Ibrahim shared with Karl what I’d shared with him, instructing the young man in how to recreate Fink in this unreal world. Karl didn’t believe it would work, and yet it did.

He’d never been happier to have been wrong.

Karl wept into Fink’s flank as soon as the horse had appeared, and his heart skipped a beat when Fink had opened his mouth and spoke.

Of course, Fink wasn’t talking now, not with all the corn in his mouth. The horse trotted gaily around the piled corn, shaking his mane in delight.

I don’t care if he isn’t real, Karl told himself.

Seeing Fink happy meant the world to him.

Dr. Rathpalla stood beside Karl quietly, watching him watch Fink. Eventually, he spoke.

“You really care for that horse, don’t you?”

Karl nodded. “It’s like I said. He’s my friend, and he always will be.”

And yet, watching Fink prance about was unarguably bittersweet. In his heart of hearts, Karl knew this wasn’t real, but it brought him happiness, and he desperately, desperately needed that happiness. If that came at the cost of giving up the truth, so be it. Without someone to share them with, even the greatest truths were hollow and valueless, like broken stones or grub-eaten leaves.

Pausing, Karl closed his eyes, letting himself feel the wind’s gentle touch. He felt his will from the tips of his toes to the end of his nose.

But it wasn’t real. Just like Fink, his body here wasn’t real. Yet desperately, desperately wanted it to be.

Karl opened his eyes.

“Why are you doing this?” Karl asked.

“I learned it from Dr. Howle,” Dr. Rathpalla answered.

Karl shook his head. “No, that’s not what I meant.” He wanted to glare at the man, but he didn’t have enough anger in him. He frowned. “Why are you tempting me?” he asked, in a quiet, needful voice.

“What?” the psychiatrist asked. He leaned back, seemingly caught off guard by the question.

“Dr. Rathpalla,” Karl said, “you tell me the wyrms are agents of God, meant to fight the forces of Hell. But then, you come and show me all of this,” he added, gesturing at their surroundings.

Turning around, Karl’s breath got caught in his throat as he saw Fink trot across the clearing.

“If I understood you correctly, I can do anything in here.”

Dr. Rathpalla nodded. “Pretty much.”

“Then what’s to stop me from staying here for the rest of my days?” Karl asked. “It doesn’t seem right to me,” he said, lowering his head. “Such a gift… I don’t deserve it. Maybe Geoffrey would, but… not me.”

The dry earth crunched beneath Karl’s boots as he turned in place.

“You can do both,” the psychiatrist answered. “You see, we have an ability to—”

—But then, out in the clearing, Fink reared up on his hind legs, squealing and roaring. The sound cut Karl’s heart. Looking up, Karl saw the horse’s head crest over the top of the corn, his mane blowing in the wind. He shook his head, hooves clawing at the air.

Fink was terrified.

Dr. Rathpalla’s eyes widened in alarm. “Karl, what’s—”

“—Something’s wrong!” Karl yelled.

Karl set off in a sprint without a second thought. Corn rows flicked past him as he ran. Flattened stalks and shucked husks crunched beneath his boots. Arriving in the clearing, he skidded to a stop, kicking up dirt.

Who is that!?

A stranger had appeared; a violent one. He was a young man, maybe a couple years Karl’s senior. He had raven-black hair, and war the clothes of a Mewnee warrior: a dark howree, bell-like trousers, socks on wooden sandals. The stranger was armed and dangerous, his weapon drawn—a katana, long and brilliantly sharp. Its curved edge glinted in the Sunlight, reflecting the spacious skies.

Fink staggered back, rearing up in terror, his hooves churning the air.

The Mewnee looked surprised and confused. He was startled by the horse, but his face was flush with worries that went beyond that. Stepping away from Fink, the stranger looked around, shouting a name Karl that didn’t recognize.

“Lord Uramaru!” he yelled. “Lord Uramaru!?” He held his sword out, ready to strike at any moment.

“Help!” Fink cried.

Karl stuck out his hands, palms bared. “Fink, calm down!” he yelled. “Get away from him!”

The Mewnee’s eyes went saucer-wide. “A talking horse!?”

Corn kernels bounced off the dirt as Fink landed back on all fours. Nodding his head, the horse hurried over to Karl’s side, flicking up kernels and corn husks with his hooves.

The Mewnee lunged as Fink galloped off, and struck, slicing into the horse’s flank with a wide slash of his katana.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Fink neighed in pain. “Help!”

“What sorcery is this?” the Mewnee demanded. He pointed his sword at Karl. “What have you done? Explain yourself, now!”

“Dammit!” Dr. Rathpalla said.

Looking over his shoulder, Karl saw Rathpalla had run into the clearing. He now stood close behind him.

“What is it?” Karl asked.

The Mewnee pointed his sword at the psychiatrist.

“Who are you, brown man?”

Dr. Rathpalla pointed. “Whoever he is, he’s your ghost, not mine. I can’t dismiss him. Wyrms have to manage their own ghosts.”

“I don’t know what to do!” Karl said.

“Fight!” Rathpalla said, with a wave of his arm. “Shoot! Kill! Use your imagination, Karl. This isn’t a game!”

“If it’s a fight you want,” the Mewnee said, “it’s a fight you’ll get!”

Then he charged at them.

Spreading his arms, Rathpalla thrusted his palms toward the stalks of corn at either side of the clearing, and then brought his hand back together. The plants grew before Karl’s eyes, their leaves and husks crackling, turning vivid green. Like whips, the corn plants lashed at the Mewnee. They coiled tight around his feet. Corn seedlings burst up from the soil underfoot, twining up the warrior’s legs, binding them together. They spread onto his arms and bound them, as well, holding them stiff, and forcing the katana to stick out to the side.

The Mewnee’s scowl deepened. His brows were falling cliffs. “Release me!” he yelled. He struggled against his bindings, muscles twitching, but the corn stalks held him in place.

Karl gawked at Dr. Rathpalla. “D-Did you do that?”

He nodded.“Yes. But make no mistake, these restraints won’t hold him forever. And they certainly won’t protect him from being corrupted by Hell. That’s your responsibility, Karl. This isn’t just a gift, it’s a duty.”

Karl flicked his gaze back and forth between Dr. Rathpalla and the Mewnee.

“Wait…” he said, filled with realization.

I’ve seen him before, Karl thought.

“Karl, please,” Fink pleaded. He stood behind him, nuzzling Karl’s shoulder. “I’m scared,” he said. “My side hurts. We need to get away.”

Turning partially, Karl ran his hand on Fink’s flank, trying to calm the horse, but without taking his eyes off the Mewnee.

“It was you,” he said, pointing at the bound warrior. “You and the samurai. You were there when we arrived in this era. We fought.” He looked the Mewnee in the eyes. “Your Lord Uramaru fell at Geoffrey’s hands.”

As the corn bindings tightened, the scowl on the Mewnee’s face contorted with shock and recognition.

“You…” he said, limbs slackening with shock.

The Mewnee lifted his gaze to the sky and muttered, “Forgive me,” and then looked down again, hatred burning in his face as he locked eyes with Karl. “I will kill you,” he said, trembling with anger. “I will kill you and your comrades. Not even the earth itself will drink your blood. The man you killed was greater than us all. I will avenge him. I swear it.”

Karl stood his ground, gripping tightly to Fink’s saddle. Even if it wasn’t the real Fink, the horse’s presence still made Karl feel like he wasn’t alone, and with that feeling came the tiniest spark of confidence. Karl’s anger was the kindling. In a moment, it exploded in flames.

“Y-You,” Karl stuttered, “you’re monsters! The people you’ve killed. Tortured! It’s all your fault! You’re the ones that wanted to take our land.”

Just like Geoffrey would have said.

The late Count Athelmarch’s words played in Karl’s ears.

“The Mewnees are monsters through and through. They persecute believers. They execute priests. Priests! Wherever they go, they command all to bow before them. Those who refuse to bend will be broken. They are remorseless, they take without recompense, and they leave only ashes in their wake. Their leaders take demons’ counsel. They champion false prophets. Theirs is a world of nightmares and monsters; red-skinned devils; four-armed gods.”

And then he remembered the words that made every heart stir.

“But we will not bend, and we will not break. This land is Trenton land. This holy earth is our home, and by the Sun’s Light, we will be free!”

Even Karl felt pride when he heard Geoffrey’s words. The man was a legend.

And now he was gone.

Karl didn’t bother fighting back tears. He lashed out and roared. “Give Geoffrey back!” he yelled. “Bring back his brother! Bring them all back, all the mothers and fathers; all the daughters and sons!”

The words made the Mewnee’s face redden with rage. To Karl’s horror, the color thickened and intensified. It ran up the warrior’s face and down his neck, trickling onto his body like spilled paint.

Dr. Rathpalla went flush with worry. “Karl, you need to get him under control! Now!”

“W-What?”

“Look at him!” he pointed.

The Mewnee warrior screamed. His voice deepened as he continued to change.

“If he gives into that anger, he’ll become a demon, for sure,” The psychiatrist gasped. “No… it’s already starting.”

Dr. Rathpalla stepped back as the Mewnee’s shadow rose.

The young man grew taller and bulkier. His limbs burgeoned with muscle. The corn bindings snapped from the strain, one by one, unable to contain him.

“Karl!” Fink yelled. He stomped on the ground, bouncing in place. “Karl!”

Karl turned to Dr. Rathpalla. “What do I do?”

“Use the Wyrmware! It can manage your—”

—Screams and blades cut the air. With a great yell, the Mewnee flicked his wrist, sweeping out his sword—his range of movement greatly expanded. A second pair of arms burst out right beneath the first, along with a set of horns on his forehead. The horns curled backward as they rose. His hair inverted from black to white.

It was the face of one of the red-demons, like the masks the Mewnees wore during their festivals, when they paraded through the streets.

The Mewnee widened his stance as he grew. His shadow grew with them, cast long by the Sun. He loomed tall, over seven feet. His howree broke at the seams.

Then, with a snarl, he charged, sprinting forward like a gale, scattering shredded corn husks with his speed. His mouth bore fangs, as white as snow.

His blade ignited in blue flame.

Fink and Dr. Rathpalla screamed. They rushed in front of Karl, to protect him from the demon’s wrath. In a heartbeat, the psychiatrist grew, gaining size until he was large enough to push Fink out of the way with his hand.

Karl staggered forward. The hems of the doctor’s coat dangled overhead.

But before Rathpalla could strike, the demon cut into him with his flaming sword in a fierce downstroke that ignited the husks, raining them down onto the clearing.

Dr. Rathpalla let out an agonized scream. The flaming sword sliced through his shoulder. For a moment, his body flickered, and then he vanished altogether.

No!

“Dr. Rathpalla!” Karl yelled.

Just like Geoffrey. Just like Bever and Morgan.

Just like Fink…, he thought.

Everyone who helped him suffered for it.

Even Dr. Howle.

Karl ran. The demon chased. Fink ran across the clearing, yelling, “Get on!”

Grabbing the saddle, Karl pulled, tugging himself up just like he had a thousand times before. He leaned forward as Fink settled into a gallop, charging past the demon, who staggered back in surprise.

The corn blurred as Fink ran. Wind whipped through Karl’s curly hair.

“Get back here!” the demon yelled. “Coward!”

Karl looked back.

The demon was chasing them, running impossibly fast.

No…

He was catching up to them!

“He’s gaining on us!” Karl said.

“Oh no!” Fink thrashed his head. “No no no!”

Cornstalks smacked Karl’s sides as Fink galloped through the field.

“Karl!” Fink said. “You need to get off!”

“W-What?”

“He’s gonna catch us!” Fink said. “You have to get off. Hide! Run away! I’ll lure him away from you.”

Karl tightened his grip on Fink’s neck and mane. “No, you can’t! I’ve—I’ve just gotten you back!”

“I’ll always be with you, Karl,” Fink said. “Always.”

Fink reared up tall. He rollicked and buckled like a wild bull.

“Fink!” Karl yelled. “No! What are you—”

—But Karl lost his grip and fell, and by the time he got to his feet, the sound of hooves was fading into the distance, disappearing into the amber waves of grain.