Elos screamed, “OKELLA!”

He smeared his wet hands across his bare, sweat-soaked torso, grit his teeth and turned away from the garish, blinding sun. He shoved through the jungle brush to get a better view of the thick scenery around, but shook his head at the dense world they’d ended up in. He squeezed between the two winding trees blocking his path, tripped and stumbled as a red gash opened up on his thigh from a stray branch. The blood stained the bark and branches crimson. The torn piece of fabric from his pantleg hung limp and red like a severed piece of flesh.

Pek stepped out through a more open patch of the jungle, nearly slipped down the small mound they stood upon, then braced his great axe before himself. “How’d we lose the girl?”

Elos grit his teeth.

‘Could you loosen my shackles? Just a little?’

He shut his eyes.

‘Yes, that seems the sensible thing to do. We’re quite close, aren’t we?’

“OKELLA!” roared Elos. “COME BACK!”

Pek studied him uneasily. “The heat must’a done it. We forgot the silence from the heat…”

Then Elos thrust his delirious finger out ahead. His eyes twisted, swelled in his face. “There!”

Pek, not one to question orders, slid down the mound like an expert, charged ahead for the foliage.

Elos ran down, slipped, skidded, almost faceplanted into the dirt, but finally caught his footing at the bottom. Then he could see it: an old wooden house, big and flat, one story tall, lay hidden amongst the shrubbery. He grinned.

That’s where the bitch went!

“We’re not trying to kill her, dammit! Just take the door, I’ll get the window!”

Pek turned back, flashed a thumbs up, and charged right for the front door.

Elos finally slipped on what felt like a forever slope, rolled over himself and scraped against bumpy rocks and roots. His body slammed against the sidewall of a house, stopped him abruptly with a healthy heaping of painful whiplash. Then he opened his eyes.

Pek is at the door. The window, the window!

And he was to his knees, stuck his nose just over the sill of the opened portal, gazed in upon the habitat.

A habitat it was indeed; the entire house was ripe with vines and moss, a tree had crashed through the shattered ceiling and let enter a heaping of light, the only light in the entire dank place. Shelves were arranged neatly in some sort of planned formation, though they’d all been consumed by time, heat, and termites by now. Between the shelving, what Elos finally turned his gaze down to see, was an oversized puddle of blood, smeared and still oozing, fresh from a kill. It looked like an entire body had been severed in half by Elos’ own reckoning. He would have scratched his head, if not for how entirely heavy his body suddenly felt.

Do Etherians bleed red blood? He silently pondered questions unanswered by his religion and culture. He sat there at the window for a long time, forgetting entirely the plan he had commanded Pek to enact.

Then Pek thrust the door open.

“No, Pek!” he screamed, suddenly noticing the open backdoor; Okella was likely fled. This place was—

“A trap!” shouted Pek as a sillhouetted humanoid lunged out at him from the corner by the entryway, gripped him tight, pulled him into a firm, inescapable embrace. He screamed, “GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

Elos threw his hands onto the sill and pulled as hard as he could. Soon enough, his chest was risen up to it, then his stomach, then he rolled over and fell into the room without even an ounce of grace. He tried to stumble to his feet—his body was so entirely heavy…

At least, he managed to turn his head and eyes to witness the thing which assailed his cohort. An… an undead! A zombie!

There stood the abomination, a humanoid man with a broken neck and limbs bent all the wrong ways, his figure thrown against Pek, his sharp teeth dug without exit deep into the flesh of Pek’s throat. Pek still screamed as the tongue writhed through his veins and meat like an oversized maggot, sucked out the bitters like a straw.

“FUCK! FUUUUUUUUCK!”

Elos desperately patted himself for a weapon. His swords had fallen astray somewhere, he didn’t remember. He hardly cared.

A big dagger came into his hand. He figured it was from the scabbard by his hip, but he no longer knew.

She’s close. I know it…!

Pek pulled out his own big knife as well, struggled to raise it up high as the tongue bored deeper and deeper through the meat of him. The knife slipped from his grasp, clattered noisily to the floor. With the final ounce of his effort, as his eyes rolled into the back of his skull, he kicked the blade over to Elos.

Elos stared at it for a long time. It took his body ages to move. When he finally managed it, he dragged himself up to his feet.

Pek’s screaming had finally ceased. His own flesh had begun to turn pale.

Elos tightened his grip of the blade. He tried desperately, flipping the blade between both hands, to wipe his grip dry. He did not desire the blade to slip, to slice his own fingers open in a killing blow...

The sweat could not be stopped.

By then, he noticed, he had wandered close to the scene. He was no longer aware of his own actions. He was no longer cognizant.

Pek’s eyes dragged back into place. They locked onto Elos'. His mouth shut. His lips were dry, his tongue was sandpaper to the roof of his mouth…

THNK!

The dagger found its home in Pek’s skull. His eyes rolled back once more as a stream of blood rolled between them. He slumped heavily to the ground, released by the thing's vice grip.

Goodbye, my old friend. My first friend, my cohort and compatriot…

And then the zombie turned its attention to Elos. He growled and snarled, his thick, wet tongue slapped back and forth against his own cheeks and teeth.

BWOOOOOOM…

Antithesis pulsed. The zombie seemed to fade from his vision.

“It’s not real. I know that now, Okella.”

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He reached for where the zombie once was, thrust his left arm for a close right hook…

His sweat-slick forearm wrapped tight around the child Okella’s throat. Her short blue hair pressed up against his chin and tickled him. He tightened his headlock grip around her neck.

The child’s own big, bloody blade clattered to the moldy wooden floorboards. She gasped and gagged, her oxygen completely cut off.

But Etherians don’t need to breathe!

Elos’ grip only tightened to a deathgrip. The child grasped desperately at his arm. He did not waver.

“I know how it works, girl! Open the fucking portal! Pek is dead because of you, so use his soul! Get us out of here!”

And the vibrant, verdant wormhole opened, caked them all in hues of lavish green.

Elos grinned wildly, like a dehydrated, delirious madman.

And he threw them into it both…

X

Jirtu stared through a frosty window, longingly dragged his fingers and palm against it…

It’s cold, he thought. Far too cold for the warmth which they harbor, in secret from the desolation of the world beyond…

Through the window were two unmistakably familiar faces. A coppery-haired woman, sharp-jawed and proper… her face was shaped… remarkably like that of one Faunia Vleren I’m so familiar with…

And a man—his hair was dark black with patches of gray strewn about it. He had a nice, proper beard on his sharp, confident chin. So far astray from the look of that Cedric Castelbre friend of hers…

“Is that all you’re capable of thinking of?” asked the mirror-headed man, just a few steps to his side.

“It’s pertinent. Now shut up, you’re ruining my show.”

The woman held close in her arms a small white blanket, bundled up like a nice, warm loaf of bread. Oh, how I’d love one of those. But inside of that blanket was not a soft, squishy loaf of bread. Inside of that blanket was the seed of considerable evil, boundless intellect, unlimited power…!

“You’re not exactly evil… are you?”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?”

“You must admit—we’re remarkably bad at following instructions.”

The mother handed her loaf off to her apparent husband. He smiled looking down at it. He smiled when he looked upon me!?

Jirtu suddenly found himself filled with innate desire to tear, destroy, stomp over their corpses, watch their furniture burn in insurmountable flame!

“...But this life is not a lie.” said the magus.

His fleshbound counterpart unclenched his shaking fists. “I know.”

“We both experienced this much in our youths. I did not so easily forget the adoration of my forebearers.”

“Our father was a drunk and a gambler.”

“After the war. And before it?”

“I can’t say I remember.”

“Did you ever try to reach out to him?”

“It wasn’t worth the investment. What could he give me? Time? Praise? Advice?”

“Love, Jirtu. That’s what you really needed.”

He sneered.

“He shared a great interest in your studies.”

“What he suggested was preposterous! A way to join together all realms? That power in the wrong hands could be monstrous! Inconceivable!”

The mirror cocked his head.

“These are not the wrong hands!”

“But her’s might be.”

Jirtu thought of Rykaedi. He chimed, “You can’t say her name. Can you?”

“I had a similar person in my own reality. The one which guides you is not of my conception.”

“Rykaedi. Say it.”

“Ry…”

“Go on…!”

The mirror fell silent. Then he said, “Your father suggested a Stabilis. It entailed all the parts which your creation lacks.”

“Then I should raze the memory in search of his blueprint? The energy he would have required for such a thing to exist… It wasn’t possible with the state Etheria was already in, Algirak had already besieged the far realms!”

“He did not intend to use Etherium.”

Jirtu suddenly stumbled backward from the window. “No Etherium…? Then…”

“The Golish fuel.”

“No… that’s impossible.”

“It has every component which your riftway embellishes, for far less of a cost.”

“...Yes. I must admit that the Great Designer of Golaria went through lengths to ensure their cost was not as high. But that doesn’t excuse…”

“...The difficulty in acquiring it? Forget not who your father worked for.”

“...The Bank Between Worlds…!” His bug eyes shot wide.

“Yes. The technology already existed. The purpose your father sought was in making it efficient. There was no purpose if every realm visited by your riftway was demolished by warp.”

“I thought warp inescapable… You’re suggesting that esera causes the warp itself?”

“It’s a most inefficient energy source. Look at how Serkukan operates, even after such length of time and strife. Imagine a world where Serkukan was brought about by Golish fuel.”

Jirtu did imagine; his mind swelled with insurmountable power, weapons which could not be undone by Antithesis or Dyosius alone.

…And then his enlightenment stumbled. He turned in skeptical confusion. “...You can speak his name?”

The mirror did not react.

“Then, I take it, next you will show me this Serkukan of your realm…?”

Still, he said nothing.

Jirtu grew ever closer. He could see his own face reflected back at himself. “...Show me!”

And the inside of the mirror began to engulf in flames. Jirtu’s thin lips formed a sinister smile as his entire visage was illuminated in amber hues of wrath, blood, and destruction…!