1

Cammo awoke to the sickly smell of burnt flesh and hair, and saw with squinted eyes a pile of bodies thrown inside of the bonfire they passed the night prior. Vincenzo knelt nearby looting the packs of the burned ones, sorting out their belongings into two piles. The right one seemed to be filled with personal items that’d have no use to him, and the left one was filled up with preserves, dried and salted meats, and whatever other useful thing they could use. The sun would be up soon judging by the horizon's orange glow, Cammo knew. Vincenzo noticed him out of the corner of his eye and waved.

“Ah, you're finally awake…” Vincenzo said, looking through a large pack. From the size, Cammo guessed it was Gult’s. “Right after I finished burning the bodies too. What a coincidence…”

“Why did you burn them?” Cammo groaned, pushing himself to a sitting position.

“You tried to kill the deer-thing with fire, and even though it didn't work, it's better to get rid of the remains,” Vincenzo said. “Unless I’m wrong and that's some rare occurrence.”

“No, that was good thinking. Slogine births large slugs from the tip of his tongue, which then crawl into a body and turn its host into what you saw earlier…” the emp said, walking over to scarf down some perishables Vincenzo had set aside. The tendrils had sapped more than a little strength and he needed the fuel. His mana was still dangerously low. “It’s a nasty business. Where’s my mask?”

“In your pocket.”

He checked it and found it, squeezing it to feel the black leather as he continued to eat. “Best way to take them out use to be fire, but I guess he progressed past that… Now it seems like killing the slug is a better bet.”

“Yuck! I’ve never been good with slimy things…” Vincenzo said, emptying another bag onto the ground. “You know… these guys aren't bandits or anything like that.”

“What makes you say that?” Cammo asked, feeling his strength return as he practically inhaled the meal. He’d be fine soon enough.

Vincenzo looked away, slightly squeamish from the sight. “Gult kept a diary…” The moon-man held up a small blue notebook. “It talks about them.”

“So he did…”

“From what I saw, it isn't just this ‘Slogine’ guy who gets cured, but the disease itself is eradicated… Gult was telling the truth there at least… And all these men had people sick at home… They were farmers and the like, traveling hundreds of miles just to get here. Apparently, there were even more when they started to make the journey…” Vincenzo explained. “But they obviously didn't make the trip.” He opened it and looked inside.

There was an uncomfortable silence between the two before Cammo decided to break it: “Did it explain who the Guerrieros were?”

“No. Gult barely elaborated on anything, only writing every once and a while with tid-bits of information. All in all, it’s pretty useless,” he said, closing it.

“You don't think the men you just killed fighting to save the lives of their family, friends, and lovers is important?” Cammo asked, glaring.

“It is important, don’t twist my damn words… But that doesn't mean I’m going to change course now. I’m not going to give Plum up, and by the way you reacted to their situation the first time, you aren't going to, either.”

Cammo calmed down and stared into the burning mass of flesh, the sun rising slowly among the quiet forest trees, bathing the area in its orange hue. “That green light that hit you yesterday was either because of Gult’s little sister or someone else. Slogine can only birth slugs with his mutation and give them orders with his spell… In any case, let me know if you start feeling strange.”

“You're shit at explaining anything that happens, you know. Could you at least sum this shit up?” Vincenzo asked, putting a pair of Gult’s clothes into his own pack. He must’ve grabbed that while he was asleep.

“Spells?”

“Spells, mana, and the weird energy that surrounds your body. The three things that could be really useful for me to know,” Vincenzo said. “So, get talking. I think I earned being taken out of the dark.”

Cammo almost couldn’t believe the pale giant squatting down in front of him was only eighteen years old; he seemed much older, and much more dangerous. But he’s on my side, isn’t he? Cammo thought. That was enough for him to talk. “Hmm,” Cammo grunted, opening a bottle of looted alcohol in his right hand. “And you don’t want to know about the Guerrieros?”

“Dannazione, man, just tell me everything you think I should know! I haven't slept in at least a day,” Vincenzo sighed, pulling out a large orage from Cammo’s pack. A bite of that seemed to sober him up. “Just get talking.”

Cammo nodded and took a swig of the bitter alcohol in his left hand, feeling a comfortable burn in his throat. “I’ll start with mana then. What exactly mana is, is unknown. Legends and rumors have circulated about it, but nothing has ever been confirmed. In any case, it’s the fuel that allows spells, ‘gifts’, and Glow to function how they should. As you saw earlier, my overuse of mana led to me passing out, just as you did after your first encounter.”

“How do you get it back?” Vincenzo asked, pocketing Gult’s diary.

“Well, mana is something your body produces, so ‘get it back’ isn't the right string of words. Eating nutrients should help, as you can see and as you experienced. It may take another half-hour but after eating that much, my body will produce enough to replace the mana I lost earlier. Remember this, as long as you have trace amounts of mana in your body you can continue to move like normal. It's when you push yourself beyond your limits that you lose consciousness.”

Vincenzo nodded, sitting cross-legged on the grass with a look of fascinated wonder on his hard face.

Cammo thought he looked young again. How strange. The emp felt booze enter his bloodstream and shook his head, focusing. He didn’t like not knowing what to make of someone, and he had no idea what to make of the Guerriero in front of him. He continued: “Spells are even simpler. It's just how your mana manifests.”

Vincenzo chuckled to himself for a moment, catching the tipsy creature's attention. “Ha! I guess you could say it… mana-fests!”

Cammo chose to move on… “They reflect a person's character in a couple ways, so keep that in mind… And it varies from person to person. One simple rule to remember is that the more destructive or unavoidable a spell is, the more mana it generally costs to cast. For example, Gult’s spell ‘Vertidome’ was unavoidable within its range and most certainly effective, and as a result he could only cast it a small number of times. While I, on the other hand, can cast mine as much as I like with how little mana it spends.”

“Like my regenerating limbs, right?” Vincenzo asked.

“Now that's the exception… Wizards can have one spell and only one spell, and while that spell may have different functions within it, it's still one spell. Moon-men on the other hand, appear with a guaranteed mutation as well as a spell. We call them ‘gifts’ when talking about moon-men and ‘mutations’ when referring to wizards. Mutations are just spells that affect the user’s body and the user alone. Like that one from a couple nights ago who could grow claws from anywhere in his body, while also being able to fire beams from his eyes. It's just a categorization people use to explain them simply because fundamentally, mutations are just spells. Simply speaking, wizards have one while moon-men have two—the second is guaranteed to be a mutation.”

“Wait… so I haven't even used my spell yet?” Vincenzo questioned, his face scrunching from the orange fruits' extreme sourness. He gulped down a large bite and took a generous swig of his canteen.

Dark circles had begun to form under his eyes and Cammo wondered just how tired he was. He’s been moving bodies all morning too, he thought. He must be close to passing out… That wasn’t good. There was no time for rest anymore. He’ll just need to suck it up for another march. “Correct. With how long it’s taking, it’s probably similar to mine,” Cammo answered, pulling out his leather mask. “You might regurgitate something like this.”

“What? Regurgitate?”

“Yep, regurgitate,” Cammo said, tossing it to him. “It's a ‘fetish’. It's paired with me, so no one else could use it, and if I’m not in some kind of physical contact with it, I wouldn't be able to use my spell. But if I died, any non-wizard could pick it up and pair it with themselves. Of course, there are still exceptions…”

The pale young man finished the fruit in one large bite and immediately washed it down with water, coughing a bit and punching his chest. “So I’m getting one of these, right?”

“Yes, you should vomit a fetish up sometime soon if my predictions correct…” Cammo answered, sorting out his own pack. “Now give it back.”

He tossed the black leather back at Cammo. “Okay! All that's left is the light and the Guerriero thing.”

“Yes… Glow is just the act of bringing the mana stored inside your body out, enhancing almost every part. It also allows for the improvement of spells, like my Nature Mask. Without Glow, it could only change my skin different colors. While with a Glow, it could allow me to grow grass and stone as well as complex shapes and patterns along my skin,” Cammo said, standing up again to stare at the sunrise. “And as for the Guerrieros… They rule the world. They have black eyes, and they rule the world.”

“Hmm, and I’m related to them, probably literally…” Vincenzo muttered nonchalantly.

“You seem rather fine with this news…”

“Eh, it just makes my enjoyment of other people's suffering make a lot more sense…”

“Let me clarify something for you. The Guerrieros are most definitely evil. But that doesn't mean they were lying to Slogine…” Cammo stated, facing him and standing. “In this situation, even if our goal is the protection of a child… we are still dooming innocents to slow and painful deaths. Vincenzo, we are the evil ones here. We’re the ones choosing to sacrifice many for one. I’m fine with that. I’ll burn the world Plum.” He looked at Vincenzo with cold, red eyes, hoping that the moon-man saw the truth in them. “And I’d do it without regret. Plum is my world. But can you do the same?”

The fire flared up as the corpses inside fell apart from the heat, leaving only the stench of death and a long silence. The blackened, shriveled eyes of the burned looked on in judgment. Cammo wondered what they thought of it all.

Finally, the moon-man spoke: “I killed drug-dealers, kidnappers, wife-beaters, murderers, rapists… pedophiles—the usual members of organized crime. And my methods have been anything but… moral. Yet I don’t even think I could say I made the world a better place… But for once in my life, I want to do something good. It may sound selfish, but I want to save your daughter. Even if it means others have to die…” More silence passed between them, as a strong breeze rushed between the leaves and leaned the fire in only the slightest way. “I don’t know who I am, Cammo. And I think I wouldn’t like the answer if I found out… But I’m thinking… I’m thinking that this’ll help me figure it out… I’ll save her, Cammo. I did it once and I’ll do it again.”

Cammo stared into his black eyes in search of a lie, but the darkness in them swallowed all. The orange of the fire and the sun disappeared within those dark balls, only adding to the mystery that was the young man in front of him. Was he evil? Was he good? Was he somewhere in the middle? Cammo couldn’t tell. It unnerved him greatly. But, for now, his only ally for hundreds of miles was a Dark Prince from the depths of space. An ally was what he needed to help Plum, and it seemed like the moon-man shared that sentiment. “Go and find her while I clean this mess up… She doesn't need to know about what her life costs…” Cammo commanded. “She’s like her mother: too good for her own good. If she figured out the sacrifice, she’d turn herself in.”

“Alone?” Vincenzo asked, standing.

“Alone,” Cammo repeated, walking over to the right pile.

Vincenzo smiled and left his bag, traveling into the woods the direction they arrived… and soon he was gone. Cammo looked back towards the corpses and their judging faces, noticing the fact that there was one stout body beheaded in the inferno. Gult was headless. “Why would he decapitate him?” Cammo asked aloud.

The crackle of flames was the only answer he was bound to get, and got to work.

Cammo grabbed a small stuffed animal that sat on top of the memorabilia and examined it for a second; rough green cloth kept white fluff from escaping its seams while various stains and rips displayed its frequent use. One of the small buttons that made up the thing’s eyes hung in the breeze by a single thread… He threw it into the flames. This is the cost, he told himself. It was the cost he was paying. I’d burn the world.

So he started with the kindling.

2

Vincenzo spotted Plum’s bobbing pack as she ran over to greet him with a smile, and he returned it as best he could, hiding away the cyan blood that still stained parts of the black cloth. The sun was up fully then and so were the diurnal creatures that filled the silence with chirps, songs, and cries. He could already feel the temperature rise from the comfortable seventies that covered the night to the uncomfortable nineties. It was going to be a hot, long, and most likely exhausting day. That’s what makes it a punishment.

“Morning,” he said, holding up his right hand in a lazy wave.

“Good morning, can I ride on your shoulders?” she asked.

He hadn't slept in a day. Even so, he picked her up and sat her on his broad back, still grinning. Some part of him couldn’t refuse her. “Any reason why?”

“Nope, just looked like fun,” Plum replied, kicking her legs up and down and tapping her heels lightly on his chest.

“Hm, can’t argue with that.”

“Did you guys win? Did you beat ‘em?” Plum asked, resting her chin on the top of his head.

“Yep,” Vincenzo answered, starting back.

“Where's papa?” she asked. The small emp on his back leaned forwards and back, scanning for her father.

He balanced himself. “He’s waiting up ahead for us.”

“What, really? He let you go alone?” Plum asked, gripping the side of his cheeks.

“He warmed up to me,” Vincenzo claimed. He grabbed onto her ankles to keep her from falling. “We’re on the same team, after all.”

“Oh! Does that mean I can tell you things? Without having to worry about him cutting you in half!”

“Cutting me in half?”

“That’s what he said he’d do if he found out you knew more than you were letting on…”

“Yeesh! With friends like that…” He glanced up at her. “Hey, why do you and Cammo wear one outfit? I saw you guys had more clothes, but they're all just the same too. Same thing with that red bow in your hair. What's the deal?”

She looked a little confused. “Isn’t that how everyone dresses?” she asked. “Speaking of which, where’d you get these clothes?”

“Stole ‘em,” he answered. It was important to tell the truth sometimes. The best liars always did. “And usually, people have different sets of clothes. Not the same thing over and over… Is it an emp thing?”

She looked up between the trees in thought. “I guess it is,” she admitted. “Dang, now I don’t know the difference…”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never left this place,” Plum said, solemn. “So I don’t know what’s normal and what's an emp thing… As for the bow… My mama gave it to me. I like it close.” That seemed to make her sad, and with that sadness came silence. He and Cammo had hiked far in the night, so they still had a ways to go. And after a long time—ten minutes, to be exact—she decided to continue: “My mama said people could put a bit of their soul in things or places… That’s what she said she was doing when she gave it to me. It was my tenth… I’m sorry, am I boring you?”

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

He smiled and looked up at her, hoping she didn’t notice the bags gathering under his eyes. “You were bored the other night when I was talking?”

Plum smirked sheepishly and shook her head, the braid swinging along with it.

“Same feeling here too. Go ahead.”

Nodding, she went on: “When I was ten, she told me all about it. She said, Plum, this is a piece of me. It may be a small piece, but I guarantee that it loves you just as much as me, and it’ll watch over you long after I’m gone. She wasn’t even sick, then, you know? She was healthy and pretty as could be. But she made it sound like she was going to die…”

“Weird.”

“Mmhmm. She also said, When me and Cammo die, we’ll be going Up. And when we’re Up we can’t look after you how we used to. It’ll be up to you then. Hopefully, she said, that won’t be for a long time… But you’ll definitely be an adult by that point, so I’m not worrying too much.”

He crouched low and passed through a tight line of trees, careful not to decapitate the girl riding his shoulders on a low-hanging branch. “You have some good memory there.”

“I do.” He felt her nod. “All emps do. We live a long time, so we have to.”

“And how long’s that?” Vincenzo asked. Looking at her he tended to forget she was eleven years old, but their talks reminded him quick. She was a little immature, but not six-year-old immature.

With a look of pride, she said, “Three-hundred-and-fifty-years, on the average. If we forgot things quickly, mama said we’d forget who our parents were or even who our kids are. We live a long time, and we remember every second of it.” Without asking, she began to run her small hands over his shaved head, feeling the stubble prick her palms. She didn’t even seem to realize she was doing it. He didn’t stop her. “Anyways, going on… She basically said that she put a bit of herself in the bow, and when she’d die, it’d stay behind with me as a guard.”

“A guard? A guard against what?”

“Everything under the sun and both moons, Vincenzo,” she said, a smile in her voice. “E-even if she’s gone, I have it with me. She’s with me. Even if it is just a little teeny tiny, small little part… It’s very dear to me.”

She seemed to be doing a lot better. Must’ve been a good night's sleep. God knows I need that too… He yawned, paused, smacked his lips, and went on. “That’s good. That’s good for you.”

She was quiet for another couple of minutes on his shoulders, idly rubbing his head. Finally, she spoke: “Do you wish you could have brought something with you? From Italy?”

“Like what?” He didn’t spend his money on anything. All his “worldly possessions” were either Marco’s (TV, bed, lazy chair) or clothes.

“Like… like something from your dad,” Plum said, quietly.

He asked, “From Marco?”

“Was that his name? You just said he was your father.”

He didn’t feel like arguing and it was close enough. Marco was close enough to a father and a mother in one. “Yeah, that’s him… You asked if I would’ve wanted a memento from him?”

“Yeah, my bow makes me feel better. Maybe you’d feel better if you had something.”

“You think I’m sad?” he asked. It came out a little rougher than he intended, and he felt her flinch.

“I-I just thought that since… since, uhm…” She brought her hands back up. “Forget it. I didn’t mean anything by it…”

Guilt came along and he sighed. “Sorry, I don’t know what came over me… Yes, I am a little sad. And if I could bring something along, it’d be heavy metal.” That seemed like an appropriate answer. “It’s a type of music.”

Plum felt his stubble again, perking up. “Was he a musician?” she asked curiously.

Vincenzo chuckled under his breath. “No, nothing like that. He just liked it. He just liked it a lot.”

They were silent for a third time, and kept that third quiet for most of the journey back, taking in the waking woods that surrounded them on every side, breathing fresh air. Vincenzo felt a third wind coming along, the second having been used hours ago in the fight. They walked for a long while, eventually reaching where they were meant to be: the site of burning. He stopped for a moment, smelling the black death up ahead… and Plum smelt it too, sneering at the dreadful stench. Jesus, they’re still burning? He had used acid to dispose of bodies in Italy, taking Geno’s advice to steer clear of fire to destroy evidence. But he had always wondered why… And now I know. He looked up at the rising black clouds squeezing through the tight branches, and almost retched.

“What's that smell?” she asked, gripping her nose in disgust.

“Close your eyes, okay?” he asked, squeezing her ankles tighter. “And don't open them no matter what, got it?”

She smiled at him nervously, still pinching her nostrils. “You're scaring me a little…” she admitted. “Why do I need to do that?”

“Do you trust me?” Vincenzo asked, staring undistracted at the smoke.

Plum watched them too for a moment, before looking down at him with big red eyes. “I trust you…” she said. “I’ll close my eyes, and I won’t open them no matter what.”

That was a relief. “Okay, close them now.”

He walked forward, not even glancing back to check if her eyes were as closed as she promised, and met Cammo again, who was tossing the very last of the useful goods into Vincenzo’s pack. He Glowed, picking up the bag with ease, and with the loot secured, he motioned for the pale moon-man to follow, disappearing beyond the invisible wall that separated wherever they were and the trees of tar… The young man held his breath and stepped through, entering the murky place on the other side. “You can open them now,” he said, setting her back down.

She did and her unsure expression turned sour. “What is this place?” Plum asked Cammo.

He’d already started ahead. “The place in between,” he answered, looking back a moment. “Do not touch anything! Especially the black goo… Now follow me, we’ve wasted enough time.”

Plum grabbed Vincenzo’s hand and stuck close, cringing away from low hanging vines on every side. This small and carefree gesture surprised Vincenzo, yet he did not pull away, only squeezing the hand gently in response. Cammo took notice but did not show any resemblance of jealousy or anger, letting a small smile creep across his stony face as he cut down the vines of black slime. That was progress, Vincenzo thought. But where it was progressing to, he had no idea. Crossing the small fantastical and lethal woods only took another ten minutes until they finally reached the end; another invisible barrier which Cammo moved through accidentally stood in the way. Cammo popped his head back through the transparent wall in such a way it looked as if he’d been decapitated. A floating decapitated head at that… At that point, Vincenzo had seen everything.

“Come, both of you,” Cammo said, a large grin that seemed so unnatural—as opposed to his usual frown—stretching across his face. “This segment’s my favorite…” He pulled his head back.

“Well, I don’t want to get cut in half…” Vincenzo muttered, holding his left hand out in invitation.

Plum looked at him with an innocent smile while taking it. Could he even smile like that anymore? He tried his best to and led her after Cammo…

3

“Santa merda…” Vincenzo said, his jaw low.

Humongous trees, trees larger than any redwood on earth, stood taller than any skyscraper all around them. The diameter of each trunk reaching at least forty feet wide, and Vincenzo couldn’t begin to measure how tall. Flat branches stuck out of their massive trunks and connected with each other, forming natural walking paths in between them. The branches were about twelve feet wide, but if they’d have been any thinner Vincenzo might’ve had trouble crossing, and by the looks on Plum’s face, she would’ve too. At some point she had let go of his hand and had begun to squeeze the bow in her braid, looking both fascinated and nervous by the gargantuan interconnected woods all around. The orange colored ceiling above them—which Vincenzo initially thought were because of a sunset, but turned out to be completely natural—as orange, brown, and dull yellow star-shaped leaves floated down from above, blanketing the flat brown branch they stood on and falling past the on either side; the ones that missed the walkway fell into a deep pit far, far, far below where no light seemed to reach.

Not your average forest, he thought, feeling like an insect. He was in absolute awe. He had no idea what that word really meant until he felt it, and when he felt it, he couldn’t find the words to describe it. He could only think: Not your average forest at all.

“I can’t even see the bottom…” Plum said, glancing over the edge before nervously backing up to the middle of the path.

“Then be careful,” her father said roughly. “If even our eyes can’t pierce its depths, then best to not fall in. Stay to the middle.”

She nodded. Every trunk faded into it the black below, as if it were being swallowed by the void-like existence. “You don’t need to tell me twice.”

Vincenzo looked down and up and all around, and thought: Not your average forest.

So what kind of forest was it?

An autumn breeze came along, carrying the leaves with it. He glanced into the black nothingness beneath as well, feeling the unmistakable chill of an October day. He wondered what happened to the obnoxiously hot weather they were saturated in not too long ago. Another thing to ask about, he thought. Plum crossed her arms as she shivered, leading her father to hand her a light blanket to wrap around herself. She took it and shielded against the calm wind as if it were a raging blizzard. Cammo had a small smile as he traveled along the wood, breathing in the cool air before he let out a refreshed sigh.

“Well, come on,” he ordered, approaching the end of the walkway that led into the next. “Oh, and put a coat on, Plum. This isn’t sundress weather.”

4

A small path of wood stretched across the trunk from the beginning of the first branch to the next, only wide enough for a single person to travel along. They had nothing but the brown bark to cling to and no rail to guard them from a long, long fall. The smallest breeze—all of the winds were relatively tame—seemed stronger on the edge.

“Keep your footing sure,” Cammo said.

“Is this what you meant by saying, ‘Not your average forest’?” Vincenzo asked, making sure to keep Plum's small body as close to the bark as possible.

“Yes,” Cammo replied, knocking on the solid brown wood, “this is a Crater.”

Before he could ask what a “Crater” was, Plum started to shiver, growing pale as she clung to the trunk of the tree tightly. “Fear of heights?” Vincenzo asked, keeping one arm between her and the edge.

She nodded violently, closing her eyes and pressing her forehead against the trunk.

He pat her on the back. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you. I’m not going to let you fall.”

“Thanks…” she said, shimmying along the wall just a little more confidently. “But I’m not scared. Just a little nervous…”

Vincenzo turned back to Cammo, knowing it was a lie. “What’s a ‘Crater’?”

“One of the Blood Moon’s tears that fell on Overworld ages ago… As you can see, they don't make very much sense physically as they are magical in nature. Magic bends the world. They named this one the Seasons’ Crater; each segment displaying each season,” Cammo explained. “Last was Summer. This is Fall. Next is Winter. The last is Spring. Each has a different length, different weather, and different wildlife. No one comes here. There’s nothing of value here. It’s big and empty and without adventure for those seeking it, which made it the last place people would visit.”

“Ah… So how big is this place?”

“We still have a lot of travel time left if that's what you're asking,” Cammo said. “They’re shaped like corridors. I know that looking towards your right or left you could see hundreds of trees, but that's nothing but a lie.” The emp ran his hair behind his ears and scratched his pyramid nose. “Just like you’ve seen before, an invisible gateway is forcing us into a singular direction.”

Vincenzo didn’t like the sound of that. “So that means there's no way to avoid a fight, huh?”

Cammo nodded and Plum fidgeted with her bow.

“Any predators around?” Vincenzo asked, changing the subject.

Cammo said, “Actually, yes. Your spell couldn't come at a better time….”

Plum straightened up, her face lighting up with an innocent excitement just as the group moved away from the trunk and onto another branch. “Ooh! What is it?!”

“Hmm? Oh, no idea,” Vincenzo said. “It’s going to be a fetish, he thinks.”

“What? Oh, so it's like papa’s with the mask and all… What are you gonna name it?”

“Name it? Why would I do that?”

She opened her mouth, expecting some kind of reply to come out, until realizing she didn't have an answer herself. Her gaze turned to Cammo.

“It’s culture,” Cammo said.

“Uh huh, but whose?” Vincenzo asked.

“Wizards,” the emp said. “Moon-men. Both. We name the same way we name our children. We name them because they are unique to us and only us, the same way children are unique to themselves. Where that practice started, no one knows, but that’s probably why wizards do.”

“Ah, and being a wizard is hereditary, right?”

“Indeed. As long as one parent is a wizard, the child would be. It’s a certainty. And there’s no way that someone born to at least one wizard parent will not have natural ability to use mana or manifest a spell of their own,” Cammo confirmed, traveling along the side of another tree. “It's said that the ratio between non-wizards and wizards is a thousand to one. But the disparity has probably grown since then.”

“So, when it comes out I can name it, right?” Plum interjected, excited.

“Nah,” Vincenzo said, shooting her down. “I got one in mind.”

Cammo faced him, and said, “It should come up soon.”

“How do I know when I’ll spit it up?”

“A quick flash of nausea,” Cammo said, and went on.

The trio kept hiking through Fall, the cold air putting another layer upon each of them. Gult had packed a heavy coat of black fur which turned the breeze off easily and warmed Vincenzo to the bone. Plum traded her free-flowing dress for a pair of pants and a coat of the same pink color she wore before. And Cammo met the cooler climate with a light jacket of red. It was always either pink or red with them. The amount of leaves that fell would leave anyone to believe the forest to be barren, but the lush crown at the top never lost its grandeur. Even hours in, some part of him was still in awe. High noon did nothing to increase the heat, acting only as a signal for the march of time. Vincenzo glanced at the deep black below in thought.

“Why do you keep looking down there?” Plum asked, sounding and seeming uncomfortable by void.

He could see why; it was still and large, and they had no idea how still or how large it was. “At this point I’m just really curious… Cammo, what's the deal with that abyss again?”

Cammo ran one hand through his hair, breathing in the cool air with a small grin and a content look. The chance of falling into the dangerous unknown didn't seem to disrupt his tranquil mood. He didn’t seem to realize Vincenzo was talking to him until he grunted, “Hm?”

“The darkness below, what's the deal?”

“That's where the predators come from. Well, the giant spiders…”

“WHAT?!” Cammo and Plum looked at him in bewilderment. He blushed and calmed himself as if nothing happened, cleared his throat, and asked as he normally, “What did you say about giant spiders?”

“Are you scared of spiders?” Plum asked, placing a hand on his knee.

“I’m not scared of spiders. Only giant ones…” he lied. His fear ran deep, right into the empty hole in his chest. He did more than fear them.

“Are giant spiders common where you're from?” she questioned seriously.

“No, no… it was just in a movie I saw once. Scared me bad as a kid, a time I got easily scared,” Vincenzo said. He turned to Cammo as casually as he could. “So, um, uh, how big are we talking here? The size of my hand?”

Cammo put the palm of his hand on Plum’s head giving it two pats before continuing on. Her size. Vincenzo went pale, well, as pale as his practically white skin would allow. Plum grew a fair bit paler as well from seeing his reaction, and he tried to act a little braver for her sake.

“That’s just length, right?” he asked, sounding like someone who was trying to sound like they weren’t nervous when they absolutely were.

“Height.”

A flash of extreme nausea hit him in the head as he fell to his hands and knees, starting to dry heave! Plum rushed to his side trying her best to keep him upright, while Cammo only stood and watched. He thought his stomach was about to burst, and created a disgusting HUAGH! noise again and again for over a minute—then something crawled out of his throat and onto the leaf-covered branch. The moment it was out he felt infinitely better. It was a gray and shapeless blob, nondescript in every other way.

“Congratulations! That's your fetish… Whatever it is…” said, doing his best and failing to sound enthusiastic.

Vincenzo waved Plum away in a “I’m fine” motion, laughing to himself as he did. “I get it… There were no giant spiders, you were just scaring me to get it to come out quicker!” Half the relief came from that. “Nice one, Cammo. You got me good!”

“No,” he clarified coldly. “None of that was a lie.” His smile was small yet genuine. “But I guess it did scare it out of you…”

“Porca puttana…” Vincenzo whispered. “Why are there giant spiders? Actually, I guess there's no real answer to that. Just tell me what they eat.”

“Insects that also live down there. They don't like light, so they stay there until night. Even then, a fire should keep them at bay,” Cammo said, examining the blob of grey.

Plum sneered, hiding behind her father. “It looks like snot…”

“Now what?” Vincenzo asked.

“Touch it.”

He thought that it was a joke at first, but Cammo wasn't the joking type. Crouching down, he poked at it. It was much more solid than he thought, the tip of his finger coming away gray as the amorphous blob wobbled at the touch.

“With your bare hands,” Cammo specified, “you have to grab it.”

“No way,’’ Vincenzo said, standing up and backing away. “I already told you I don’t do well with slimy shit. That’s a,” he crossed his arms into an “X”, “no from me.”

“Is that how yours looked when it first came out?” Plum asked Cammo.

“Yes, but it turns into some kind of item when the owner touches it…” Cammo said, before kneeling down and grabbing the snot-like blob with no gloves.

Plum and Vincenzo let out an instinctual dry heave, just as Cammo’s dark green Glow enveloped him. The pale young man did not like the look of that, nor did he like the small, and almost excited, grin on the emp’s face. Don’t throw it at me, he pleaded internally.

But the emp couldn’t read minds.

Cammo threw it at him and got him right in the face, splattering the blob against him the same way a tomato would! Vincenzo yanked it away with one hand, some strange slimy residue clinging to his lips, nose, cheeks, and eyelids.

“Gross!” Vincenzo grunted, trying to fling the blob off his hand. No matter how much he flailed his arm, the grey ball would only wobble in protest, until he finally gave up and sat on his ass. Then came the wonder. “Cavolo….”

The once greasy and sticky looking snot bubble began to rapidly change, growing longer, heavier, sleeker, and more familiar… the residue on his face falling to join it. The mass shook violently for only a moment before finally reaching its conclusion. This is no ordinary booger, he thought with an amazed chuckle. His fetish had been born:

Two long metal barrels in the color of silver sat parallel to each other on solid black wood, twin triggers sat behind each barrel (close enough together for one finger to pull both), and it lacked a stock. It was heavy, heavier than any gun he’s held before at twenty-five pounds, and to him it was a cannon. It’s like a goddamned Nitro Express! With a small amount of force, the barrels opened; it was unloaded, leaving only the spiral rifling that engraved the inside of its cylindrical walls.

“What is that?” Plum asked, reaching for the weapon.

Vincenzo yanked it away, hiding it from her small hands. “Not something for kids to play with!”

Plum pouted, giving him a small kick in the ass which he easily ignored.

“Any urges?” Cammo asked, crouching down to examine the weapon as well.

“Huh?” Vincenzo grunted. He was more interested with the gun than the question.

“Any urges?” he asked again.

“What kind of question is that?” Vincenzo asked back.

“Do you have any gut feelings by touching it? Any information that popped in your head, explaining it? Any reflex? Because that's the key to knowing how it works, and you’re the only one who could,” Cammo explained, standing back up. “So? Any urges?”

Vincenzo did have an urge… Without thinking he touched the wood he sat on with his left hand, and with a small “pop” a golf ball shaped hole appeared.

“Oh?” Cammo said. “What’d you just do?”

Vincenzo ignored him again; he wasn’t done yet. He closed his hand, feeling a small cylindrical object inside of his grip, and opened it slowly… A shotgun shell sat in his palm with the same texture, color, and pattern of the wood it was born from. Holy shit, he realized. I’m magic. He got up slowly, loading the shell inside the left barrel, closing it with a satisfying, Kachunk! The information Cammo promised would come came.

“This is a gun. My gun…” Vincenzo said, taking aim at a tree forty feet away. Knowledge popped into his mind much like the language they spoke did; it was just there. “Heavy Metal… That’s its name: Heavy Metal. And I know exactly what it does. I can turn anything into a shotgun shell.”

He fired into the tree, the force of the blast almost knocking him off his feet! A BANG!—which was loud, but deafened just enough not to cause ear damage—began to echo throughout the forest. Large chunks of wood flew off into the dark from where he shot, leaving a hole the size of his head. It was his and it was powerful. Jesus, he thought, looking down at the glinting silver. This thing’s a monster. Hell, I bet it could take out and elephant.

“Seems deadly…” Cammo said. There was something in his casual tone that told Vincenzo he was worried.

“As long as giant spiders aren't a threat, I’m happy,” Vincenzo replied, holding it close to his face to study. “Giant spiders are really the only thing I’m caring about right now.”

Cammo let out a small sigh.

“Can I touch it now?” Plum asked, reaching high for the metal.

“Not if I can help it!” Vincenzo said, yanking it away. “Not a toy, Plum. You could hurt yourself with this. You could kill yourself with this! Don’t touch it.”

She pouted again but didn't kick him, only turning her back in a huff. Cammo continued on followed by Plum and Vincenzo a moment later. The three of them walked along the flat wood as they did before, the only difference being the extra twenty-five pounds stuck to Vincenzo’s back as they hiked. Along the way, Vincenzo Guerriero made enough shells from the wood around them to drop an army of elephants…