1

Winter air bit into the two women as they walked along frozen plains, their coats barely keeping out the raging, screaming blizzard, as wind howled too loud for them to hear what the other said. Frey dragged something huge over the surface of the snow; it was twice the size of her body and almost as thick, and it was covered in a thin sheet of snow. Even stranger was the simple clock that floated over her head, following her every move.

It wasn't until the pitch black of night that they found a small cave to seek refuge in, using a small fire and warm blankets to keep the horrible freeze at bay. The iron club Frey was dragging sat near the entrance, cracking the stone it sat on into dust.

“Hand me the water?” Buta said, extending a hand.

Frey absentmindedly handed her the canteen, staring intently at a small rectangular crystal in her hand. The crystal looked similar to a smartphone humans might have used on Earth, its faint blue color humming silently, until the screen revealed numerous smaller icons. Six different colors spread across the screen like stained glass.

“Are you going to call him?” Buta asked, scooting over to her.

“I’m going to call Slogine…” Frey said, tapping on a purple shard.

The item let out a low monotonous drone while the screen covered itself in the same color of the icon she had pressed. It finally stopped with a sharp pup-punk!

“Are you safe?” Slogine asked, his voice coming through clear.

“Yeah…” Frey said, holding him to her ear.

Slogine let out a sigh of relief before coughing violently; she frowned at the noise. “Are you safe?”

“Yes, yes… I just need a bit of water…” he answered, in between coughs. He drank something and came back. “Got it.”

“Good… I’m going to put Buta on,” Frey said, handing him to the gravel-skinned woman. Frey laid down on her side and turned away from them, watching the wall.

“How is she, really?” Slogine asked.

Buta looked at the now crumpled girl who was sobbing silently in her hands, trying her best not to make any more noise than necessary. “Not good… You know how close they were,” Buta whispered, stealing glances. “She’s depressed…”

“Let's not forget about you, either. How are you feeling, my love?”

Buta never expected herself to be a mother. Like most female wizards, she had her eggs destroyed so she wouldn’t have to worry about getting thrown into a farm, bred like some animal. Becoming infertile seemed like the safer choice. Then came the moon-man with two brats along with him, and as business—bounty-hunting business—would have it, they were together for a bit. She didn’t mind it. Slogine was powerful and the kids kept their distance, either scared of her glare or just distrustful by nature. They worked like that for a while and made a bit of cash, so much that she didn’t feel like breaking off their arrangement. She stayed and as she stayed the children stopped staying away and started asking questions, bugging her for stuff, playing with her. Strangely, she didn’t find them as annoying as she thought she would and became increasingly obliging. Frey, the small and fragile avilop, seemed unsure of herself and too kind for her own good, a stark contrast to her “brother” Gult, the rough tousk, who always seemed too confident for his own good. And then, when they asked, she started telling them bedtime stories, cooked them meals, let Frey sleep in her tent when a nightmare came along, disciplined Gult when he started getting himself into trouble, and began to kiss them good night. Without even realizing, she was a mother. And then, despite the fact she hadn’t found the moon-man very attractive, she found himself in his tent while the children were sleeping. And in that tent… Without even realizing, she became his (unofficial) wife. That was Buta’s life.

And she didn’t regret this turn of events one bit… at least until…

“How close is Evil Dead?” Buta asked, dodging the question. It was too much for her to bear, too much to focus on… “We’re making good time with Frey here. Very good time. When the skies are clear we can travel miles. Right now we’re in a cave. Some blizzard hit us hard. How are your slugs making time?”

“They’re making time… but Cammo burned the bodies,” Slogine said.

Buta let out an involuntary whimper but steeled herself in the girl’s company. There didn't need to be two grievers, she thought. She needed to be strong. If not for herself, then for Frey.

“Cammo and the other two are probably in Fall right now… The way things are going, Evil Dead will absolutely intercept them at the end of Winter. It’s slow, yes, but persistent. I’m sure I’ll even pick up a third on the way too. I’d just have to send out another slug to explore the bottom of Fall.”

“That's if we fail… I felt it with Mind’s Tumor, the one with black eyes has a spell now,” Buta said. “He’s the one I hit, Slogine. Pretty soon he should feel it’s effects.”

“Maybe you should wait for Evil Dead, Buta. We don’t even know if Frey will be able to do it when the time comes…”

The wind howled, drowning out the faint sobbing of the teenager on the cold stone floor… Buta hated seeing her like this, but she also couldn’t do anything to help her, either. Every attempt at love was met with a stubborn wave of anger, and she couldn’t get close. It hurt, but she could bear it—would bear it.

“Maybe… But we’re pressed for time. Not to mention all the others…” Buta said, sitting up a little straighter.

“Don’t worry about me! You two have to make it out of this alive!” Slogine said. The outburst brought on a coughing fit—a violent coughing fit.

Although Buta couldn't see the damage, she heard it just fine. Everything seemed to be crumbling. “Slogine, I hit the moon-man with my spell. He’s cursed. By the time we get there it’ll probably be me and Frey against just Cammo. We’ll be okay. If we didn’t have that advantage, I would’ve agreed with you before,” she said. “I’m going to hang up, okay? Go to bed and drink lots of water—and stay away from the flames so the smoke doesn't climb into your lungs!”

“Yes, yes… Listen, Buta?”

“Yes?” She glanced over Frey. After her short sob she’d fallen asleep and rolled her direction, her eyes still puffy. Frey seemed sad, even in sleep. “Yes, Slogine?”

“Be safe out there, and if it gets too dangerous just take her and run. My life isn't something we need to sacrifice anymore for… And one last thing, tell this to Frey too… I love you,” Slogine said, finality leaking into his tone. “Both of you.”

A smile crept across her face as she knelt beside her daughter, gently wiping the tears off her fair pink cheeks. “I love you too… We both do.”

She cut the connection and put the device away. It’d been a gift from the Guerrieros, a piece of technology that only Overworld’s rulers had access to as a direct line between them and the Ruler of Everything. She didn’t like using it unless she had to.

Buta brushed aside Frey’s hair, planting one kiss on the side of her cheek, before she covered her in a thick blanket and hugged her tight. Frey’s sad face lit up with just the smallest of smiles. Even asleep, she was able to recognize her mother’s warm embrace, and held Buta’s hand close to her chest. Just like when you were a child, she thought happily. Buta kissed the back of her head one last time before starting to fall asleep herself. The warm glow of the flame combined with the sound of snow made sleep easy, despite the dangers that awaited them. And before drifting off into rest she wondered if Frey could do it; if she could truly kill a man…

2

Frey dreamed that night, something that was usually uncommon for her. And it was a vivid dream too. The area around seemed out of focus; a white fog spilled over a black floor. No walls surrounded her, it was just more black. Despite her uncanny surroundings, she didn't feel unsafe. On the contrary, she felt at ease. She only noticed the familiar figure standing nearby when it waved.

It was Gult! Surrounded by fog and maybe a little see-through, but it was him! She felt ashamed of the tears welling up in her eyes; she had already cried so much… but made no attempt to wipe them away. She buried her face in him, hiding the tears but not the small jolts from her shoulders that resulted from her sobs. Gult accepted her grief, closing his own arms around her in a gentle embrace.

“I thought I’d never see you again!” she cried, pulling herself away to wipe her face.

“Well, you're not wrong…” Gult said. He was stroking her hair and his smile was sad. His eyes were sad.

She pulled away. “What do you mean?”

“You won’t remember this when you wake up, you'll only end up keeping the feeling,” he answered, wiping the steady stream running down her cheek with his thumb.

This small amount of information made the tears unstoppable, as she realized that this bittersweet moment would disappear forever…

“Hey, hey, hey, it's okay… I just wanted to see you one last time before moving on…” he said. “You’ll be okay.”

“Was it painful? When it happened, did you suffer?”

“Do you really want to know?” he asked, looking at her seriously.

She nodded her head, already knowing the answer.

“Yes, he beat me to death. And yes, it hurt,” Gult said. “He’s strong, Frey, strong and dangerous.”

“Why?! Why would he do something like that?!” she yelled. A white-hot fury came over her. “That son of a bitch!”

“I already told you the night I left that something like this may happen. I went out looking for a fight and I got one. I chose this, Frey. I was asking for it.” He went on one knee, his stout figure dim. “Now, before I move on, I have one last thing to ask you.”

She wiped away her tears over and over to no end, only raising her head to face him in his now even more blurry appearance. She gave him a quick nod to let her know she was listening.

“Are you absolutely sure you can fight? I know you’ve killed beasts and the like easily, but never people… Are you sure you can do it?”

“He is not a person! He’s evil, I know it!” she answered.

“You’ve faced people worse than that before and you still weren't able to do it…”

Her gaze dropped at the truth in his words. “But… if I can’t beat him, then all of their families will…” She got angry again. “I just need to do it! If I ran away now, I’d never be able to live with myself!” Her emerald eyes were burning. “I have to, Gult. It’s the right thing to do. And none of those people I faced before hurt you. He killed you. I can do it.”

Gult fell silent. “Is that really what you want? I left alone because I wanted to take responsibility for that kid's eventual death, not you… Are you absolutely sure?” he asked, placing his rugged hand on her small shoulder. “Can you handle that, Frey? Can you bear that?”

Her eyes stopped burning. If she did decide to participate in the destruction of the girl’s security, then she wouldn't be just a spectator anymore… She’d be the same as her own attackers all those years ago, the one with chains and cages and greedy smiles. She’d be what Gult and Slogine saved her from: a Seller.

“There isn't any other way… If she doesn't die, hundreds more will…” she said. The fire went out. “If I don’t get her killed, I’ll be getting the rest killed instead… One girl for hundreds, Gult. If that’s the trade… If that’s the trade, I’ll take it. Even if it damns me.”

He pulled her close as he grew more and more translucent, kissing her cheek. “You're so much stronger than you know… Even if your Glow isn't very thick, you can still do it… The man who killed me promised not to kill you… Use that… Goodbye, Frey…” Gult said. The tousk, a giant compared to her, pulled away and placed both hands on either cheek. “I love you.”

The next second he was gone.

3

The feeling of his hug soon faded along with it and Frey woke up, tears sliding along her face with a determined and infuriated scowl. She pushed aside Buta's hug, standing up fully against the frigid morning air, waking up Buta in the process. “Pinky?” she said, groggily. “What’s wrong?” Frey didn't pay any mind, only tapping a shard of red on her strange device, hearing it drone on and on…

4

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

Cammo, Vincenzo, and Plum sat around the campfire and stared into it. The rough tree beneath them didn't catch any of the flame’s infection, but it did hold its heat, warming them as they sat. The air was cold but the fire was hot, and all around it was more than bearable—it was relaxing. Plum had laid her head against Vincenzo’s thigh, and curled up under him in a blanket, sleeping soundly. Vincenzo held his body up with two hands placed on the wood behind him, while Cammo sat on Vincenzo’s pack carving away at something yet again. All around them was darkness. The fire was their light, and it was light enough.

“She did that with her mother… lay her head on her lap and sleep…” Cammo said, shaving away a long strip.

“Did she have muscled thighs?” Vincenzo asked, looking down at her blissful expression with a smile. “Like mine?”

“Not particularly…” the emp answered apathetically, whittling fine details.

“Are giant spiders going to be a problem tonight?” He’d been worrying about them since the sun went down, constantly looking over his shoulder.

“The fire will ward them off—as I’ve already said, if you need reminding—as well as other creatures.” Cammo blew some shavings off his figurine. “We’re safe for now.”

“You seem like you were in a good mood earlier… You like the Fall?” he asked, careful not to disturb Plum’s gentle rest.

“Indeed. I met Locine during this season when I was still a mercenary. Plus, I’ve always liked the colors,” Cammo said, grinning softly.

“And that's the connection you have to this ‘Slogine’ guy, I’m guessing? Met him doing mercenary work?”

“Yes, me and him were partners for a time,” Cammo said, looking up at the sky. The stars were out that night and the moons were hidden by the trees, no longer hanging right over their heads. For now, it was just them, the stars, the dark, and the fire.

“And by the situation we're in, I’m guessing you didn't end on the best terms…” Vincenzo said.

Cammo shook his head, carving small details into what now looked like a pig—Vincenzo thought it was a pig. After a couple more scrapes and gouges, he held the small effigy close to his chest. His ruby-red eyes shut and nodded his head. “Oh, Gyily, grant us good fortune on our long and arduous journey… Grant us fair weather and clean, clear paths… Grant us strength in our legs and air in our lungs… Grant us strength to carry ourselves with humble pride from our enemies.” Cammo prayed. He tossed it to the flames and opened them again.

“I didn't know you were religious,” Vincenzo said, a little surprised. The last thing he thought the emp would be into was religion. It didn’t fit.

“I’m not, but anything helps…” Cammo muttered, setting up a hide sleeping bag. “I left Slogine for dead… I thought that there was no chance, so I fled. It was a chance me, Locine, and he could make it out or a guarantee two could escape if one stayed. I chose for us…” He stared at Vincenzo with an unfamiliar softness. “That's not the reason he’s come for us, though. Apart from all the other disgusting vermin moon-men in the world, he’s one of the good ones.”

“He still murdered an innocent, though…”

“Sacrificed. The difference there is crucial!” Cammo said, angry. “Sacrifice… it's different…”

Plum groaned softly, growing restless in her slumber. Without thinking Vincenzo started stroking her hair—to his surprise and amazement, Cammo didn't rip him in half—and Plum calmed down a moment later.

“You know… As far as wizards go, I may be one of the most sympathetic ones towards moon-men. But I still find myself a little conflicted about you,” the emp claimed. “Do you have some kind of evil figure in your world?”

“Like what? In religion?”

“Yes, that’ll work. What is the ‘evil’ force in your religion?”

“I’m not religious myself, but the main guy is Satan.”

“Satan, huh?” Cammo asked, not satisfied. “We have the King of Hell in Hell as we speak. I’ve seen him before, but he’s on a tight leash… Anyone else? Maybe from your history?”

Vincenzo decided that he didn’t want to know how Satan was just around in this world and moved on, thinking of all the bastards he’d learned about in his brief stint in school. “Hitler. Bad guy. Genocide. Enough said.”

“Well… imagine if the son of Hitler came down and saved your daughter. Then you saw him beat someone to death with a smile on his face, and not long after that, gently put her to sleep as if it were second nature… That’s the position you’ve put me in.” The emp stroked his hair back.

Vincenzo shrugged. “I guess that’d be pretty jarring…”

Cammo shrugged back, mocking his lack of an answer. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I get it. I don't blame you for all that shit before, but you're not trying to justify your actions, are you? No… you're trying to figure me out. Let me make it easy for you to understand. The pain of others calms me… It’s… It’s like a drug. I felt it in my first schoolyard fight at eleven. A fight I got expelled for. And I’ve been chasing it ever since. It’s one of the few things I enjoyed. Anyway, I’ve killed and killed, not for any legitimate reason, even if I might be able to come up with some… Like, I could say I did it to clean scum off the streets! They were all assholes, wife beaters, child touchers, murderers and the like, but that’s not why I really did it… Wasn't for the money either… No, it was because I liked it. Because I had nothing better to do. Because I was good at it. Because it's just what I do. But I will never, never, hurt someone innocent again,” he finished, shaking slightly from the memory. “And I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t bring my father up again. I’ve been dealing with the consequences of his actions since I was four…”

Cammo looked at him with the same cold expression he usually wore, not saying a word. His shaking was enough to stir Plum awake as she sat up stretching her arms back in a tired yawn. Vincenzo’s look of anger, regret, and sadness disappeared as she looked up at him embarrassed. “Oh! Sorry, I didn't mean to sleep on you…” she apologized, crawling into her own hide bag.

“No worries. Wake me up if you need anything, okay?” he said, laying his back against the wood.

“Okay…” she yawned, falling asleep almost immediately. Just like her father.

Vincenzo chuckled softly, before remembering his little monologue. He looked over at Cammo who was still watching with the same “nothing” expression. Laying back down he let out an exhausted sigh. “Come on man, give me something…” he whispered, closing his eyes.

A blanket landed on top of his face, forcing him to sit back up again. Cammo was already asleep, his back turned, facing the tree they arrived from. A small smile grew on Vincenzo’s face as he laid back down… I haven't slept in two days, he realized dully. Luckily, it came quick.

5

In the nightmare he was young, and in it he was naked, and while naked he was cold and afraid, a small child shivering in the dark, swatting away at the endless hordes of spiders crawling on his arms and legs, crawling on his tiny little kid cock where it hurt to swat, crawling back on and biting him no matter how much he cried. Then, from the rickety staircase leading out of the basement he was trapped in, came the biggest spider of them. It crept down the stairs, its human face staring at him with evil green eye, a lecherous grin filled with sharp teeth, and a scar—one scar that went over one shut eye. Wisps of red hair sprouted from its pale skull and its face was a mess of pale white and freckles, the rest of its insect body a deep black that blended into the background. It hadn’t come down to eat him. It came down to steal from him, like it’d always done. With a hard, pointy stinger. But when he screamed for it to get away, spiders crawled down his little throat the same way the stinger had done, filling his lungs…

6

Vincenzo awoke biting into the flesh of his own arm, tearing the muscle and skin apart the way a dog would, ripping away a chuck of meat before spitting it into the abyss. The sky was still dark as he vomited over the side, a splitting headache accompanying his accidental cannibalism. Yet, even in his sad, sick state, the only emotions he felt were a mix of rage and an empty sensation in his chest.

“What?” Cammo asked, sitting up now, awake from the commotion.

Vincenzo wiped away the bile and blood from his lips before turning to him, looking half dead. The headache grew even worse, but instead of recoiling from that pain he only stared. How are you here? he asked himself, still unable to tear his gaze on what used to be the emp. The only person that stood there now was him—the scarred man. The one with the evil green eye and the closed one, gazing at him with a malicious grin. Vincenzo was going to kill him.

Without a word he lunged for the scarred man, reaching for his throat with hate in his black eyes! His large hands squeezed and squeezed, hoping to wipe the smug smile off his ugly face and watch the tears start to fall, but the scarred man didn’t seem to mind. Die, he thought, strangling him as hard as he could. Just die. Fucking die. Drooling with grit teeth, he kept on squeezing, but the scarred man kept on living. Why won’t you just die? Vincenzo throttled him back and forth silently, before slowing to a stop…

It was Cammo he was trying to kill. On the emp’s face was his fetish, black and blank, and around him was his Glow. Vincenzo slowly pulled his hands away, stared at them, and saw that Cammo’s neck was cracked, grey stone. Still, even though the emp was unharmed, he felt guilty.

“Why? Why didn’t you fight back?” Vincenzo asked, his voice breaking slightly.

Cammo didn't say a word, only offering a handkerchief.

“What's that for?”

The heavy tears falling down his cheeks answered that question. He pulled away, taking the cloth along with him. In an instant Vincenzo cleaned his faced, blew his nose as snot had begun to run over his lip, and tossed the evidence, his once horrible headache subsiding into a dull thumping sensation. It wasn't long until he looked like he always did.

“What happened?” Cammo asked, getting up fully now. The emp was the statue he always was, and somehow it was a little comforting.

“It was just a nightmare… go back to bed,” Vincenzo explained, seeming more dead than alive.

“Usual occurrence?” the emp asked. He tossed more wood in the fire and it flared.

“No, no… I stopped dreaming like that a while ago…” Vincenzo paid the bloody price to get rid of them, and they were gone for a time… But now? He’d gone through it again and felt like he was on the brink of something terrible, something he was utterly powerless against… The guilt was even worse. Was it all for nothing? Was the peace he killed for a lie? Could a fall that far down kill me? he thought, glancing below. He guessed not.

A frigid breeze passed and sent a shiver down Vincenzo’s spine, but he did not want to get near the fire—being near it brought too many bad memories. A small blanket landed on top of his head which he covered himself with immediately. It was a good enough shield against the wind, but he still felt cold.

“Thanks…” Vincenzo said, keeping an eye over the edge.

“Anything else?”

“Like what?”

“Pains? Hallucinations? Things like that,” Cammo said. He opened up the same bottle of booze Vincenzo saw him drinking from earlier that day.

“Why’s that important?”

“It may be the green light from earlier making you act like that.”

He had almost forgotten about that. Gult, that son of a bitch… “Oh… Well, you're right on the money then. I had one hell of a headache and hallucinated someone else's face on yours…” Vincenzo said. It’s not my fault, he thought, glad. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. If it was magic that did it, he could deal with that. I’m not crazy. Vincenzo got up and walked back to the fire.

Cammo kept an understandable eye on him as he did, and asked, “Hmm… Anyone important?”

“No, I already killed him…” he said. “I killed him, Cammo. He’s dead as hell. I brutalized the motherfucker. Lo rifaei, Cammo. Lo rifaei.” Now he was angry. Whoever fucked with him was going to need to get fucked with back. But, for the immediate moment, he needed to get well. If the scarred man’s face appeared on Plum… He looked over to see her sleeping soundly, Cammo nearby. She was a heavy sleeper if he ever saw one. Looking back at Cammo, who had removed his fetish, he spoke: “How do I get rid of it?”

The emp gave him a small shrug—the most disheartening shrug that the Vincenzo had ever seen—before taking a swig from the bottle in his hands, draining the thing after just seconds. Cammo let out a sigh the moment he was finished and tossed the bottle below, deciding to sit again. “Clean your blood off,” Cammo ordered, stepping into his sleeping bag again. This time he pulled his daughter's small body close. He fell asleep instantly just like his daughter earlier.

That shrug was all he had.

“Fuck me…” Vincenzo whispered, running the canteen water over his face.

He stopped when he heard something just over the fire’s cracks and pops and strained to hear it in the dark—it was a droning kind of noise, and he didn’t recognize it as anything they had heard over their march. He looked around for a moment with a perplexed expression, before realizing it was coming from himself. “Where the…?” he muttered, patting himself down. After a moment of searching, he finally felt a strange lump on a leather plate—something was stitched beneath it. A bomb?! It was a modern kind of thought, but after what he’d been through, he wouldn’t have doubted it. Without wasting time, he grabbed Heavy Metal and turned the leather around the noise into a shotgun shell, letting a rectangular object fall between his legs. Vincenzo picked it up and examined it closely, feeling its flat shape vibrate in his hands. It lit his face in a dull purple light; he knew it as a phone. But how can a phone exist in a land of swords and shields? he thought. He then wondered about a much more important question: who the hell was calling? Vincenzo decided to find out and—having already guessed it was a touch-screen—pressed his right thumb against it. The drone stopped with an amusing pup-punk as he pressed the shimmering crystal against his ear.

“Talk,” Vincenzo said, barely hiding the bitterness in his tone.

“Are you the one that killed Gult?” a feminine voice asked. She sounded angrier than him! Vincenzo guessed the speaker couldn't be very old, placing her age at around sixteen to twenty… The same age Gult’s little sister was supposed to be around. “Yep,” Vincenzo muttered, his voice calmer. “You're his sister, then?”

There was no answer for a moment, only a bitter silence… And in this silence Vincenzo thought about one thing, and that one thing was the splitting headache that reemerged. He stood in silence gritting his teeth, waiting for the pain to subside… It never did.

“I’m going to kill you soon…” the voice replied. The rage in it was palpable.

“That's cool. Anyway, what kind of spell did you hit me with?” Vincenzo replied casually.

There was indistinct chatter as the voice grew quiet, an action that told him there was someone else involved. He waited patiently as the caller conversed with her partner, idly rubbing the back of his head to feel the stubble.

“Its name is Mind’s Tumor. You’ll suffer headaches and hallucinations until you die. So kill yourself! Save us the trouble.”

He didn't pay any attention to her mindless request and walked further away from the camp. “I’m guessing whoever you were talking to is the wizard who cast it, right? You're lucky it's them or else I would have had to break my promise…”

An angry grunt came out of whatever allowed the item to emit audio. “You're not killing anyone anymore. My name is Frey, and I’ll be the one to end you!” Frey claimed. And went quiet.

“You know, Frey,” he said, smiling, “you have a pretty voice.”

Silence, then: “See you soon. And good luck sleeping.”

The call dropped with a tring, leaving him alone with just the moaning breeze to crash against him. “More problems; love it.” he whispered bitterly.

Destructive pain attacked his brain yet again. The shock of it almost sending his body over the edge as it hunched over in agony. The flash felt impossibly long, and his only clue that it hadn’t been five minutes was the life of the fire. He stumbled back to his blanket, covering his head and body, and tried to fall asleep…

But the pain was too much. Every attempt at rest resulted in a knife through his brain, bringing him back up to gasp and pant as sweat collected on his brow. Each attempt resulted in growing pain, which then resulted in exhaustion, which resulted in him trying to sleep, which resulted in more pain, and so on and so on. And Vincenzo hadn’t slept for almost two days to begin with. “Fuck…” he mumbled, laying his head back against the leaves. Something passed through the shadows in the corner of his eye… He sat up turning his full attention to the passing figure. SPIDER, he thought, jolting upright while clutching his blanket. But it was nothing. You’re getting paranoid, Vincenzo, a smarter part of himself pointed out. Keep your head straight. That was good advice and he decided to follow it.

“Good luck sleeping, my ass,” he whispered. “I need to. If I don’t, I’ll go crazy.” And how could he do that? Every time he started to drift off, the headache grew worse, squeezing his brain the same way Igor squeezed his neck. He groaned quietly to himself and looked over to see Cammo had got back up. He’ll know what to do.

“Problem?” the emp said, moving his daughter aside as he lazily strolled over.

“I got a call from Gult’s sister, and she explained the spell to me,” Vincenzo said. “Every time I try to sleep, the headaches… they get worse, Cammo! And… fuck! It’s really starting to hurt bad. Worst headache in my entire life, for real… And when I’m awake hallucinations keep fucking with my head!”

“Mmm,” Cammo said. He let out his Glow. “I have an idea.”

7

Cammo’s small hop threw him right into Vincenzo’s face. The moon-man didn't even have to retaliate as his attacker's hand slammed into the bottom of his chin! The bone and flesh broke apart from the impact, only growing back after Vincenzo fell unconscious and fell onto a bed of fallen leaves… “You can heal any wound, but you can't regain consciousness if your brain hits your skull too much… I hope.” Time proved him right. “Get some sleep and just explain the rest in the morning,” Cammo said. The emp yawned, slipped back in his bag, and held his daughter close once more.