The second stop on their tour was not as pleasant as the first.

Topher knew what to expect this time, so he wasn't caught off-guard as badly; but Oguro's shop had no fuzzy warm memories to soften the blow, and he was struggling with a pounding pulse and sweaty palms almost immediately. "Shit." He looked up at the building, which had clearly been rebuilt but was still familiar; he could tell that it had been empty since its reconstruction. "This is gonna be a little rougher." Gingerly, he tried the door to the building, but found it locked; groaning, he slipped sideways into the alley next to it instead, feeling his temples throb as he remembered falling down the bricks more than once. I'm gonna bash my brains out on the ground, and the only good thing about it will be that nobody will ever know what a bitch-ass way to die it was. He blinked, realizing what had happened; his first use of his Attract Object power to manipulate himself, rather than his target. Physics. That's right.

My recent studies in Physics have found some promising possibilities for your Unique Skill. I suggest we discuss it further once everyone is safe.

The shift in his mind this particular memory provoked was much more seismic; he felt something move and tear, falling away. Hotaka. He had an idea about my Skill. I forgot. He shook his head, filing it away for later; he'd probably get the rest of whatever it was at the inn. Turning his gaze upwards, he looked up to the window into what had been Oguro's office. The scent of smoke filled his nostrils as he looked up at the building.

Within Topher's abused memory, connections were being disinterred; he clenched and unclenched his fingers as other sensations fluttered through him in a ghostlike fashion. He turned back to Vanna. "This was the place. Jyact -- some kinda big monster guy, or something -- killed Oguro, and his secretary. She was a..." he frowned, shook his head; glass shattering, like someone had dropped a crystal bowl from a great height. "A Lux. A summoned servant." "Does it make a sound?" "Yeah. Sounds like someone droppin' an expensive glass bowl. Why in Sheonn would you want to know that?"

Topher sighed; his mind had been trying to solve this mystery for longer than he'd thought. The memory of Oguro's scream tore through him, and he shivered. "Oguro knew who killed him. He's the key to this."

The other woman frowned. "It's frustrating that we can't inquire about Oguro and Jyact. Just knowing who they were -- who their enemies might be -- could point us in the right direction."

Topher rubbed his temples, nodding. "Yeah. But we can't; we'd tip them off if they're still watching this place." And he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that they were being watched; some flickering sensation, cold and gravelike, lingered on the edges of his perception. "Come on. We have to hurry up. They might already be after us."

Turning, he staggered away; his feet moved on their own, pulling him towards his destination even while the rest of his body tried to pull away. A scream was choking itself in his throat; his eyes were darting all around, looking for an escape. But there wasn't one. Smoke filled his nostrils all the time now; invisible blood slicked his hands.

This is it.

Vanna had to trot to keep up with him now; he was striding through the streets, his fancy new clothes billowing around him in the wind of his passage. Akasha sparked and fluttered at his fingertips whenever his concentration slipped; he quelled them with an effort, but knew this was going to be bad. "Get ready," he muttered. "I'll burn the place down a second time if I'm not careful."

Finally, he turned the last corner. And tumbled into a nightmare.

The inn was gone; in its place was a black expanse, fifty feet across, that looked like a hole in space. The block had become abruptly deserted; dimly, he realized he hadn't seen anyone on the streets for the last hour. Where the fuck is everybody?

"Master Copperfield. Master Copperfield, you must stop." Vanna pulled up behind him, grabbing at his robes; but her fingers bounced off his invisible Mage Shield. "Something is happening."

Topher tried to resist, but his feet pulled him forward; with horror, he realized they were going to carry him directly into the blackness. "It's too late. Get out -- find Zanasha." With a burst of his will, he half-turned, fixing Vanna with his gaze. "Run."

For a terrifying half-second, she paused; then, eyes full of resolve, she nodded and vanished. Topher couldn't watch her go; his head had turned back around, towards the blackness. Whatever's in there, it's pulling me in. Some kind of magic. He frowned. But the shield should protect me... shouldn't it?

You wish.

Topher passed into the blackness.

For a moment, he was blind; then he passed through the sphere, and his vision resolved. He skidded to a halt, shocked.

Well, the good news is I can't burn down the inn a second time after all.

The ruins of the inn were scattered like kindling; the blast which had destroyed it had shot timbers into the air, blackening and scourging them as though the wood and stone themselves had been poisoned. Corpses lay everywhere; most of them shriveled and torn, and a great many of them disintegrating into nothingness with flurries of hot sparks. The sight of it triggered another memory: Jesus, somebody murdered that huge thing. And then they got rid of the evidence, with some kind of magic or something. He blinked his gaze clear, growled, and strode forward; dimly, he could see someone standing in the center of the destruction. Summoning his Stylus, he began spinning it, stepping as stealthily as he could to --

"What are you doing here? Everyone was supposed to be evacuated."

The voice which emerged from the figure caught him off-guard; flat and disinterested, but nonetheless unmistakably that of a teenage girl. His blood ran cold as the figure turned to face him; short, untidy blonde hair surrounded a pixie's face with a flat mouth and dead eyes, peeping out of a cat-eared hoodie. In her hand, she bore a huge staff nearly twice her size, constructed entirely from bones and topped with a glowing emerald skull.

Oh fuck.

"What did you do?" he managed, quavering; his Stylus dropped from nerveless fingers and vanished back to wherever it went when he banished it, despite the fact that he hadn't done so consciously. His mind creaked under the strain. Is this a hallucination? "Who are you, anyway?"

"You don't know me?" She blinked. "That's useful." Her eyelids lowered slightly as her gaze became speculative. "I'm Suzume Saiki. Those are cool robes; are you a mage?"

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Oh fuck.

Topher's guts writhed in his stomach; To such a task will fall such talents as Saiki-chan, who bears the Unique Skill Air Command, and to Arima-chan, should all other options fail. "Uh, yes. I'm To-" -- he coughed -- "Tobin. Tobin Copperfield." He forced himself to relax slightly, looking around. "What the hell happened here?"

The girl leaned on her staff, looking bored and listless. "Some spies were preparing an ambush here. Probably for you, actually; when they realized I was on to them, they broke their cover and started killing people." She shrugged. "You were at Hideo Oguro's shop, right?"

Topher blinked. "Yeah. How..."

Abruptly, it clicked; the dead, graveworn touch that he had felt then was the same as what he was feeling all around him now, and he knew with an unspoken certainty that it was coming from the waiflike figure in front of him. "That was you, watching us?"

"A servant." She shrugged again. "It's interesting that you noticed, though. Most people can't sense them." Her frigid mortician's gaze settled on him again. "So what were you doing there, anyway?"

Topher froze for a second; then something strange happened. A shiver ran through his body, then abruptly disappeared; he had a strange sensation that he'd avoided or resisted something. Then, just as suddenly, calmness filled him, and easy words rose up on his tongue from nowhere. "I'm collecting rare spells. I heard from a man I met in Wanbourne that Oguro had an interesting specimen; something that let you conjure items in an interesting way. Do you know anything about it?"

"No." He visibly saw her lose interest in him; she turned away, regarding the devastation around her. "Maybe they were just after you because you went there. It's a bit late to question anyone now, I guess."

Topher stepped forward, surprised by his own boldness. "Who do you think they were? I'd like to be informed if someone is going to try to ambush me again."

"Don't know. Enemies of Oguro, I think; but nobody escaped, so I think you're probably fine." Languidly, the girl gestured; the corpses and wreckage darkened, then began to swiftly rot. "Have to notify the town council. Second time we've had to rebuild this place." She made a flourish with her staff, which vanished, and turned away; Topher wasn't sure, but he thought she might have been facing the castle. Pausing, she looked back over her shoulder at him. "You should get out of town, you know. This place isn't going to be safe soon."

"What?" He blinked. "Why not?"

"Haven't you heard?" She regarded him coolly, as calm as death. "One of the Summoned Heroes was killed. The rest of us are leaving in the morning; after that, this place won't be protected anymore."

"Protected?" Topher's mind whirled. "From who?"

The girl rolled her eyes. "You're not much for current events, huh Mister Copperfield? Well, whatever." She adjusted her posture slightly; spectral, grasping hands pulled apart the air, exposing a torn rift of blackness before her. "Bye." Before he could ask any more questions, she stepped through it and was gone.

Instantly, the darkness around him burst like a soap bubble.

Topher, to his astonishment, was standing in a fifty-foot ring of soot; the streets were dead silent around him. He couldn't see anyone, not even Vanna; guess she listened to me that time, at least. Turning slowly, he peered around. Will this still work...?

For long moments, nothing happened; but then something -- he didn't know what it was -- affected him. Perhaps it was the particular arrangement of buildings nearby, or that inchoate sense of place-ness one gets when one's spatial reckoning knows a familiar location. The scent of smoke -- already overpowering here from the recent destruction -- intensified, and his hands began to tremble. He felt his body begin to drain of sensation, as if he were being enervated. I'm impressed. I didn't think I'd have to use that. Imaginary flames began to dance around him; he could see the cloaked figure in his mind's eye, fighting with Makoto in the burning darkness. Bailey-sensei! It's --!

The figure began to turn. His form was writhing and blurring.

He's got Cailu's amulet.

Bile rose in Topher's throat; he saw the figure plunge its knife into Makoto's stomach once again.

The jagged edges. Oh my God.

The figure's bald, shaven head glinted in the firelight.

It is a vocation; one may earn a few coins.

Topher's hands clenched around his impotent rage. Betrayal, unhealed for the past months, shocked through him again.

Noboru.

He fell to his knees; his memories were choking him, drowning him. One by one, all the missing pieces came back; Noboru's lies. After all, who knows what sort of odd situations may arise in the future? Noboru's excuses. I don't want to do this! I have to! Topher's mind groaned, struggling to absorb everything. Somebody got to him. Whoever it was in Oguro's past that caught up to him. Cailu was the link to Oguro. He moaned. I was educated in this by someone else.

At last.

One merely espouses a set of principles which are assumed to be pleasing to both oneself and one's audience.

A huge piece of the puzzle jittered, settling into place.

Noboru-kun got a job, so why can't I?!

And, finally, he had it. A sensation like burning filled his limbs, energizing him. He had it.

I am studying, Bailey-sensei. Training to become a priest.

Topher clenched his fist triumphantly. The priests. The priests Noboru joined. The long cold trail, dormant for so long, seemed alive in front of him; for almost as long as he could remember, he thought everything was over; thought the only person he had left to blame was himself.

He struggled to his feet; it was easier than it had been in living memory. He gathered up the tattered fragments of his mind and his will; they were nearly complete now. There was only one thing missing.

"You can come out," he said, voice hard and unyielding. "I know you're there."

Without transition, Hotaka's projection appeared in front of him; he noticed that it wasn't shimmering anymore. "Yes, Bailey-sensei."

"Last time I was here, you said you had an idea. Something to with my Unique Skill and Physics." Topher crossed his arms. "What was it? I need to know."

Hotaka's eyes darted around. "I am sorry, Bailey-sensei. I'm afraid I don't recall."

"Yeah, right. You can cut the crap." Topher's eyes, full of despair, lingered on the smaller boy's for what he knew would be the last time. "You're not Hotaka."

The other boy cocked his head, quizzically. "What do you mean?"

Topher's heart felt like ash in his chest. "Hotaka is dead."

For a long second, nothing moved. Then the boy smiled.

Oh, it's about time.

The smile on Hotaka's face remained, even as the rest of him began to melt and bleed; his hair went first, followed by his glasses. They dissolved into sloughing, pustulent flesh and dripped down like spilth, leaving behind a trail of raw, wet blood; the bones beneath bent and flowed, as the figure became tall, looming over Topher. And still the smile widened, even as blood flowed over its teeth and left a crimson sheen that Topher knew would never come off. The figure's true features, horribly familiar, slowly emerged from under the decaying disguise; blood-soaked hair, combed severely back from a scar-covered forehead. Crimson eyes, staring with hatred and madness out of a leering face crenulated with old wounds, looked deep into his own. And on its body, the familiar, hated clothes; the blood-streaked basketball jersey. The torn and patched jeans, scored with long gashes made by desperate, flailing fingers. And the white sneakers, always so clean even when the rest of him was wading in blood. The mouth smiled, and the familiar voice -- black as bile, hateful as sin -- issued forth as clearly as Topher's death knell.

"Been a while, Chrissy."

The last of Topher's protective mental scar tissue sloughed away. He raised his eyes to the figure, forlorn and lost. There were many pieces he recognized -- his father's insulting nickname for him. His old clothes. And the voice, the voice which had rung in his ears so many times.

When I snap my fingers, you will awaken, and you won't remember any of this.

He'd forgotten.

She'd still be alive if not for you.

He'd forgotten so much.

What about the school records?

But now he'd never be able to forget again.

Nobody died. Juvenile records get sealed anyway. And they've all agreed not to press charges if he gets the treatment.

Topher trembled. He knew what he was looking at.

A new school. A new town. Maybe even a new name. How do you like the name 'Topher'?

He knew the voice all too well. Because it was his own.