I turned to Andalon. “So, in those other worlds, did you—“

“—Wait,” Yuta said, outstretching his hand, “you’re going to accept her words at face value?”

“No,” I answered, “I’ll probably freak out about it sooner or later,” I said, “just not right now. I’ve got other things to worry about.” I took a deep breath.

“Alright.” I turned back to Andalon. “So… there are multiple worlds, and you’ve faced the fungus before, right?”

She nodded. “Right.”

“No,” Yuta said, “it’s not right.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand this. The plague cannot have struck before, because if it had, we would no longer exist, but the plague also has struck before, because Lassedile legends and scripture describe it. How is this possible? Events can’t happen before their causes.”

I figured I had to explain it to him.

Spreading my hands in the air, I conjured up a row of globes, each a depiction of our world. The globes rotated in place slowly, showing off land and sea beneath their swirling clouds.

I gestured at the globes. “These are multiverses,” I said. “It’s the same world, more or less, but in different copies, like twins or triplets, but without any limit on the total number. Now,” I pointed at one of the globes, “suppose the fungus strikes one world.” The globe shriveled like a time-lapsed orange, showing the Green Death conquering it frame by frame. “Well, that world is toast, but the fungus is just getting started. Still hungry for more, it moves on to the next world.” I pointed at another globe, and the same fungal fate befell it. “And then the one after that, and the one after that.”

I pointed, they fungused. I pointed; they fungused. Point, fungus, point, fungus—and billions upon billions dead in the process.

Yuta sank back to the floor with a face ripe with loud, stunned understanding.

I turned to Andalon.

Here comes the moment of truth, I thought.

“Andalon, out of all the times you’ve faced off against the fungus of darkness, have you ever managed to win?” I asked. “Even a little bit?”

Granted, only several days before, Andalon had been regaling me with her unique brand of vividly vague detail about how powerless she felt against the fungus, which suggested the answer to my question was going to be a despondent “No”. Still, I couldn’t help but hope that, maybe, now that she’d remembered a bit more about herself, she might also remember that there was more to her story than abject defeat.

Times like these made me wonder whether I was an optimistic bow-tie wearing a man, rather than the other way around.

Andalon shook her head grimly. “No, Mr. Genneth. Never.”

I ran my hands through my hair in frustration.

No wonder the wyrms had gotten angry with her!

“Well,” Yuta said, in a huff, “at least we now know why your sky has no stars. You and I are from different worlds, one with stars, the other without.”

“But,” I said, “that still doesn’t explain why your world has stars, but mine—”

Rising to her feet, Andalon stared at us so quickly, you’d have thought she’d seen a ghost.

Or a demon.

“—What did you say…?” she asked, eyes wide.

She was positively petrified.

It was as if a glacier had slid over the spirit-girl’s head, scraping fear into her face. Her luminous blue eyes were trembling saucers. Her brow arched up like the crescent Moon.

Even in this world of Yuta’s memories, the hair on the back of my neck stood up on end.

“What do you mean, what did we say?” I asked.

“About the stars…” she said.

“That…” I looked at Yuta, and then at Andalon, “…that there aren’t any stars in my world’s night sky, and I want to know why.” I spoke slowly, overcome with trepidation. Each one of my words felt like a cotton ball on my tongue.

Andalon started to tremble, only for me to realize she was actually shaking her head. Again, she looked off into the distance, staring at some unknown abyss.

“Is something wrong?” Yuta asked.

This time, the abyss stared back.

I don’t know what she’d seen or thought, but, whatever it was, it scared the living daylights out of her.

“No…” Andalon grabbed her head, shaking shaking shaking. “No no no no no no. No. Bad. Bad. Please. Please… no…”

Her words broke apart, drowning in burbles as she began to weep.

Andalon wrapped her arms around herself, pressing her nightgown tight against her torso. She ran her fingers through her hair, clutching to her skull so tightly, you’d have thought she was trying to crack it beneath her fingertips. She sank into a crouching position on the tatami mat floor, as if she was being crushed beneath a great weight.

I rushed to embrace her, barreling around the low-lying table to where she stood.

I couldn’t bear the sight of a frightened child.

“Andalon, what’s wrong?”

“It’s here! It’s here! Mr. Genneth! I was wrong! I was wrong! It’s already here! It’s always been here!” Andalon flung herself at me. She sobbed into my chest, utterly hysterical. “I’m scared!” she shrieked, trembling in my arms. “I’m scared! I don’t wanna die! I don’t wanna die! I wanna be safe! I wanna be safe! Mr. Genneth, help! Help!”

Her distress cut me like a knife. I barely noticed the Observatory melting away around us as I dissolved out of my mental link with Yuta’s memories. I only noticed the change when, glancing at the floor, the tatami mats’ beige reeds had been replaced by the familiar patterned vinyl flooring of one of West Elpeck Medical’s corridors.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Back to Daydream Alley, I guess.

I tried to calm her. “Shh. Shh. It’s alright. You’re safe here. There’s no fungus here. There’s no darkness. It’s just a memory.” I held her close, tightening my embrace. “Breathe, Andalon. Breathe.”

Andalon shivered in my arms, sobbing into me wordlessly. I rubbed my hand in circles across the small of her back as gently as I could.

It seemed to help.

Andalon wiped her face against my coat as she calmed and quieted. Sobs subsided into sniffles.

I leaned back to get a good look at her. She was still absolutely devastated. Wet, puffy patches stood out on her face beneath her eyes and nose. Against her pallor, it almost looked like bloodstains.

“Has she been injured?” Yuta asked, staring at Andalon.

“No… and yes,” I said. “This isn’t the first time she’s freaked out like this. It happened yesterday, when the military was arriving, and again, today, just a little while ago, when I was trying to get to the Lobby where the knights had appeared—the other time travelers. She pleaded with me not to go.”

“The other time travelers?” Yuta asked, looking confused.

“You don’t remember?” I asked.

Andalon clenched her little hands into fists. “I’m telling you, Mr. Genneth, something horrible is there. It’s bad. Bad bad bad bad bad!”

“By the barashai…” Yuta said, suddenly, in a hushed voice.

He reached for his sword, his eyes widening.

“What?” I asked. Startled, I scrambled to my feet. “What is it?”

Andalon watched, lost and numb.

Yuta’s face went taut. He rubbed his palm against his forehead.

“How could I have forgotten?!” he said. “Those strangers—Trenton soldiers—…they appeared out of nowhere! And they… and they…”

He furrowed his brow and shook his head.

“What is it?” I asked.

“There are… torn edges,” he said. “A few final slivers of memory where I remember myself knowing nearly nothing at all.”

“Remember what I said: the fungus makes its victims forget,” I explained. “Andalon is fighting against it, trying to save people by preserving their souls—well, minds,” I added. “I suppose the memory loss is the fungus trying to snatch up your memories before Andalon can save them.”

I glanced at Andalon. “Does that sound about right to you?” I asked her.

“I…” She trailed off, lowering her gaze in thought. “Maybe?”

“Enough!” Yuta said. “We—you need to do something, Dr. Howle. The soldiers—Ichigo…!”

My lips trembled as I rubbed the mental simulacrum of my bow-tie between my thumb and forefinger. Then, gently, I grabbed Lord Uramaru by the elbow.

“Ichigo was severely injured,” I said. “It probably happened while he was trying to protect you.”

“Ichigo…” Yuta’s arms went limp.

I lowered my head. “All I know is that he was taken into surgery,” I said. “Given how advanced your infections had become, I don’t know if there’s much of a chance of him surviving.” Steeling myself, I looked Yuta in the eyes. “But we can still hope, right?”

I tried to smile convincingly, but failed miserably.

“Is there any possibility you might be able to pull his soul into your mind, as you did mine?”

“It’s all a matter of proximity,” I said. “I’ll need to get close to his body. I can certainly try, though, but,” I sighed, “it might already be too late.”

Yuta looked at me for a long while before slouching.

“I’ll do whatever I can, I promise,” I said.

He let his posture go slack with desolation.

“Please, don’t—”

“—No, forgive me, Dr. Howle,” he said, sighing. “It was my mistake for trying to reach for that hope. These are dismal times for all of us. I can’t begin to imagine the kind of pressure you must be under.”

“Mr. Genneth!” Andalon screamed. “Mr. Genneth!”

This was surprising, because the Andalon next to me wasn’t screaming. The screaming Andalon was from an entirely separate Andalon, one that came running down the hallway, bare feet slapping on the vinyl. She stared at Yuta and the Andalon beside me, and then dissolved into mist, passing her freak-out to the one next to me.

Yuta looked around in panic.

Andalon shook her arms in terror. “Big ghost, Mr. Genneth! Big, scary ghost! Scary mad! Scary sad! Scary scary—”

“—It’s alright, Andalon,” I said, “I’ll take care of it.”

The Andalon that had just appeared had come from one of my doppelgangers, who had recoupled with me.

The ghosts from General Labs had finished uploading, and I was about to meet one.

My spirit-body sensed vibrations rumble through the floor.

Fortunately, we were already in Daydream Alley.

I turned to the samurai lord. “Forgive me,” I said. “If you don’t mind, I need to take care of this.”

Closing my eyes, I focused. Not knowing what to expect, I’d decided I might make myself look more intimidating. Much to Yuta’s surprise, as I opened my eyes, I was now wearing a gleaming set of templar armor—golden triangle insignia and all.

A shadow loomed. Something big lumbered around the corner and turned onto the hallway.

I felt like a bullfighter, staring down his target, except instead of a Dalusian sheik in war robes, I was a neuropsychiatrist in plate armor.

The raging soul thundered down the corridor.

Angel…

Hell had tainted this soul. No longer human, it had been deformed into a monstrous troll, like the ogre Joe-Bob had become, near the end, only even more horrid and piteous. It was a lumpen tuber of a being, asymmetrical and hunchbacked, wobbling—shaking the walls—as he trundled down the hall. One of his eyes swelled to nearly a third of the size of his head, while the other was a shrunken point, sunken into folds of flesh. He had to stoop over to fit into the hallway, bumping his misshapen head against the ceiling.

And he screamed.

Widening my stance, I thrusted my arm forward and squeezed my fist. In an instant, an ivory staff appeared in my grip.

Two of the troll’s limbs—an arm and a leg—were outsized. His clothes were discontinuous patches scattered across his body, alternating with bruise-like blotches of bilious blue. Fungal lightning ran between the patches. Ulcerated ravines dug into his flesh.

Andalon screamed in terror, only for her voice to cut out as I ported her and Yuta to the safety of my Main Menu.

At least, I hoped they’d be safe there.

The troll snarled, slavering black ooze onto the floor. Stumbling, he fell onto hands and knees, growing larger as he crawled toward me.

I kept my breathing calm.

If I couldn’t handle this, how the heck was I supposed to stop a multiversal fungus?

I drew from what I’d learned with my other spirit-patients.

Souls’ appearances were shaped by their emotions. Negative emotions—hate, terror, anger? They twisted souls into vile, violent creatures, giving them monstrous forms susceptible to the fungus’ corruption. The darkness need only reach into the soul to twist it into a demon that would attack Andalon’s wyrms and the souls they carried.

That’s why I was a Keeper of Paradise. I kept that from happening. I had the power to stop the fungus from turning the souls of the dead into soldiers of Hell.

The troll let out an agonized roar as it lifted a massive, knobby hand and reached toward me.

Its grasping fingers sent a chill through my heart.

One more, the crisis had proved itself to be far bigger and go far deeper than I ever could have imagined. I know I’d progressed from who and what I’d once been, but… would that be enough?

Before, I hadn’t been sure. But now…?

The troll’s hand cast a long shadow. His fingers were as tall as I was.

I waved my other hand over the head of the staff—a carving of a pangolin, coiled around a tree branch. Yeah, it was just for show, but it made me feel more like a hero.

And, now, more than ever, I really needed to be a hero.

The souls were in my mind, after all. Their appearances would only change if I let them.

Light flared from the staff, blinding the troll. The monster roared as my light stripped away its walls of pain. The staff and my armor vanished as the light receded, and I found myself looking down at a man on his knees. He was in a hospital gown and utterly petrified.

I stared and frowned.

“By the Angel…” I muttered.

I knelt down.

It’s not every day you find out someone you knew had died—let alone Alon Lokanok.

Alon was a strong man. I’ll admit, I never much liked him, but—unlike a lot of unlikeable people—Alon Lokanok wasn’t just pretending to be a tough guy. He was the genuine article, and his burly build showed just how strongly Ani took after her mother.

And yet, here he was, looking absolutely broken.

Alon’s first reaction was to skitter back, pointing at me. He screamed, teeth bared. His ears lengthened, turning into a wolf’s ears—but hairless—pressing back against his face. He snarled at me as his teeth grew into fangs. His legs twitched beneath his gown. He got down onto all fours, ready to pounce.

“Alon!” I yelled” Alon! It’s me! It’s Dr. Howle!” I pressed my hand on my chest.

“Dr. Howle?”

Mr. Lokanok’s inhuman features receded.

“Just calm down, Alon,” I said, raising my hands in a calming gesture. “You’re safe now, I promise.”

With trembling arms, Alon looked down at his hands. Shock graced his face, only for confusion to shove it out of the way before the tension finally left his body.

He sat down with a thud, crossing his legs on the vinyl.

“I don’t understand,” he said, looking me in the eyes. “How is this possible?”

I sighed. “It’s a long story,” I said.