(Frauw – Occupation: Lit) (Amos)

  The Next Day

  The early morning breeze makes Amos shiver as he steps out of his tent. Although he’s in grasslands near a desert, the continent lies in the northern hemisphere. It’s well known that it snows in this desert every other year. The way the seasons work in this game is strange. For instance, one winter might be cold but snowless, while the next brings snow that melts in turn.

  Amos rubs his hands together as he holds them out toward the fire in the center of the camp. That’s all part of it, though. Even after a decade, this game still clutches its hidden gems. Despite the release of the Portal-Scuti, enough players remain puzzled about how the world works.

  Two years ago, a group of players discovered that a separate game, called Heart Lands, was part of the same world. Everything began to connect, especially since Byalfulmaris was banned in Japan in 2010 for legal reasons, and a new game named Heart Lands was released the following year with similar mechanics. The only differences were the scale of the world and the reduced role of magic compared to Byalfulmaris.

  In light of the situation with Heart Lands, several things began to make sense at once. For example: Westpoint got its name because all of Byalfulmaris lies west of the central continents. But even after such discoveries, the two games never interacted. After all, there were still many treasures and mysteries to uncover in this game alone.

  Amos scans the area: there are two tents and a fire, Cazel in one and Christ in the other. Xander, who was supposed to keep watch for the final three hours before morning, is nowhere to be seen. This worries Amos, until he glances up the hill.

  Xander is in a prone position, looking over a rock wall at a field. Amos lets out a sigh of relief. He can’t help but admit that he has been on edge after seeing Cazel’s face the previous day. Not to mention his body still feels feeble, despite getting rest. But what can he do? Maybe freezing his blood would help in the long run, but he doesn’t know how. As he makes his way up the hill, Xander turns and notices him. Waving him down, Amos lowers himself into a prone position as they meet.

  “You woke up on time,” Xander says. Amos peers over the rock wall, focusing on a movement some 500 yards away. His eyes widen as he sees groups of oxen pulling seven large, covered wagons toward Westpoint.

  “No way do they already have those things this early.”

  Xander chuckles, shaking his head. “They had some poor sucker grind that hard in smithing and crafting just to make brazier artillery cannons.” Xander taps Amos’s shoulder. “They’re approaching us. Let’s wake up the others and see whose platoon they belong to.”

  Without further words, they return to camp, waking the others and packing up the tents into their inventories. As they toss water over the campfire, the first enemy squad peaks over the hill. One hundred yards from the dirt road, the cannons appear larger than they are. The troupe marches toward the cannons. They should be fine, so long as they introduce themselves as WAL.

  Christ yawns. “Xander…” Rubbing his eyes, he tries to make eye contact with Xander. “You think once these cannons make it to Westpoint, they’ll declare war on the others?”

  “I don’t know. But if something happens, Hypno will warn us. He’s still in the capital,” Xander responds.

  “Yeah…” Christ turns to Amos, pulling his arm back before slapping him on the shoulder. “Glad the color’s back in your face, lil’ bro. Feeling better?” Amos rubs his shoulder while staring at Christ.

  “I feel like I can barely keep my skeletal system upright. It’s painful.”

  “That’s oddly specific.” Christ stares at Amos with narrowing eyes. Amos stares back. Their locked gaze becomes awkward before Amos trips on a rock and stumbles. Cazel catches him.

  “You alright?”

  Amos’s body rattles, sharp stings pricking his bones.

  “Thanks…”

  Cazel cracks a smile. “Anything for you, brother.”

  Amos glances at Cazel, noticing a change in the smile he once knew. Did that smile seem more forced, or more natural, he wonders. The change is gone as quickly as it arrived. “Right, brother.”

  As they get closer to the platoon, an enemy squad of five notices the four and breaks off from the other troops to confront them. “Halt!” the man leading the squad shouts, deep with confidence. He’s clad in full steel, and has drawn his short sword. “If you’re highwaymen, I’d like to inform you that your buddies a mile back weren’t a problem, aside from the blood I had to wash off my blade!”

  Xander raises his hands and steps in front of the others. “Relax. We’re from the WAL clan. We’re on our way to Frauw to claim our manor.” The Lit member’s head jerks back. He glances at his squad mates, then turns back with a smirk.

  “I don’t have a reason not to believe you. WAL did just kill off the Dulman clan not far from here. Still, I’ve got a simple question for you.”

  Xander nods. “Of course.”

  “Can you name the WAL clan members that currently reside in the City of Bell?”

  Without hesitation, Xander answers. “Hypno. Carp and Smokey left a few days ago, so it’s just him now. He’s with Sara’s clan of three. They’re friends of ours.” The Lit member sighs, scratching his gauntlets against his head. He waves his brazer short sword in the air.

  “Damn…” He chuckles. “I swear, if you aren’t from WAL and you kill me, I’ll haunt you guys.”

  Xander smiles. “Never.”

  The squadron leader’s brazer sword vanishes. “Sure, mate.” Closing the gap between them, the Lit member extends his hand. “You must be Xander. I’m Lieutenant Luck, sixth lieutenant under General Mamer.”

  Xander shakes Luck’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

  “If you’re heading to Frauw, we left a few squads behind because of increased crime in the area,” Luck says. “I’m sure things will settle once you arrive. If that’s the case, talk to Sergeant Nani Yankers. We could use the help soon.”

  “So you’re starting a war…”

  “Orders from General Mamer: as soon as the cannons are set up outside the city, they’ll level Westpoint. It’s imperative we get started before the enemy gets a chance to get their hands on any of our cannons, or we’ll be at a stalemate for ages.”

  “What’s stopping someone like me from leaking the info right now?” Xander asks.

  “It wouldn’t matter. We have the cannons, and if you want to befriend us, I’m confident you won’t do anything so foolish.” Luck smirks.

  “You are confident, and you’re a snappy fella,” Xander notes.

  “You have to be snappy when you’re responsible for fifty-plus souls.” Luck scratches the back of his head again. “Are we done here? I gotta catch up with the rest of my platoon.”

  “One more question,” Xander says, pointing his finger up. “Your brazer weapon, and the brazer used to build the cannon-”

  Closing his eyes, Luck sighs. “Yeah, the guy that got us these weapons...we fed him supplies and had him work like a slave. His crafting and project skills are currently 950, and his smithing is 900.”

  “Damn,” both Amos and Christ say in unison.

  “Yeah… Sadly, a few days ago, he had a brain aneurysm. Right now, he’s in the City of Bell hospital. There’s no news yet about whether he’ll recover. So, no, we can’t sell any brazer weapons to anyone now, especially since brazer ore is hard to come by in this region.”

  Xander nods. “I wish you luck.”

  Luck places his palm on Xander’s shoulder. “No.” Shaking his head, his hand brushes against Xander’s cotton tunic. “No, you don’t.”

  Xander tilts his head. “Sorry… What?”

  Luck turns around, his lips sealed. Amos stares down the path they just came from, the path where they had killed for the first time, the path that had hosted the most likely reason war would soon break out. But why doesn’t Amos feel anything? Maybe the weight of this world hasn’t hit him yet. Perhaps he doesn’t believe people can really die here. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. Amos looks at his hands, hoping to react to some revelation like Cazel did, but there’s nothing. If he doesn’t care, does that mean he’s lost in his character? Does that mean he’s stuck inside his current mask?

  Xander sighs and opens his interface. Seconds later, he groans. “Two more…” He begins to pack a small box, labeled “Tough Tobacco,” against his shoulder. The curtain opens to reveal two cigarettes. “Listen up, you three. I’ve learned one thing: you can look back, but at least you’re fortunate enough to be able to. Others aren’t so lucky.”

  After walking two miles through windy fields separated by rock walls, the party finally reaches the outskirts of the town’s forest. A few miles later, they arrive at WAL, where the tournament has reset to its prior state, just the way it was before their clan existed. The town has a city-meets-village feel, its streets broad and open and lined with many sights to see. All in the party seem relieved, but the same realization creeps into their minds at once as they make their way through the main gate. All their progress is gone. The building they turned into a pub has reverted into a useless stable. Why would anyone need horses when they can run fifty miles an hour without breaking a sweat?

  A few blocks down they reach WAL’s manor – which they now must reclaim – opening the heavy steel gates into the courtyard with a metallic whine.

  Christ moves faster than the others, leaning over the middle fountain. With a smirk, he scoops a handful of orange leaves from the water, then drops them when he notices something in the wavering reflection of the manor. “Wait.” He holds up his palm, signaling the others to stop. “A girl.”

  “What… where?” Amos asks.

  Christ points to the manor’s second-floor window. “I don’t remember a ghost girl in our home.”

  The girl stares down at them before retreating into the shadows.

  Xander shivers. “Ain’t no way I’m going in there.”

  “Guys, it’s not a ghost; it's just some random chick that we need to make leave,” Amos reassures them.

  Cazel grabs Amos’s shoulder. “You go, then.” Cazel lightly shoves Amos into Christ’s arms.

  Amos turns to Christ, hoping he’ll take over instead.

  “Fuck no…” Christ smacks Amos upside the head. “Where I grew up, we feared three things: God, the IRS, and some fucked-up ghost girl. Unless she wants to grab my horse’s tail, I ain’t going.” Christ shoves Amos towards the oak double doors.

  Amos looks back at the other so-called adults who are still afraid of ghosts. Heat rises in his chest as he grinds his teeth. But the heat isn't just anger—it’s butterflies in his gut, a crushing anxiety.

  He grabs the door handle, muttering, “Right… No ghost girl. Ghosts and spirit NPCs aren’t a thing in this area…”

  Amos stops halfway into the living room as a girl’s laughter cuts through the air. Lightning travels up his spine, hairs standing on end. “Oh, fuck this shit!” He spins around and swings the door open to his clanmates.

  Christ tilts his head. “Amos, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” A smirk creeps across his face.

  “Shut up, I’m not doing this.” Amos storms past the three, only to be stopped by Christ.

  “Hey, asshole, you’re the one who said she wasn’t a ghost.”

  Amos shakes his head. “Well, I’m not gonna prove it!”

  Xander places a hand on Amos’s shoulder. “Relax, brother. We’ll do this together.”

  Amos glances at them, surprised. They’ve fought armies together, confident in the face of bloodshed, but here they are hesitant to confront a girl. If only the rest of the clan was here.

  “Alright…” Amos sighs, and the party shuffles through the double doors.

  From the doorway – which faces the stairs to the second floor – they see folded chairs and tables in the corner under the stairs. To their left is the living room, and past another door is the library. If they walk past that door, a sliding door leads onto the back porch. The porch overlooks a few manicured acres and a dirt track. To the right is the dining room, which leads into the kitchen. A door in the kitchen leads to the storage area, and on the other side is a hallway leading to a restroom and four bedrooms.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  After searching the rooms, they meet in front of the stairs. They hesitate, counting the steps that lead upstairs.

  “Well, Let’s go…” Christ says, nudging Cazel and Xander forward.

  Xander’s teeth chatter as he nods. “Right…”

  They make their way up, staying close, moving shoulder to shoulder. Amos should feel less apprehensive, but his feet feel heavier now that he’s with the others, as if he were being pushed forward, as if their fearful energy were feeding into him. In the hallway, they check each member’s room and the extra rooms, but they find nothing. All that’s left now is the lecture room.

  Hands shaking, Cazel twists the doorknob. They quickly search every corner of the spacious room where their clan meetings were once held. Nothing.

  “Could we just have been… seeing things?” Cazel pops a nervous smile.

  Christ scratches his forehead, chuckling. “Maybe it was just in our heads.”

  “We all saw the same thing,” Amos says, glancing out the window where they saw the girl. “I wonder…” Amos’s eyes widen as he spots the girl, this time standing next the fountain, a handful of orange leaves in her hand.

  Christ turns to Amos. “Wonder what?” He freezes when he looks over Amos’s shoulder.

  With a creepy smirk and a wave, the girl turns around and glides off the property with inhuman swiftness, as if her feet were barely touching the ground.

  Xander tilts his head. “What’s up?”

  Glass shatters, and debris flies as Christ leaps through the window, landing in a roll. He zips to his feet and dashes after the girl.

  “Wha…” Xander scrambles to his feet.

  “The girl we saw! Christ is after her,” Amos says, despite feeling weak in the knees. He runs after Christ, landing hard on the stone foundation. One thing rattles Amos: how fast the girl is. Her level must be high, so backing up Christ is a must.

  Xander watches Amos take off, shaking his head. “Want some green tea?”

  Cazel sighs. “Sure, man…”

  A short time later, Amos finds Christ running in circles, still unable to catch up with the girl. He hasn’t lost sight of her for a moment, but he can’t match her speed.

  Amos jumps onto a crate and swings from a drainage pipe onto the roof. From there, he studies the girl’s route. After many laps, he notices a pattern. “It all comes down to one lane… ” Amos mutters to himself, hoping no onlookers get in his way. Only one move is needed, and he doesn’t want to exert himself too much. He readies himself and leaps off the roof, dashing across seventy meters of dirt. He rounds the corner of the last house just as time seems to slow, coming face to face with the eerie maiden. She’s still wearing that same unsettling smirk, the edge of her lip curling up like a sideways question mark.

  Amos swings a fist at the girl’s shoulder and she blocks him with her palm, but the force of the blow is too great. Her block breaks, and she tumbles. She spins, grinds her hand and knee into the ground, and finally rolls to a stop.

  Before she can recover, Christ grabs her wrist and slams her head into the ground. “Fast one, aren’t you?”

  Amos, weakened from the chase, struggles to catch his breath.

  “Lil’ bro, you good!?” Christ calls.

  Amos flashes Christ a thumbs-up and dusts himself off.

  Christ grabs the girl by her hair, pulling her head back. “Sup…”

  The girl’s smirk morphs into a wide, almost sadistic grin. “That was fun, wasn’t it?”

  Christ shakes his head. “I don’t know how you snuck past us without us knowing, but bravo. Now tell me, who are you?”

  “Yankers.”

  Christ’s eyes widen. “Sorr…” Before he can finish, the world around him turns gray and heavy. His mind goes blank, but before his knees hit the ground, he instinctively rolls to avoid something. A massive sheet of metal spikes into the ground four feet deep. As the pressure of the atmosphere lifts, his senses return, piecing everything together.

  “Lucid Dread…”

  Amos, still recovering, glances up to see a man standing twelve feet in the air, holding the girl by the hilt of a colossal sword—steel, weighing half a ton, but swung like a feather.

  The girl slumps over his shoulder. “Guess you were right. They do seem hot-headed,” she says, wincing. “Put me down before I barf.”

  The man drops her from twelve feet, causing her to smack her head against the ground.

  With fire in her eyes, the girl glares at her squad member. “OW, ASSHOLE! I DIDN’T MEAN DROP ME ON MY FUCKING FACE!”

  The man shrugs, unfazed.

  Mumbling to herself as she stands, the girl turns back to the two WAL members, her frown turning into a smile. “Right, sorry about that!”

  The man sits on the guard of his hilt as his feet dangle in the air.

  “Christ…” Amos hits his scrambled head with the butt of his palm. “Was that a new spell or a curse?”

  Christ licks his lips. “I don’t know.”

  Amos watches as the girl walks toward him and Christ. Whatever that increase in atmospheric pressure was, it wasn’t the girl’s doing. Whoever that guy was, sitting on the side of the hilt of that massive blade like some high-rise construction worker on a steel beam, he clearly knew how to cast a spell as well as swing a blade. For a few seconds, it had felt like the air itself was crushing not just Amos’s body, but his soul as well.

  Amos’s raises his hand and his axe appears. Christ motions to Amos to wait. “Relax, she’s the sergeant the lieutenant was talking about,” he said, still brushing dirt off his platelegs.

  Yankers closes the gap to three feet between them. “Sorry, I have a tendency to enjoy fucking with people.” Her right hand extends out, open for the man to accept. “But yes, I am Sergeant Nani Yankers from the Yankers squad. But you can just call me Yankers.”

  “Christ, WAL…” Christ doesn’t shake but nods his head up at the guy on the hilt. “Who’s he?”

  Yankers points her thumb at the man behind her. “That's Birdman Yanker, we just call him Bird.”

  “Yeah, well, what the hell did he just do, and what’s the deal with that enormous sword?”

  “It’s his curse.” Yankers scratches some dirt off her nose. “I don’t even know what it is. And the man is mute, so don’t ask him.” Her hand slides from her nose to brush the dirt from her forehead. “That’s his five-hundred-pound menace blade.”

  Amos’s eyes widen. “That's nearly double from the hilt!”

  “Twelve hundred, depends on the hilt's length.”

  “How is that possible?” Amos couldn’t imagine maxing out and still swinging that blade around as if it were worth it. The attacks would slow down due to excessive energy exertion. But no one in a million years could get one thousand strength in three weeks; that was nearly impossible.

  Christ waves down Amos. “Relax, it’s possible he has a ring of lightness on each finger.” The ring of lightness drops the weight of whatever the user is holding in half, but it has a limit, as all the extra weight implodes the ruby on top of the ring.

  Amos focuses on the man's steel gauntlets as the mute man freely exposes his hands. Even if he had them, they wouldn’t last long. On top of that, rubies aren’t cheap.

  “Anyways, why run if you’re in Lit?” Christ questions.

  “I told you, fucking with people is kinda my thing. I find it funny.”

  Christ pulls back his gauntlets down his wrist. “It wouldn’t be funny if one of us blew a third hole in your back.”

  Yankers grins. “Technically, it would be the fourth hole.”

  “Wait, what?” Amos says while glancing at his friend.

  Christ sighs while rubbing both of his eyes. “Do you take any of this seriously? I mean, your clan is about to go to war with two other clans.”

  Yankers tilts her head while a confused look washes over her face. “Yeah, so?”

  “Don’t you fear death?”

  “Death?” Looking between Christ and Amos, Yankers finally gets it. “Do you guys not know we all are high as shit on rudey?”

  Christ steps back. “What the fuck is rudey?”

  Yankers opens her mouth, and under her tongue is a thin, small piece of paper. “It’s been in the newspaper for a week now. Rudey remove all fear of death and, in some cases, can reverse trauma. An easy way to explain it is that it has some of the effects of LSD but is less hallucinogenic. Though I haven't had any of that, I do know a few who have.”

  “Aren't you worried that it could alter your way of thinking?” Amos questions.

  Yankers chuckles. “Even if it did, what I was feeling before was unbearable. At this point, being drugged up is all I can be.”

  Amos likes the idea of it, though it scares him. What if he were to take it? Does he even need it? He thinks of Cazel. “I’ll buy some off you,” he says.

  A tablet, about the size of Yanker’s fingertip, appears in her hand. “Take it. It’s easy to make.” She tosses it to Amos, who catches it in his chest. “Those who do it tend to stay sane.”

  Christ turns to Amos. “For Cazel?”

  Amos nods as the tablet vanishes.

  Yankers flips her hair. “And for your question about the war. It’s the same feeling with your clan and Dulman. We've been fighting them for years, and now we sleep with one eye open. Until we deal with them, we won't get proper sleep.”

  Amos steps closer. “You’re wrong. It’s different.”

  “How so?” Yankers asks.

  “You're comparing eight lives to thousands,” Amos responds.

  Yankers chuckles. “I understand. It’s true that you are a clan of high horses. It goes to show how terrible WAL has been these past years, playing as the bad guys and all. Well, at least I now know you all are just as you presented yourselves.”

  “You don’t understand anything,” Amos says.

  Christ shakes his head. “It isn’t about what we think of ourselves. It’s about what others think.”

  Yankers snaps her fingers. “Bingo! And being honest, I don’t know how you’re even in talks with King Zul right now… So how was it?” Yankers asks as if she wants to end that conversation fast.

  “How was what?” Christ asks.

  “How was the fight with Dulman?”

  “Fast, so fast,” Christ says as he turns around. “That… situation made me realize a few things about myself.”

  Yankers holds out a second tablet of rudey to Christ, but he ignores the gesture.

  Despite telling them how she feels about them, it’s odd how generous she’s being. “I'm good. Trauma makes me stronger,” Christ says.

  Yankers shakes her head. “That's not how trauma works for anyone.”

  Christ turns away as he begins to walk back to the manor. “Maybe so, but I’m built differently.” Christ stops moving only to turn back to Yankers. “By the way, six more of your squad members are hiding around here. I don’t quite know how, but I can sense them.”

  Yanker's smile widens as she begins to wave.

  “Yeah, it’s not that hard to see.” Amos joins Christ, lying between his teeth, because he can't feel anything besides the onlookers surrounding the streets. Moving closer to Christ, Amos mumbles into his ear. “How do you know there are more than eight of them?”

  “I don’t know…” Christ glances back at Yankers, who doesn’t take her sadistic eyes off him. “It’s like a shared aura of some sort.”

  Amos cradles his chin. Now that Christ mentions it, his own awareness extends past the vicinity of his body. Bird’s ‘atmosphere densification’ curse must have scrambled his awareness. Even so, he should be able to sense the others’ aura by now…

  “Now, lil’ bro, take it from me.” Christ wraps his arm around Amos. “After what we just saw, I think we have to realize that we are no longer the biggest and baddest. So it’s about time we start dropping some of our cockiness.”

  Amos pauses his feet as an indifferent look crosses his face. “Speaking of cockiness, I’d say your ego in particular is more worrying.”

  “Well, when you're a badass motherfucker like yours truly,” Christ chuckles. “Ego comes with being better than ninety-nine percent of the population… and this massive cock between my legs.”

  Ignoring the dick comment, Amos shifts focus to what Christ meant by ‘ninety-nine percent;’ he’s just blowing air out of his ass at this point.

  “Well, being better than most also has much to do with the style of a person's attacks. I’d say ninety percent of the player base uses a hybrid style. Then you have those who are melee pures or melee-mixed with range or magic-based attacks. They all have styles that work better against others, but then again, no style matters after I melt away their defenses.”

  Amos scratches his head as he tries to understand what Christ is making out of common knowledge. After a few minutes of Christ hyping himself up with how ‘amazing’ he is, Amos realizes where he’s going with his ranting. “What are you getting at? Are you talking about your broken curse?”

  Christ’s expressions go through three stages, like a car stopping at a red light, only briefly before the light turns green. He steps on the gas. “Lil’ bro thinks it’s broken, ay? I mean, how can it not be? Only three people in the whole game have it, and trying to understand it is nearly impossible!”

  Amos’s face drops as a sigh leaves him. Though it's annoying having Christ brag about his great curse, it has a drawback. From the moment the curse user’s strength skill is multiplied, the user loses all ability in their dominant hand, which is the biggest reason almost no one picked up the curse in the first place. Using the curse forced Christ to learn how to use his non-dominant hand. After the curse purge, no one could gain over one hundred and fifty curses, including Amos’s curse, Cloud Slasher. Eighteen known users have it, thirteen still play, and five joined the tournament. Amos knows this because, as King Zul’s assistant, he gained a connection with all of them (one of which was his student in Lit’s clan). The last member in that clan with a curse is someone named Ship, the only one Amos hasn’t seen yet.

  “Amos?”

  Now that Amos thinks about it, why hasn’t he seen Ship’s curse?

  “Hey, asshole.”

  Besides that mask Ship always wears, and the Sword of Gods, what would be a goo— Amos’s thoughts go blank as Christ smacks him in the back of the head. “Dude!”

  “You weren't listening to me,” Christ grumbles.

  “Yes, yes I was…” Amos lies.

  “Oh yeah?” Christ crosses his arms. “What was I talking about then?”

  Fuck! Now Amos has to make something up, from curses to whatever other bullshit Christ always talks about. “First, you talked about how great your curse was, and then it drifted off into you talking about how you love Sara, but because you both live in two different countries, you’re both whores, ‘til you move to her, or ‘till she moves to you.”

  Christ’s eyes widen. He purses his lips. “Damn, you were listening. Sorry, lil’ bro.”

  Amos shakes his head and then speeds up. Though the real reason for his ire was the insanity of knowing Christ for four years, that same familiarity allowed him to accurately guess he was thinking of something so damn detailed.

  A moment passes before Christ lifts his chin. "Listen, I'm serious about toning down our egos."

  Amos’s ears perk up at what Christ has to say.

  "I've never fought those people, but they outmatched us," Christ says.

  "One interaction with them wasn't enough to –"

  Christ cuts off Amos. "You know me, Amos. Trust me when I say we were outmatched."

  Amos glances down the long path. It's not like Christ would ever downplay himself and prop up others without reason. But even Amos had to admit Bird’s curse was weird enough without that stupid, massive sword. "Understood” he replies, begrudgingly.

  After returning to the manor, Cazel and Xander lean over the kitchen counter, sipping from cups of green tea.

  Christ and Amos stare at their fellow party members as if looking at foes, or at unknown creatures. That moment of unfamiliarity seems to occupy the next five minutes.

  “Must be nice, huh?” Amos says, breaking the awkwardness with a crooked smile.

  “Eh, a bit bitter.” Cazel leans up.

  Xander pulls a cigarette from behind his ear as he turns toward the porch. “I'm gonna go smoke,” he says, while trying to ignore his fellows’ gazes and avoid potential confrontations presented to him for failing to adequately help them.

  “Assholes,” Christ says, under twitching eyes.

  After the party took their fill of town-bought cornbread, and after they had warmed the manor by cutting fallen logs from its ample grounds, it came time for the group to wind down for the night.

  Amos glances over his messages tab to find no message from his students, other than expected updates from Vodka and Zero. The two talked about how Zero is moving west to the Monk Clan and how Vodka is preparing for his arrival. It’s odd that neither of Amos’s students messaged him directly. Those two usually didn’t go more than a few hours without one of them sending him some sort of message, some sort of update. Amos sighs as he does something that always feels awkward: he sends the same message to two people at once, lowering his head as he does so. His three companions each give him confused looks, before leaving him alone and retiring for the night.

  Amos preps his bed, struggling to match sheet to mattress on all four sides, before finally locking down the mattress under its sheets. A chuckle leaves him at the thought of a superhuman being struggling with such a basic task. Before he made himself into what he now was, he had been living at home, with his mother nagging him to make his bed himself, all the while making the task look easy whenever she performed it. “Look, mom. I did it.”

  The bed was made, until it wasn’t. One corner slipped off, ruining everything. Amos sighed. “I should have paid more attention to her lessons.” After a few more attempts at bedmaking, Amos did it. A minute later he was lying down, staring at the dark clouds and bright moon hanging just outside his window. Would he ever be able to see his parents again? Everything felt hyperreal. The more he lingered on how hard it was to even breathe in this world, the more he was convinced that, when he died, he wouldn’t make it home. A tear runs down Amos’s ear as his body shivers, shedding itself of stray stress. He pants as his legs and arms find stillness. “I miss you, mom. I miss you, dad.” His eyes close.