Mason walked through an endless field of wheat, not a tree in sight nor a cloud in the sky. He felt a warm hand in his, and smiled as he looked to see Haley walking beside him, her golden hair more vibrant than the field.

“You have to get home, my love,” she said, squeezing his hand and putting the other to her belly. “This is no time for druid dreams.”

“I know.” He sighed and looked out towards the horizon, seeing a man running towards him in the distance. He was too far to make out, but he was moving quickly, a storm of dust and cloud behind him. Mason squinted and thought he recognized the runner but couldn’t quite place it. “Haley, do you see…?”

He looked over and flinched, Haley replaced by the old, broken druid, their hands connected by a silver chain.

“I’m sorry,” he said, tears running down his filthy face. “There’s no escape. Your magic won’t work. The chain binds our affinity. Our essence. Our spells. You’ll be helpless now. Helpless.”

Mason looked back towards the runner and the storm and clenched his jaw. He heard a growl—a snort of contempt. He turned and saw Cerebus standing in the field, antlers rising above the horizon. He stared with green and golden eyes, lips back to reveal a mouth full of jagged teeth.

“Druids,” he almost spit. “Is this what you would become? Old? Passive? Useless? Wake, ranger. Dreaming is for the weak and afraid. Take what is here. Act. Do it now.”

Mason shivered in painful reality, waking as his body struck a fallen tree. He cried out as his dislocated and probably broken arm tugged and dragged him over, the chain latched to his wrist taut and dragging him behind the giant.

“Please, he’ll die,” he heard the old druid beg. “He needs time. Or I can heal him! Please. I won’t try to run. Just remove my chain and let me heal him. I can’t escape you. You know that. I won’t. I can’t. I promise.”

Mason heard himself snarl as he righted his body, twisting until his feet touched the earth and he wobbled to his feet. The old druid looked at him with mouth gaping and wide eyes. Mason put a finger to his lips.

The giant ignored them both in any case. On he walked through the forest, slower than before, maybe, but not by much. Mason and the old druid followed, stepping over roots and fallen trees, avoiding rocks and doing all they could to match the pace and keep their feet.

Mason felt Transformation and Duality of Strength rippling through his body. He could sense the magic of the chain, and its uselessness against him. Apex Predator flickered with light and had obviously altered his affinity. It also seemed to protect his powers from the chain’s magic, but the giant didn’t seem to know, or perhaps care.

Already he sensed changes altering his body—covering wounds with who knew what, thickening and repairing the mangled arm. He thought of the description of the power—What doesn’t kill you, really should have—and grit his teeth.

He stared at the rocky back of the giant, a strange kind of anger almost overwhelming his mind. It wasn’t vengeance—Mason had come here and started this. He knew that. It wasn’t hatred because he wasn’t the type to hate his enemies. He blinked and saw the eyes of Cerebus staring into his own, face twisted in contempt. Then he knew.

It was pride.

Mason looked at the chain on his wrist, and the back of his enemy—the disregard and dismissal of what the creature now thought was no threat to him. But he was wrong. Very wrong.

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Mason nearly planted his feet and pulled then and there. But he knew he wasn’t strong enough, that he’d fail and probably alert the giant to his resistance. But if he couldn’t pull and struggle and fail, would his powers build him the strength he’d need?

After a few miles of following, unsure the best way to proceed, Mason knew what he had to do. He took slow, deep breaths, readying his mind. And then he stopped moving, stopped trying to resist.

The giant ripped him from his feet, dragging him in its wake. He slumped to the ground and grit his teeth as the forest floor ground away at his flesh. He ignored the rocks and branches, doing nothing to protect himself. He pulled at the chain dragging him enough to lift his body, then dropped, moving between the pain and futile resistance.

He could hear the old druid weeping as he watched, but Mason said nothing. He closed his eyes, flexing his muscles over and over to tug against the metal, no matter how much it hurt. He cleansed his mind with the pain.

* * *

Mason lost all track of time. There was only the next pull, the next wound to heal, the next small victory.

He focused on the strength of his limbs. The weight of his body. He didn't know if Transformation could do such a thing, but he imagined it making him denser, and denser, his bones hard as rock.

No, iron.

Mason knew there was only one way to get his body strong enough to endure the strength and hardness of the giant. The same way the crone had taught him, the fastest path to wisdom. Pain.

He tried not to feel the numb agony that was his shoulders. He wasn't sure how many times they dislocated, or how many muscles ripped and tore to mend again. He fought, then gave up, then just let the tears of agony stream down his face with only the rule that he could not cry out—that he could do nothing to alert the giant he was awake and fighting.

Had it been minutes? Hours? Days? He didn't care. By the time he started wondering if the druid ever ate or drank, and how he could survive if he didn't, he realized the pain had become almost...tolerable.

Not trusting it, he slowly opened his eyes to find he was still being dragged, nothing different than before. Well, almost nothing.

Mason looked at the arm he supposed belonged to him. It was like a thick, pale, cable. Every shred of flesh seemed tightened, hardened, stripped bare. Mason slowly tried to put some strength into it, and easily lifted his body up closer to the chain.

His knees struck a fallen log, the sound a dull thud and the only real sign Mason had done so. He felt almost nothing. After the suffering, his mind felt still somewhere else, vaguely watching him now with only the barest interest. He slapped his face hard and blinked against it. Again. And again. Until he woke.

When he had enough consciousness to start thinking he turned to find the druid staring at him like some alien thing, eyes wide and aghast.

"What are you?" he whispered.

Mason thought about the ridiculousness of this world. Of being asked what he was by some robot-created fictional character—tested by insane events and situations, from giant worms to green skinned murderers to talking mountains.

He supposed the answer hadn't changed since he was a boy, and a strange feeling of unity, or rightness—like a pattern of numbers that lined up and made sense.

"Still alive," he rasped.

Then he pulled himself up and stood, feet dragging two deep lines in the dirt. The giant walked on, and Mason wrapped the chain around his arm, seizing it with the other hand.

He followed along a little ways, waiting for somewhere to brace and catch the chain. The ground was varied here and they were close to the mountain now. It didn't take long before he found a large crack in a rocky rise, slipped the chain through it, and held his ground.

The chain jangled and went taut. The metal tugged against the stone and yanked Mason like nothing he'd ever felt.

But still he held. With a huge crack, the chain pulled at the giant's leg and ripped, spraying dirt and stone at the connection. Mason activated Aspect of the Cheetah, then pulled with all his might.

The giant finally stopped and turned. His lifeless eyes flicked downwards but Mason stopped watching.

Step after step he pulled the chain from the giant's body, hearing the tearing, snapping stone and earth that pulled until the metal slipped free, and Mason went flying forward.

He stood and looked back to see the giant staring at the loose chain, then at the slight damage to his leg.

As soon as it disconnected, the glowing silver color drained until it was a dull grey, no different than any normal chain of iron. Mason grabbed the length and growled as he pulled at the links until he felt the metal bend.

Then he tossed it away with just a small length dangling from his forearm. He looked at the giant and cried out with some animal sound, wordless, made of nothing but challenge and all that suffering rage. After a few calming breaths, he managed to speak.

"Round. Two."