I clenched my fists, digging my claws into my palms—not that they cut through the scales. I levitated my PortaCon into Jonan's hands.

"Record me," I said. "Send it to Pel as a videophone message, okay?"

By this point, I was past the point of shame.

Jonan tapped the screen several times and then held up my console, with the camera facing me.

"On the count of three," he said. "Three, two one—you're live!"

I slithered up to the camera and stared it dead in the eye. "I'm coming. Pel, Jules, Rayph: I'm coming to get you. I swear it. I love you forever." I pointed at my lucky bowtie. "Keep a look out for my bow-tie, in case I'm no longer…"

But I couldn't bring myself to say the words.

"I love you all so very, very much."

Then I closed my eyes and nodded. I heard Jonan's fingers tap the screen.

"Did you send it?" I asked, blinking my eyes open.

Jonan coughed and nodded. "I did."

And then the dam broke.

Through my tears, I managed to tell Jonan to step away, as I could no longer hold at bay the flow of spores from my mouth and nostrils. Then, slithering into the corner, knocking over the table and jostling some old cabinets in the process, I settled down on the floor, facing the wall, with my body tightly coiled and my face buried against my scales.

I cried for several minutes before, to my surprise, I noticed Andalon sitting atop my tail—was crying, too. That itself was enough to give me pause.

"Why are you crying?" I asked her.

Andalon stared at my PortoCon where Jonan had placed it on the tabletop. After a silent moment, she turned to me and wrapped her arms around my chest in the biggest hug.

And her touch was warm.

"You're so happy, Mr. Genneth," she said, with a sniffle. "And when you feel happy, I feel happy."

I tried to smile, but that just made me cry even more. "I wish I had better happiness for you," I said. "Happiness should be loud. It should make you want to jump up and shout." I turned to face the window. "Consolation can be very… tender," I muttered. "Staff Lounge 3," I added. "It really does feel like I've come full circle."

I paused.

"I didn't know happiness could hurt this much," I mumbled.

"What?" Jonan asked.

"I thought they were dead," I said. "I really did. But… they're alive." My voice cracked. "They're alive…"

Andalon stared at me with uncertainty. "Mr. Genneth?"

"I need to go to them, Andalon. I have to. Their souls are literally at stake. Right now, being alive means being in danger. Angel help us."

"What about helping the other wyrmehs?" she asked.

I reared up a little, clenching my claws. "All the more reason for us to get going right this second. The quicker I get my family back, the quicker I can become the wyrmmaster general." I dared to smile. "I'll have my family again, Andalon. And you," I glanced at Jonan, "and you, too, Dr. Derric," I sniffled, "both of you, you better be sure that I'm gonna fight to the death to protect them." I rubbed my sporey tears on my arm. "This fudging fungus won't know what hit it!"

After a bit of struggle, I managed to get myself out of the corner, pushing off the wall with my leg stubs and then slithering back to the middle of the room. I levitated my console into one of the pockets at the bottom of my coat. I thought about buttoning the pocket shut, but decided to ask for help, instead. Sure, my skills with those force thorns were rapidly improving, but I was still nowhere near good enough to use them to button the pocket shut. Buttons were plenty frustrating on their own, even when you had fingers capable of manipulating them.

Slithering out through the lounge's long-opened door, I turned around to face the room and point at my pocket. "Jonan, could you please button this pocket shut for me?"

Nodding, with a groan, he pushed himself up from the sofa and walked up to me, though I used my powers to levitate the side of my coat bearing the pocket as close to him as I could manage, to maximize the distance between us.

"There we go," he said, after he'd finished, "nice and tight."

"Thanks," I said.

"Okay, so, we're gonna go get Lark now, right?" he asked, staring at my console. "The recording is ready." He nodded. "I want everyone to hear it."

I lowered my head. "I'm sorry Jonan, but it's just going to have to wait. I—"

"—You don't need to apologize." Jonan stuck out one of his palms. "If it was Ani who was in trouble, I would do the same thing." He patted his gloved hand on his PPE's belly-pocket. "Besides, I sent a copy of the recording to my console. If push comes to shove, I'll take care of it myself."

"If I can't get Lark's soul in time, ask one of the transformees in the garage to do it, maybe Nurse Costran or Dr. Rathpalla," I said. "They'll help you, I promise, though hopefully, it won't have to come to that. Once Pel and the kids are safe, I swear, nothing will stop me from making good on my word."

He nodded. "I believe you, Genneth."

"Thank you for your help," I said, bowing as best as I could.

"Save your family, Dr. Howle—and, if you can, fuck those people-eating bastards up for us, would you?"

I flashed a bashful smile. "I… I'll try."

And then Dr. Derric walked off, ready to meet the dawning day.

I couldn't help but notice that Jonan's gait was a little unsteady—a sign of just how rapidly his infection was progressing.

Letting my perception of time slow, I recentered my thoughts into my Main Menu. I needed to do some brainstorming and, well… the pristine skies and reflective waters of the HQ inside my mind made for a pretty great thinking spot.

Appearing perfectly human within my mind, I conjured up two copies of an old, varnished wood chair, one for me, and another, child-sized copy for Andalon. I sat down on the cushiony red upholstery and then sighed.

"What's wrong, Mr. Genneth?" Andalon asked. Her legs dangled over the reflective, water-slicked floor.

"Somehow, I'm going to need to get out of WeElMed and make my way over to the Melted Palace in order to find Pel and the kids, and do all of that while dealing with the impending threat of nuclear annihilation."

"How is that wrong?" Andalon asked.

I shook my head, scratching my fingers through the loose stubble on my mental self's human cheeks. "No matter what, I need to tell the wyrms in the garage about the nukes. Yes, they're probably already aware of it, but we need to get on the same page about things, and not just the nukes, but everything—Kléothag, waiting for Ampersandalon to arrive and rescue us from the fungus. There's a lot on my plate, and that was before learning my family was still alive. Now… now I have to do all that and rescue them, and the problem is figuring out how to do it. Assuming I can get out of the hospital without alerting the soldiers, my first thought would be to take the L85. I can touch base with the wyrms on the way out, though… fudge, they're all under some pretty heavy security right now."

Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

"Don't you need leggies to do all those things?" Andalon asked.

I glanced down at the slack-covered legs that I had in this form. "I think I can use those force thorns I've been experimenting with to operate the accelerator and the brakes. I hope."

Realization bolted down my neck, making me sit up straight in shock. "Wait, Beast's teeth, is my car still even in one piece?"

I opened a memory-window in the air and pulled up my memory of the fight in the garage with the fungal abomination from Vernon's experiments in General Labs' basement. I fast-forwarded through the memory, passing straight to the moment when the silver-eyed wyrm from GL breathed that massive wave of spores. Once I reached it, I slowed my memory's playback to a crawl and carefully examined the footage, frame by frame, and then sighed with relief once I saw that my car had managed to survive both the acid breath and the zombies.

So, the L85 was still an option, just not one that I could currently use without confronting Vernon's remaining troops.

"Why don't you fly?" Andalon suggested. "You said you were gonna learn how to do it!"

"Y-Yes, but… not for long distance, and not so soon. There are still aerostats flying around the city. I definitely do not want to end up getting attacked by one, especially if I have Pel and the kids in tow. I don't want to put them in harm's way."

"But doesn't Mrs. Genneth have the Pee-roo-etty? She can use that, right?"

Andalon could be so weird at times. I had to explain vision and eyes to her like she'd never heard of them before? But my and my wife's cars? For some reason, she just understood it effortlessly.

So, yeah: weird.

"Yes," I said, answering her question, "but… it's not like it will be a walk in the park. The city is overrun with zombies and fungus monsters and silver-eyed wyrms and Angel-knows what else." I shuddered. "Flibbertigibbet, does this mean I'm going to have to eat my loved ones in order to save them?"

Andalon nodded. "That would work…"

"Not helping," I said, frowning and narrowing my eyes.

"Sorry." She lowered her head. "Andalon is sorry."

The next thing I knew, out in the real world, I felt something stomp on my tail. It didn't hurt, but it wasn't the least bit pleasant, and it immediately shocked me back into my body, with Andalon floating at my side, time speeding normally once more.

"What are you thinking, mulling around out in the open?"

I turned to look.

"Suisei?"

Ignoring the claw-shaped gash in the glass, Dr. Horosha opened the door to the Staff Lounge and he waved me in. "Quickly," he said, "before anyone sees us."

I nodded and slithered through the doorway. Suisei closed the door behind him as he stepped in after me.

Like Jonan, Suisei was not doing well—to put it mildly. He was also suffering from a Type One infection. He coughed and wheezed. The fungus' black hyphal lightning was already crawling up his neck. Checking him over my wyrmsight, I couldn't spot hair nor hide of the protective pataphysical weave he used to create the electrostatic repulsion that kept the deadly spores at bay. To my thickened wyrmsight, the fungus' aura had already spread through his body to the point that it formed a stick-figure of particolored aura inside him, as if the core of his nervous system was awash with light.

"How did you get infected?" I asked. "I thought your barrier protected you!"

Smirking, Dr. Horosha shook his head and then stumbled over to the sofa and took a seat, indifferent to the cushion's dilapidated condition.

"I must have been exposed during yesterday's battle. Remember the aerostat that crashed into the Internal Medicine Building?"

"Yes."

"I was busy suppressing the fires that had broken in the ward where the aerostat crashed," Suisei said. "I had to… de-power my barrier to dispose of the spores and to keep them from igniting." He coughed again, and then groaned. "I think the darkness in the lobby made it worse. It seems to have, ugh… accelerated the disease's progression."

Andalon looked on in concern, anxious grabbing hold of one of my arms.

"Why are you here, Suisei?" I asked.

"Genneth, I promised to tell you the truth, and I meant it."

"A lot has happened on my end, too," I said. "The truth is bigger than I could have ever imagined."

Dr. Horosha nodded. "Yes, something about Kléothag—the Hallowed Beast—being dead? I heard it from Dr. Marteneiss. I… did not know it was possible to be this afraid," he added, with an utterly uncharacteristic whimper.

"It's more complicated than that," I said. "There's—"

Suisei shook his head. "—There is no time. What I have to say is too important. It—"

—Suddenly, tensing stiff, Andalon floated over to the window and yelled. "Mr. Genneth!"

I turned to look.

"What is it?" Suisei asked.

"It's Andalon," I said, "she—"

"—Bad wyrmehs!" she yelled. She pointed at the window and turned to face me. "Bad wyrmehs are coming!"

Instead of slithering over to the window, I thickened my wyrmsight all across my vision.

What I saw made the lumps on my back twitch.

"Fudge…"

Suisei looked at me with alarm.

In movies set in gritty badlands, you would always know when the bad guys were coming, because they'd stir up a cloud of dust that would linger on the horizon as they approached. I was basically seeing the wyrmsight equivalent of that: a swarm of aura-motes that bobbed in the air like drunken fireflies. Some went along the ground, while others swam through the sky.

"Fudge!" I said, loudly, and then again, even louder still: "Fudge!!"

Panicking—beset by coughs—Suisei stood up, eyes wide.

"Genneth, what's going on?!"

There was no mistaking the fear in his eyes.

"I've had visions of worlds and planes the fungus has destroyed, Suisei. Wyrms, all of them silver-eyed, tens of thousands of them, slithering through the air, bent on destroying everything." I lowered my voice to a whisper.

Bad wyrmehs, I thought.

"Angel," I muttered, "these must be the silver-eyes!"

I looked Suisei in the eyes. "The fungus is attacking!" I said. "It's striking back. It's going to repeat what it did to the afterlife: wave after wave of wyrms!"

"The afterlife!?" Suisei yelled, coughing up green and black sputum onto the inside of his PPE visor.

I nodded. "There's a war in Paradise, Suisei. The Angels are fighting—and the fungus is winning."

Wyrmsong rumbled in the distance, like foghorns in the deep. The sounds' pitch distorted as their source drew near.

Andalon was frantic. "Mr. Genneth, the good wyrmehs need your help! Mr. Genneth!"

She was right. There was no time.

"I'm sorry, Suisei," I said, thinning my wyrmsight and slithering away. "We're going to have to postpone this conversation… again."

Hearing a cough behind me, I turned to see Suisei stagger toward me.

"Wait!" he yelled. "I need to tell you what I know!"

"And I'd love to listen," I replied, "but we have a bigger problem on our hands right now."

Suisei ran out in front of me. He spread his arms, blocking my path. "Fine! Consume me now!"

"W-What!?" I recoiled.

Gasping for breath, he glanced at the window and then turned back to me. "I'm already dying, Genneth. I do not think I will survive the coming battle." He smiled sadly. "For years, I have been searching for someone I could entrust with my secrets. After what you did in the lobby—that… turning…" he coughed again. "It has to be you! It can't be anyone else. The warning must be delivered!" He looked me in the eyes, his lips trembling. "I will not let the Sword of the Angel fall into the wrong hands!"

My jaw dropped. "The Sword…?"

But that wasn't the only twist the newborn morning had in store for me.

A transformee's resonant voice thundered across the Garden Court:

"To all the Norms in this hospital, you are to surrender your Heretic Sorcerer leader to the Last Church."

"That does not sound like a transformee being controlled by the fungus," Suisei said.

"I'm more concerned about the Heretic Sorcerer part," I said. "They have to be talking about you."

One of our transformees roared back. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"One of your Changelings has the power to make the zombies into his puppets. He is misleading you all, and must be destroyed."

"Angel's breath," I said, "he's talking about me!"

"Yes, your… 'necromancy'. Dr. Nowston told me about it," Suisei said.

Another one of Verune's goons spoke up.

"Lord Verune is eager for you to turn away from your heresies and join us. The Hallowed Beast gave you Its powers for a reason. Let us help you see the light."

"Fuck off!"

"Was that Larry?" I asked.

"You'll regret this," the first goon said.

"No…" I shook my head. "No!"

A profusion of wyrmsong bellowed outdoors, shaking the window panes in their frames. I sensed a big burst of pataphysics, and looked out the window to see a transformee getting launched backwards and crashing into the garden court. Their half-changed body skidded across the grass where the ground had caved in on the underground galleria below.

"Out of my way!" I said, immediately pushing Suisei aside with my claws.

I slithered forward. But then Andalon darted in front of me and screamed, wide-eyed.

"Mr. Genneth!" she pointed behind me.

I heard it before I saw it; it was like the sound of an electric razor. Whipping my head to the side, I spotted gold and orange plexus lines blossoming around Suisei's fingers as he brought one of his hands up to his neck. The lines of energy extended from his fingertips and twined around one another, forming the edge of a blade. The razor-blade sound came from the vibrations visible in the air where the threads of magic thrummed.

I could have slowed my perceptions of time to a crawl, but it wouldn't have made a difference.

I was already too late; I was still in the process of turning to look when Suisei used his fingers-blade to slice his own neck open. Fluid sprayed out in sheets of black and red, as if he'd cut himself with a buzzsaw.

The threads of his power retreated, dissipating from my wyrmsight.

"Take my soul now, before we are damned," he said. "Let my death…"

His body went limp.

"…mean something."

Suisei's words bled away like the lifeblood that spilled down his PPE and trickled onto the floor.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.