Chapter 36: Sick Ass Loot And Goodbyes

We stand in a circle around the lump of dry flesh near the center of the room. The sarcophagus floats ominously behind Demarcus, but our eyes are focused on the dead beholder lich.

I use my holy tools for their divine purpose and poke the body with my Pokin’ Stick. Bits of it are already beginning to flake off, and the nerves the secondary eyes attach to are beginning to shrivel even further.

It seems with its main eye— the “phylactery” keeping it alive— destroyed, the body can't even keep itself from falling to pieces.

The handle of Mato's magic kukri still juts from between the rotting eyelids, but we all just stand there, breathing for a moment.

“I think my ribs are broken.” Demarcus ekes out, breaking the silence.

Izzy and Mato shuck off their bags, and begin to dig, while I continue to stare at the beholder, and its closed, glossy eye— that could see the future.

I shrug. Nothing for it.

I prise apart the disgusting lids, freeing the knife handle and revealing the leaking, half-calcified eye, several feet across.

I pull the kukri from the eye, sword in the stone style, and chuckle to myself.

“Ey Mato, you should call this knife ‘beauty’. Ya know, cuz it was in the eye of— sonuvabitch! No!”

I start yanking apart the flesh of the dead monster, trying to get to the root of the eye.

“Jesus Christos! Cy! What are you doing?!” Izzy exclaims, unhelpfully, from behind me.

“This thing can see the future! I was gonna save it and use it for magic or something!” I shout, scrambling to save as much of the eye as possible as it begins to crumble away into ash.

“No no no no no nonononoNO!” I toss beauty to the ground with a clatter, damaging only the floor, and slump down with gross and slimy hands as the— probably priceless— beholder eye self-cremates without heat.

I look up to the ceiling, and lament “you just couldn't let me have this, could you?” Addressing the great work directly.

“What, is it too powerful? I think we earned it.”

Slumped and kneeling, I just stare at the pile of ash in the slowly disappearing bowl of an eye socket. Then, I sit up, and begin pulling empty bottles from my satchel.

“Fuck you. I'm taking the ashes.”

I see Mato looking at me sideways out of the corner of my eye as he hands his last healing potion to Demarcus, who drinks it down and doesn't even blink at my insanity. Izzy seems grossed out, but strangely pensive and contemplative as I talk at the ceiling and begin scooping eye-dust. She has the imagination to grasp the potential in such a rare material.

“Well,” Demarcus speaks up, ribs previously crushed from being constantly tossed around now healed, “now what?”

Mato and Izzy look at the sarcophagus as I grin stupidly, wiping my hands on my coat.

“Now we find out what future me got us for Time Travel Christmas.”

Izzy looks back over her shoulder.

“If this thing is full of coal I'll fucking kill you.”

***

Izzy, Mato, and I hold the sarcophagus down against the floor as Demarcus uses his crowbar for its intended purpose, and prys at the seams of the magic box.

With a bright spark, something in the lid breaks, and the sarcophagus violently opens.

Greedily, Demarcus and I lean over to see the contents. Izzy hovers behind us on her tippy-toes, her curiosity winning out, and lets out a slow whistle.

Inside is a veritable smorgasbord of colors and materials— and packing peanuts.

We instantly begin digging through, pulling out each item to inspect, then setting it down to continue our search.

I pull out a pack of guitar strings and a strange leather jacket with a scaled pattern before Demarcus taps me on the shoulder with a piece of paper.

“This one's for you.”

I tilt my head with a smile, and take the classic letter-style envelope.

On the front of it, in plain black ink, says;

To: Cy

From: Cy

A small gaggle of worries on whether or not I'm branched, the inaccuracy of the book, everything, begin gossipping in a corner of my mind, and are swiftly ignored by the inevitable necessity that I read this letter.

I open the envelope.

Hey, kid.

Ya learn the lesson, numbnuts?

Evidently not since I have to leave this letter here.

But the whole point of this lil dungeon— besides getting y'all to tier 2— was to shove some knowledge in that busted brain of ours.

Firstly, you needed to understand the effects of belief on predestination. Hence the Mato thing. If you walk around thinking everything is set in stone and bad things are unavoidable, they will be. Doubt, ignorance, and spite will be your friends.

Second, ya gotta not rely too heavily on the book or knowledge of the future. The book is a tool, a reference guide, its not your fuckin Bible. If you rely on it too heavily you'll get a far too constrained timeline and you'll never level.

Don't get me wrong, it'll be mostly accurate, but trying to avoid mistakes will just have you making brand new ones.

Free will is a real thing, and it's precious. I hope you understand that.

Good luck, kid.

P.S. If you're one of the branched Cys reading this who let Mato die:

Git Gud.

Your timeline woulda sucked anyways.

I sit there, for a moment, just rereading it once or twice, amazed at the sheer gall to use Mato's potential death as a teachable moment.

“God damn that guy is an asshole.” I mutter to myself, and mess with an upturned corner of the letter.

My finger catches, and I realize there is a hidden flap on the paper. I unfold it, and read the words written under it.

P.P.S.

I know you are, but what am I? ;)

I groan, and feel Izzy scoot next to me to peek over my shoulder.

“Whatsit say?” She asks.

I crumple it up in my hands, and reply “nothing. Just my future self being a dillweed.”

I see Demarcus mouthing ‘dillweed?’ to Mato out the corner of my eye, and feel Izzy try to yank the paper from my hands.

I clutch it tighter, and with the speed and grace of a sword saint, my arm moves in a flash, and I shove the crumpled paper into my mouth, and begin to chew.

I've played these games before.

Isabella looks disgusted and aghast, staring at me like I'm a child that broke his toy when someone asked me to share.

“Ew. It's that secret, guey?”

I chew for another second, really having to gnosh on it to make progress, and then speak around the pulpy mess, slightly ashamed.

“No. Not really. Just— kinda embarrassing.”

The group's eyebrows— except for Mato's— lets me know I'm not gonna get away with not elaborating.

I sigh, and sum up without letting the fact that I was considering letting Mato die slip.

“I was essentially getting gaslit by my future self this whole time we were in the ruins to teach me a lesson not to rely on the book.”

Mato looks slightly approving while Izzy can't make up her mind between pretending to be above my juvenile insanity or an exaggerated laugh at my suffering.

“Yeah, that's half-baked alright. Hey, do you think you could get levels just from doing stupid shit? It is your class after all.” She winds up asking.

Demarcus chuckles to himself as he pulls a little wooden box from the sarcophagus.

“Certainly sounds like you.”

I swallow, and say “yeah, yeah, alright. I'm a crazy idiot that overcomplicates things. But hey, we wouldn't have scored this gear if it weren't for me, so; You're welcome.”

“Now what'd we get?”

Mato speaks up now. “It's lookin’ like some-a’ this is meant fer someone specific.”

“I'm guessin’ this is fer me.” He says, pulling out a sleek black crossbow, small enough to fit in a single hand, and setting it aside.

“So I'm tryna sort it. Isabella, is this your size? It's either yours or Cy’s, won't fit me or Demarcus.” He says, holding out the leather jacket with the impression of scales on them.

Izzy takes it from him, and tries it on over her dirty and torn flowery and poofy bard outfit.

“Hm. Feels weird. Leather normally creaks, right? What is this made of?” She remarks.

“These are yours too.” Demarcus says, passing over a small, black wooden box to her containing rolled up metal wires.

“Guitar strings? Is that it?”

“Might be magic or something. Future me apparently put some pretty crazy stuff in here so, even if the tutorial scales it down to our level, it should still be pretty swanky for us.”

“I can identify it when we bed down for th— or you can just string them on now. That works too. Great way to blow out our eardrums or get cursed though.”

Izzy rolls her eyes, and Demarcus nudges me with an elbow.

“You should identify these. No idea what it is.”

At this he hands me a larger, two-tiered wooden box, as well as a vial of what looks like mercury, suspended in a strange gyroscopic ball. The ball reacts when it is moved or struck, compensating to keep the vial perfectly upright and steady.

I open the top box, and pull out little intricate pieces of a silvery-blue metal. One of the pieces is a strange cone with a flared base, the inside of which has swirling, sharp ridges.

“Hang on, I know that one.” Mato says, holding out his hand.

I hand it over and he inspects it for a second before replying.

“Yeah. This is a screw anchor. It's a piece of hardware.”

“Why would we get a screw anchor?” I ask, stupidly before opening the bottom box.

I open the bottom box, and the first thing I see is a fanciful letter sitting atop a velvet pillow. The letter has a wax seal, with an insignia of the letter ‘M’ made from the shape of a book, with sparks coming out of the pages. I lift the letter and see it was covering a small cut ruby sitting within a recess in the velvet pillow. Tiny, intricate symbols are revealed in the glinting of light as I lift the gem and turn it. On its bottom, and leading up into the core of the gem, is a screw made of that same silvery-blue metal.

Mato hands me his knife, and when I break the wax seal, illusory sparks of countless colors spray up and away from the letter, crackling like fireworks before disappearing.

“Cool.” Izzy, Demarcus, and I echo in unison.

Mato, the old grump, just grunts.

I open the envelope and pull out the letter within, and discover that the paper is scented; Roses.

Meldwin’s Magery© presents: Modular staff heads; Flame attuned gemstone, with mithril mounting (staff not included)

Instructions for mounting:

Step 1: acquire staff with suitable mana conductivity. The gemstone can handle mana input up to (tier 6.3), so a staff that can handle the same will let you use the modular gemstone to its full potential

For the generalist [Mage], Meldwin's Magery recommends the Dryad Series Living Wood staff.

Step 2: carefully twist—

“God damn, this thing comes with IKEA instructions.”

I set the box and letters aside and they're immediately snatched up by Mato.

I then lift the Gyroscopic ball and peer at it.

From the corner of my eye I see Izzy lift a plain leather hiking bag from the sarcophagus, and then— what looks to be a small, white…

Fanny pack?

It's almost certainly a bag you loop around your waist, accessed from the side. It has little clasps instead of zippers, but yeah.

That's a fanny pack.

“The hell?” She whispers to herself, undoing the clasps.

I snatch her wrist before she inserts her hand, accidentally painfully. She retaliates with a hard shove, and I quickly try to explain.

“Don— don't just shove your hand in there! Does nobody else have any caution? This is why we have a Pokin’ Stick!”

“That's not caution, fool, that's paranoia.” She mocks.

“Just hold open the fanny pack and tilt it so I can get my stick in there.”

She does so, rolling her eyes. It seems that, despite the thought of spiting me and just shoving a hand in anyway occuring to her, she isn't that reckless.

The lining inside the bag is pitch black, so dark it looks almost as if the bag ends just past the opening.

I cast [Light] and try to examine the inside with a bit more light, but the perspective still throws me. The black cloth not reflecting even a photon of the blinking light.

I take my Pokin’ Stick and hold it up, dexterously and steady at the opening, and as I try to focus on the spot where I insert it, my eye twists and my head stutters.

My focus is so absolute, trying to see what happens as I insert the stick, that I don't realize what's going on until Izzy gasps.

I look at her with a ‘what?’ expression when I've only inserted about half of the stick. She gives the bag a shake and nods her head and shoulders forward in a ‘look’ movement.

All I see is my Pokin’ Stick half-inserted into the fanny pack, which gives me a killer headache when I try to see the stick as it goes into the opening.

Oh.

My 6 foot tall stick is halfway into this 6 inch tall fanny pack.

Izzy gives me an excited nod as I whip my head to look at her.

Suddenly an excited sort of tense, we watch closely as I continue to insert the stick down to the tip, and then my arm up to the elbow.

By the time I'm extending my arm out completely as the bag has swallowed it up to the shoulder, Izzy states it plainly.

“It's bigger on the inside.”

“God damn that's cool. It's like a fuckin’ inventory.” Demarcus cheers.

“Hrm. How’d’ya get things back out of it? If it's that deep ya’d have to climb in.” Mato asks, reasonably.

“Let's find out.” I say, picking up one of the packing peanuts and dropping it into the bag, my eye twinging as I watch it disappear.

I reach a hand in and find nothing, until I wonder to myself where it went, and suddenly feel my hand brush against it. I pull it out and summarize.

“Looks like you just think about what you want from it, and you'll be able to grab that.”

We determine that the hiking bag is the same, but probably with a bigger capacity.

I sit back down with the mercury-like liquid suspended in the gyroscopic vial container, thinking that— if nothing else— the container is valuable.

I begin casting [Eye-dentify] as Demarcus pulls out a brown cloak and Izzy hands him a plain steel crowbar.

After a minute, the spell completes, and I don't get as much information from it as I previously would. Probably because I don't know much about this thing to begin with— beyond the fact that it's obviously volatile if it's in a gyroscopic container.

What I do get, is that this material is a natural one that is highly sought after but very dangerous, turning biological material into a psuedo-iron substance on contact. This vial is apparently treated to be used as a varnish— I'd assume for weapons with large amounts of wood they'd want reinforced, like spears or quarterstaffs.

My thoughts immediately go to using this as a weapon by splashing someone with it and having their body turn to iron, but for more immediate uses, I have one idea.

My eye opens as my hand pats around for an item, searching for something gone missing, until I turn to see Mato holding my Pokin’ Stick and tightening on the mithril screw anchor as he reads the instructions.

“Hey! What're you doing with my stick?”

Mato looks up, and calmly replies “I'm installin’ the mount fer yer modular staff focus for ya. Had a feelin’ you were gon’ ignore the directions and be fussin’ over it so I saved ya the headache.”

I blink.

“On my stick?! That was supposed to be on a magical staff, not my Pokin' Stick!”

“What’s the difference?”

“Wh— magical staves are supposed to be— fucking— magical! They're not some random stick you find off the ground! They can't— be… Hm.”

“Maybe they can?” I whisper to myself.

“Nevermind. Just, can I have it back for a minute? And a piece of cloth if you have it. Oh and Demarcus, can I borrow your old gauntlets?”

Demarcus clears his throat, pointedly.

“Be polite.”

I sigh. “Please?”

“And to Mato.”

“May I please have my stick back? And a piece of cloth?”

Demarcus clears his throat again.

“Ugh. And thank you for installing the thingy for me.”

I can see Mato's chest seize, stifling a laugh as he hands me my stick and his burnt and ruined shawl.

Grumbling to myself, I inspect the Pokin' Stick for damages, seeing only the screw anchor mounted on one end that Mato flattened out.

“I liked the point on this end. It was good for jabbing things.”

I think I've grown weirdly attached to this stick.

Regardless, I put on the oversized gauntlets— then take them off when I can't open the vial with them on— deactivate the gyroscopic vial, pour just a bit of the metal varnish on Mato's old shawl, put the gauntlets back on, and carefully begin wiping down the stick with the rag; Careful not to get any of it on me.

The wood immediately takes on a dull grey visage, and I can hear a faint creak as it sets in. After two more coats to cover it completely, and a minute to let it dry, I test it out.

My [Tool Proficiency: Pokin’ Stick] skill still works on it, so it's still a stick. It's slightly heavier, but not as much as it would be if this were truly an iron or steel rod. It's got a slight bit of movement to it, and when bent slightly, slowly bends back into place— so it retained some of the wood’s pliancy.

I screw the ruby gem to the tip of the stick, and try casting a [Firebolt] through it. It's tough, the nature of the spell making the mana’s origin a little irrelevant, but with practice from funneling all that mana into the door, I manage to push mine into the stick, and feel it change drastically when it reaches the gem.

Raw mana becomes fire mana in the ruby, and I can feel it barely contained within. Hot, reactive, flickering, creating a pressure within the stone. I cast the spell, feeling that vacuum of combustive material centering itself around the tip of my “staff”, but far more efficiently. I release the spell, and the [Firebolt] ignites and bursts on contact with a far wall, a slight increase to its power, and I can feel there's still two “charges” sitting in the ruby from the modest amount of mana I gave it.

I wonder what would happen if I put this gem at the end of the flame whip?

At the end of time travel christmas, I sit down to begin my many castings of [Eye-dentify] as the others set up camp.

In the end, the “sick ass loot” we pulled from the sarcophagus wound up being:

A Wyvern Leather jacket, supposedly incredibly cold resistant, which Izzy claimed as hers.

Mithril guitar strings, also to Izzy, which would be very difficult to break and allow her to do freaky tunings which would probably snap her guitar before the actual strings.

A black handcrossbow enchanted to absorb recoil. For Mato.

A cloak that adapts to its wearer's thoughts, able to change into nearly any kind of neckwear. Mato had it currently as that same shawl— or, keffiyeh or whatever— but in a red and black plaid pattern.

Mato also took the magical hiking bag, mostly just cuz his previous bag was also hiking bag style.

Demarcus unfortunately got the fewest of us, but from his excitement I wouldn't say the least, winding up with a solid steel crowbar enchanted with returning, paired to a little glove insert he put inside his gauntlets.

He's been noisily throwing it around and resummoning it back into his hand, practicing catching it and pretending he's Thor.

I got the lions share, which makes sense as I did sorta make this place. Or, will.

I got the liquid metal stuff.

The detachable gem, which I'm keeping off my Pokin’ Stick for now. So I can still poke stuff.

And the fanny pack of holding, which I am keeping to one side. I can call it a hip bag all I want, but in my heart I know I'm wearing a fanny pack.

With the items identified, I think back to the time travel itinerary for all of this.

My eye opens and I just watch my friends— which is something that, before, I hesitated to call them. More friends of fortune or circumstance. Allies. But after they took care of me while in mana sickness purgatory, it feels disrespectful to do that. At the very least, they're good people.

Which makes this next part that much harder.

“Let’s see. Fight, we get some Sick Ass Loot, and… goodbyes.”

“Hm? What ‘goodbyes’?” Demarcus asks, and my stomach sinks as I realize he’s right behind me, and I never explained.

“Oh. Shit. We'll— we'll talk about it in a minute, man.”

“No, Cy, whaddya mean goodbyes?” Demarcus says, a little more stern this time.

“Oh. Fuck. I'm sorry man I— I meant to tell you but— I got all mana sick and…” I sigh, as I realize that the excuses are just worsening their anxiety and I have to just bite the bullet and explain.

“When we go to bed tonight, we'll level up to tier 2. When we wake, we'll be in that same weird white void with the orientation construct but— together.” I say, and realize this all comes from my [Traveler's Journal], the veracity of which is now in question.

Regardless, it's the best I have to go off of, so I continue.

“Once we hit tier 2 we enter the wider world so, the construct will ask us if we want to all enter together or… separately.”

“The book used the word ‘teleport’ so I think we'll be brought to a specific place. Either all together, or two different places apart. Apparently, if I enter with you guys… we all die.”

Demarcus looks discouraged, and I can see a rising panic dawn on him. “What? So—”

Mato chimes in now.

“Didn't you say you're not supposed to rely on the book as much? To doubt it?”

“Well, yeah but, not with this! I can't risk your lives!”

“Well I can risk my own! You never even thought to ask?!” Demarcus yells.

“I was unconscious! Besides, I think there's seriously gonna be some time fuckery going on, this seems legit. And I'm a Time Traveler!—”

“Half-baked.”

“Yes, thank you Izzy, a half-baked time traveler. But that means even though I'll be gone for a bit on my end, for you guys it'll only be a few seconds!”

“But you're still leaving me. Us!”

“To save your life Demarcus! Don't be a baby!”

Demarcus’ mouth slams shut. His eyes could bore a hole in my head as he breathes heavily. Hurt looks like angry on him.

“I'm sorry, man, I didn't mean that. We both got issues and I'm not tryna— Just— I’m not abandoning you guys. I just, I don’t want you to die. You’re scaring me, man, cuz if you come with— I don’t know what’ll happen but I can’t risk it. Please.”

“Nah, fuck that, this is what we promised. There’s always some shit, that’s what being a friend is. No matter what, I’m gonna be there—”

“You already died for me Demarcus!—”

“And I’d do it again! Do you think I regret that?!”

“Ey! Ey!” Izzy yells, getting between us. “This isn’t gonna help!”

Demarcus almost swings on her, worked up as he is, but Mato catches him by the shoulder.

“Cy! Pendejo! It’s just when we enter, yeah?”

“Yes. We just can’t enter together.”

“And you found him before, yeah?” She says, turning to Demarcus.

“Yeah. I’ve got a skill.”

“Then you’ll do it again. And I know you don’t wanna hear this D, but this fool is a magnet for trouble. It’s actually very likely he’s right, and if we go in with him we’ll die.”

“Thanks Iz—”

“Callate! Pendejo.”

“This moron probably is gonna get his ass saved by his future self, but doesn’t have anything in place for us. So we just come in somewhere else, and you can go find him. I might not. I’ll probably enjoy the peace and quiet.”

“Actually, I think I’ll be there with you. I’ll just… Time travel back to the moment you guys come in once I can.”

“But that might be months for you, man. You can so easily just up and leave us for god knows how long?”

“Not easily, but that's the nature of time. Probably. That’s—” I sigh. Giving up on the explanation that I know won’t help.

“Listen. This— this is gonna sound kinda gay. Like, literally gay. Then again, I’ve kinda noticed that magic, at its very core, is a little bit gay.”

“But, that skill of yours? the one that lets you feel where I am? It’s probably gonna go kinda haywire. There’s gonna be a whole bunch of different me’s from a bunch of different points of time running around at any given moment but… look for me.”

I grab him by his shoulders for a moment, having to reach up. I look him in the eye, but quickly look away and stop touching him, uncomfortable at the awkwardness of this next bit.

“There’s gonna be a whole bunch of Cys, but only one of them is me. Only one of them is your Cy, okay? You’ll find me.”

“You won’t be alone, you’ll have Mato and Izzy, and I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?”

“No. Not really okay. I trust you man but— do you have to leave?”

I just hug the big guy, for an answer.

The trouble with tricking good people into liking you, is that if you’re not careful, if you’re not on top of it, if you’re not in control of it—

If you leave and they get the opportunity to realize they’re better off without you.

You might never get them back.

The night started tense, but quickly devolved back into joking around the fire, Izzy mocking me, the specificity of it showing she cares enough to understand me, Mato trying to teach me a few survival things to help me while I’m on my own, the grandpa in him never quite going away, and Demarcus just staying close, never letting me out of his sight. As if I’d just—

Disappear.

***

Level-up!

Tier 1 [Bard], level 9 — Tier 2 [Punk Rocker], level 1

Skill earned: [Song of Spite] (active)

Skill earned: [Reinforced Guitar Smash] (passive)

***

Level-up!

Tier 1 [Ranger], level 9 — Tier 2 [Respectful Ranger], level 1

Skill earned: [Leave No Trace] (passive)

***

Level-up!

Tier 1 [Warrior], level 9 — Tier 2 [Loyal Warrior], level 1

Skill earned: [Something Worth Fighting For] (passive)

Skill upgraded: [Enhanced Endurance] (passive, upgradeable)

***

Level-up!

Tier 1 [Half-baked Time Traveler], level 9 — Tier 2 [Half-baked Time Traveler], level 1

Skill upgraded: [Enhanced Mana Well] — [Greater Mana Well] (passive, upgradeable)

Skill earned: [Refresh Cooldown] (active)

Spell earned: [Slow] (tier 2)

***

“Goooooooood morning my little aspirants!”

The animated and vivacious orientation construct for the Game of Gods stands before me again, in this void of nothing.

“I am so proud of you! So precious few select the Game of Gods as an afterlife and even fewer make it to the threshold of assimilation! You've got the makings of divinity in you.”

Each of my friends and I wear different expressions, most some kind of incredulity as we watch this white mannequin dance around and take ridiculous poses as it points at us.

We stand in a semicircle around it, though I have subconsciously inched away from the group, subtly separating myself from them.

“Hope you're loving your new classes (those of you that got one) and your tier 1 capstone skills! And no worries if you don't! Remember; there are several different ways to start over, and your class will adapt to you!”

Izzy opens her mouth to say something, but the dramatic otherworldly gameshow host yells over her.

“So! Are you ready to enter the Wider World? Are you ready to rub elbows with alien races? See wondrous vistas? Discover new or forgotten magics? Ancient kingdoms? Fight dragons? Sail infinite seas? Bathe in the blood of your enemies? Fight for the rights of millions? Face absolute victory and tragedy? Struggle and strive as you find your path to true Divinity?!”

“Are you ready… for the GAME OF GODS?!?!”

We look between ourselves, giving slight nods and shrugging.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Great! In a moment I will teleport you to a relatively* ‘safe’ location in or near civilization! You have the option to enter together, or separately! So! Who's first?”

I take a sudden and deep breath, and step forward.

“That'd be me.”

“And I'm going with him.” Demarcus says, suddenly stepping forward.

“D! No! I thought we talked about this! We can't risk it!”

“Oh we talked about it, but I don't remember agreeing! You're not just gonna walk away from us! I'm staying with you, and you can't stop me.”

“Actually, he can!”

A white featureless face interposes itself between us as the orientation construct leans in with a finger extended.

“Aspirants entering together have to both agree to it. So, do you wish to enter the Wider World with this person?”

“Wait, Cy! No! Don—” Demarcus’ voice is cut off as the construct makes a zipping motion with his hand. Demarcus yells silently, and when he tries to swing on the mannequin it makes a chopping motion and Demarcus hits an opalescent wall between us.

“Your decision should not be influenced.”

A second orientation construct, looking like the exact same one next to me, with the same ridiculous mannerisms, appears on my friends’ side, and their mouths silently move as if they're talking to it.

Although I swear I see… yellow.

Demarcus silently yells at it for a moment, trying to attack it and nearly breaking his reinforced crowbar over its head— which doesn't even budge from the impact. He returns to the wall, almost falling against it, as his arm beats on the translucent barrier.

I step towards the wall that Demarcus is now pounding on, Izzy and Mato stand awkwardly behind, unsure whether or not to help him break it down, until Mato steps forward and grabs him from behind by the shoulder. He shakes off the hand and just rests his head against the shield.

I lay a hand against the wall.

“I'm sorry, D. I— I just— would you risk my life?! I— I lo—.”

A deep sigh, and a hand across my face. Frustration at how he interprets my care for him as a betrayal roils within me.

“I promise. I promise— I'll find you.”

I turn away from his yelling face, and desperately try not to see the tears welling up in his eyes.

“Alright. I'm ready to— wait! One last thing.”

I begin rummaging through my fanny pack as the orientation construct just stands there, raising an eyebrow it doesn't have.

My hands begin scribbling, and I glance back up at the mannequin.

“Close your eyes for a second?”

“I don't have those.”

“Then, turn around and don't look?”

“If this is what you need to do to move on, sure!”

With a twirling, exaggerated step, it does a 180 turn and faces the other way.

I take a breath, step forward alongside it, and slap it on the ass. Hard.

It lets out a quiet noise of surprise— which I'm nearly certain it didn't actually need to do, but did for effect— and turns its head to look at me.

I speak.

“Alright. I'm ready.”

The mannequin puts its hand on my shoulder, and I lean back and crack a smile at the sticky note on its plasticy ass.

CHOOSE MAGE

-CY <3

My smile slips when I look back up to my friends. Two of them waving tentatively from behind the wall, while one just stares, heartbroken.

I start to raise my hand to wave and—

I disappear.

***

3 humans, newly integrated into the Wider World, stand in a clearing in an alpine forest.

One, a warrior in plate armor, yells as their [Bard] tries to calm him, and the old [Ranger] begins to scan the treeline.

“God damnit! That selfish, know-it-all— asshole!— He doesn't get to decide what's good for us!” Demarcus yells, completely ignoring the world around them.

Isabella’s attention flicks from her friend to the blue sky above her. It is far too deep and distant, and disorients her.

“De— whoa— Demarcus, we know. I'm sorry. But we'll find him. We gotta focus on what's around us first.”

Demarcus turns, ready to lash out at her, but quickly reels himself back.

“Fine. Fuck!” He picks up a rock and throws it, venting his frustrations.

The rock flies, bouncing off a tree just past the edge of the clearing, and just barely missing a hooded figure who ducks out the way in time.

“Ey! Watch it!”

The group turns to see the shorter man walk into the treeline. Mato's hand is already holding his new crossbow at the ready.

The hooded man steps into the clearing, using a gnarled black wooden staff as a walking stick. His clothing is various shades of brown and green. He tilts back the hood to his cloak, and they see his shaggy brown hair, the scars and burns across his face, and his eyepatch.

Demarcus’ shoulders sag, and his face alights with recognition. Disbelieving, and spurned before from doppelgangers, he asks.

“Cy? Is that you?”

The man stands awkwardly, and squints his one eye before speaking.

“...yes.” Cy says.

***

I blink, and suddenly the air around me feels hot, the ground I'm standing on uneven, and my nose is bombarded by the sudden spicy and dank scents of a city.

I have little time to do more than notice the bricks around me and realize I'm in an alleyway before a siren wails.

The sound soars far above the city, a keening thing that sounds for several seconds before it is replaced by a calm yet stern voice. Its words are slightly slurred, elongated in certain parts, as if spoken from a mouth not made for English.

“TAKE SHELTER AND REMAIN CALM.”

“A GORGON-LEVEL THREAT HAS ENTERED THE CITY.”

“ALL CITIZENS ARE TO TAKE SHELTER IN THE NEAREST SAFE BUILDING.”

“REMAIN CALM.”

“CIVILIAN NAGAS ARE TO ESCORT ANY NEARBY KEEQUOKHACHIK TO NEAREST SHELTER.”

“DO NOT INTERFERE WITH NAGAS RESPONDING TO THREAT.”

“ANY SIGHTINGS OF A ONE EYED HUMAN MALE WITH PALE SKIN ARE TO BE REPORTED IMMEDIATELY.”

The siren continues.

My stomach drops. My eye begins darting about frantically, looking for some place to hide, and stalls on several notices lining the walls. Papers covered in a text I can't read are scattered across the wall and in various stages of age. On each of them is a drawn image of a person, some of which look completely alien to me— like the one that's just a straight up crab.

But my eyes are drawn to the— incredibly unflattering— drawing of a young man with long, tied-back brown hair, an eye patch, a blue frock coat, and a manic grin.

“What the?— Wait is that Abraham Lincoln?!”

My shock at seeing the wanted poster for not-so-honest Abe alongside my own is interrupted by the pop of air being displaced behind me.

I turn to see— myself, but with more gear and accessories on him. His hair is tied back, and the normally scarred right side of my face seems to be healing a vicious wound and is practically just one big scab. He smiles and raises his hand in a lazy wave.

“Hey kid.”

His smile disappears into a blank, murderously prepared look, and the world seems to darken in contrast as all light gathers around the pointed forefinger in his raised hand. The spell sparks and jitters, barely contained at the tip of his finger, like balled lightning collapsed and compressed into a practical singularity at his fingertips.

His scabbed and thin-lipped mouth opens.

“Gopher guts.”