against the rules to kill you?”

There was a brief, shocked silence that almost felt satisfying. Almost. Then the Inspector let out a chuckle. A deep, rich, amused sound. A fake sound. The Inspector chuckled, but from this close, Randel could see his eyes behind the mask; three black orbs with tiny red pupils that oozed malice. Those eyes were not amused. Not amused at all.

The Inspector let go of Tanaka’s dagger and clapped twice. Another demonic weapon materialized in the air, presumably the one that had belonged to Tanaka’s victim. Both daggers swiveled around to point at Randel’s heart. An unspoken threat. Can you handle two more of these? From just Soul Eater and Soul Seeker, Randel’s mortal shell was already bursting at the seams. Two more? His minds shuddered at the thought. Two more would undo him, and they both knew it. When the Inspector spoke again, his voice carried a cruel edge.

“Your silliness never fails to amuse me, Subject Randel. Kill me? How droll. After I’m done with you, Subject Randel, you’d be lucky if you had enough strength left to kill yourself.”

“Answer,” Randel spat out.

“Of course,” the Inspector said, laughing. “Is it against the rules to kill me? Please, Subject Randel, let let me answer your question with another question: what rules? No one has ever told you about the rules and you know why? Because there are no rules in this playground of ours. None whatsoever. So do your worst, Subject Randel! Do it, if you can.”

That was my cue if I ever heard one.

“Thanks,” I said as I opened my trusty trunk, “I believe I can.”

The Inspector didn’t even have time to flinch as a shade erupted from my mouth and slammed straight into his face. It was over in an eyeblink; his body went rigid, convulsed once, and then she began to laugh.

“It worked,” Suit laughed. “It worked!”

“Quickly,” I said, “free me.”

For a brief moment, I saw Suit hesitate. My heart skipped a beat. Her triplet eyes bore into me … but then she nodded and I could move my body again. I teleported Soul Eater into my hand and tossed it to the shade. She caught the weapon by its hilt—and that was all the time we had before slim robots appeared out of thin air. The same models I had seen handling the shades on the Moon, surrounding the two of us. Intervention, emergency protocol? It seemed like the no rules claim was tolerated only to an extent. My body froze up again; the collar around my neck made restraining me easy. Restraining an Inspector, on the other hand? Inspectors wore no collars.

The robots propelled themselves toward Suit, reaching for the Inspector’s body, but Suit was already in motion. She tore off her mask with one hand and thrust Soul Eater into her neck with the other, angling the blade upward and driving it straight into her skull. I caught a glimpse of her pale green skin, of her squirting red blood, of her wide mouth contorted in pain—and then the robots were upon her, grabbing her from all sides.

I wasn’t sure whether the Inspector’s life could be saved at this point, but I didn’t leave it up to chance. Although the collar prevented me from moving, I already knew there was an exception, an extension of my mortal flesh that could not be restrained. And so I shifted Soul Eater’s shape, expanding it in every direction, puncturing the Inspector’s brain and leaving nothing behind. More robots warped in and grabbed me, closing their cold metal hands over my leg and my arms and my neck. I didn’t even bother to struggle. They held me, strangling me until my breath ran out. And yet, even as I gradually lost consciousness, my rumpled mind kept running in excited circles.

This was it. We won. We were victorious. Well, not really. But we convinced ourselves that whatever came next, it would be an acceptable price for what we had done. For having shown the gods, perhaps for the first time in history, that they could be just as silly as their subjects.