Brand slithered onto the down ramp, moving ahead of me. There wasn't enough room for both of us to go down at the same time, and, not wanting to wait, I leapfrogged down the ramp, flying right over Brand's head. Halfway through the leap, I started weaving another forcefield—a polyhedron, this time—to protect me from whatever fungus creatures were waiting for us on the garage's third level of the garage, when Andalon phased through me, flew out in front of me and yelled. "Watch out!"

But before I could even react to that, there was a tremendous crash from overhead.

Had the ceiling just caved in?

To see what she meant, I stretched out time. My movements slowed until I seemed to hover motionlessly a couple inches off the ground, several feet into the garage's third level.

By the Angel…

The third floor was a rotted grotto.

Almost all of the lights were out, and everything was coming up fungus. Stretches of fungus covered the walls in a kind of ancient bark, and jutted out like dripstone from the floor and ceiling, while arboreal growths had exploded from nearly all the cars in sight. Bedizen sprigs and bulbs and bubbles and strands of bioluminescent blues, greens, and yellows. The corpses scattered across the ground basked in the radiance of the beds of glow-tipped stalks and clubs that rose up from them. Hyphae extruded from the bodies, weaving across the floor and ceiling like ivy. The webs broke up the concrete where they sank into the ground.

Further down the garage, I could make out the shadowy opening of a gaping hole in the wall, probably an entrance to yet another decommissioned subway tunnel. That would explain how the fungus creatures had gotten into the Elpeck underground.

It really was an invasion.

It made me wonder: were my surroundings a preview of the true nature of Hell, all fungus and darkness twinkling?

The entrance into the hospital's third basement level was over on the far side of the garage, and was easily noticed, due to the still-intact lights above the door and in the hallways beyond being one of the level's few remaining non-fungal sources of illumination.

Of course, by now, I knew I'd be a fool to think that getting there would be as easy as it currently appeared to be.

The row of cars directly in front of me might as well have been a forest. The fungus-trees' roots had dug into concrete, fragmenting like the mud of a dried riverbed. Since my perception of time was still slowed to a crawl, I couldn't move my head to look toward the ramp leading down to the garage's fourth floor. I imagined there'd just be a solid wall of fungus blocking the path down to the lower levels.

Fudge.

It was like the garage was being turned into a giant taproot.

I'd quickly go full wyrm if I crashed into the cars in front of me. There was just that much fungus. Worse, even more so than the second floor, most of the floor was overrun by the fungal roots, leaving little space for me to free move.

I guess this meant I'd have to hover, and not just for a couple of seconds, either. This meant I was going to have to experiment, which made me nervous. If my previous power-experiments were anything to go by, I was about to get myself into quite the mess. Unfortunately, this time, there was no room for error.

In the frozen time, I wove up my flight cocoon, activating all the force vectors I'd need to give myself the neutral buoyancy that would keep me floating above the ground. Setting up the plexuses was a cinch with my top-notch memory. There was just one problem, though.

My weight.

My body had changed, and, currently, leaping out of the Hall of Echoes was my only experience dealing with my new weight. However, that was with Merritt in tow.

Fudge.

I'd have to guess. So, I did.

Before letting time resume, I set my cocoon to push away from both the floor and the cars I'd hurtling toward.

Please work, I thought.

I slowed my mind and let everything run. My fall slowed precipitously, but then violently lurched in the opposite direction, sending me up and away from both the floor and the cars.

I'd hecking overshot it, and ended up bashing the top of my head against the ceiling as a result. There must have been some strands of fungus growing up there, because pleasant tingles danced down the back of my scalp and neck. I could feel my own flesh as it crawled. The spines on my back grew a little bit, and my head and face felt… strange.

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

But I could deal with that later.

Damping down my flight plexus' upward thrust made me gently drop away from the ceiling. I fiddled with the strength behind that thrust, slowing my fall further and further until I was wobbling in place midair.

Dr. Genneth Howle, world's largest air-hockey puck.

And then, with a yell, Brand came rushing toward me.

My neck was long enough that I could turn my head nearly 180° around. As I did so, by pure reflex, I tried to move the rest of my body, only to end up smacking my tail into some of the cars at my side. Flesh crawled underneath my flanks as my body grew a couple inches longer.

But that wasn't what concerned me.

"Brand!" I yelled.

Dr. Nowston had landed smack-dab in the middle of the fungus-covered floor. The effects of the contact were both horrifying and immediate. The fungus on the concrete climbed up his body like an encroaching skin, and trying to pry himself free just brought him in contact with more fungus.

I started weaving a plexus to levitate him off the ground, but Andalon flew out in front of me.

"No!" she yelled. "If you do that, you'll fall! You're not strong 'nuff to do both!"

Angel, those words stung.

"But—"

"—Gennef…" Brand said.

Working on half instinct and half panic, I beefed up the forces on my plexus cocoon's front end of my plexus cocoon to move me toward Brand. Instead, that sent me skirting backward.

Stupid axis inversion controls!

Groaning, I tried again, this time putting all the oomph into my flight cocoon's rear end.

That did the trick; I zoomed forward, only to stop.

"Brand…"

My voice broke.

That last "Gennef" was the final word he'd ever speak. The fungal skein spreading over Brand's body had rushed onto his head, enclosing it like a glove. Brand's snout extended massively, irreversibly changing the shape of his head. His extra pairs of eyes blinked open on the sides as they came into view, while his torso merged fully with his body's cylindrical silhouette, ripping the back of his white lab coat down the middle. His only remaining patches of visibly human skin vanished in seconds, and then it was done: Brand was a wyrm.

Thankfully, there was at least one saving grace: a sizable bald patch in the fungal undergrowth, centered around Brand. That gave him some wiggle room, but not much.

If he absorbed too much, he'd grow like Greg had, trapping himself on the garage's third floor.

"I'm sorry," I said, looking him in the eyes. "I shouldn't have been so focused on myself. I—"

Brand muttered something in wyrmsong. I glanced at Andalon, who provided the translation:

"—He says it's not your fault, Mr. Genneth."

Brand made more sounds, and then stared at his claws.

"This was gonna happen anyway."

I heard roars in the distance. I craned my neck to look.

"Break the Tablets…" I muttered.

Several fungal hounds came running out of the hospital's basement, shattering the glass doors. The jungle around us reacted to their arrival, boughs moving this way and that, bioluminescent stakes drawing in their bulbs. The scenery moved as if it was all a single living thing—which, I suppose, it was.

Brand made distressed noises.

"He says it's waking up!" Andalon said.

A glade of trees in the middle of the third floor parted, revealing another fungal behemoth: a six-legged dome studded in spore-spewing smokestacks (sporestacks?) ringed around by thick, fang-riddled tentacles.

Fudge…

The behemoth swept its tendrils across the floor as it trundled toward us, bashing into the surrounding cars, crumpling chassis and shattering what little unbroken glass remained. Front hoods and frames collapsed beneath the behemoth's tremendous weight.

I turned to Andalon.

"Can I use my powers to block them?" I asked.

"No, you'll fall!"

Brand slithered forward.

"Brand, what are you doing!?"

"Mr. Genneth!" Andalon screamed.

The hounds had come around the corner. They were coming straight at me, running down the aisle.

Brand trumpeted.

"He says, 'get going!'"

"But—"

It was like Merritt all over again.

Brand trumpeted one last time, and then slithered toward the behemoth, streams of blue and gold blossoming around his claws.

He was gonna fight on my behalf.

This time, Andalon didn't provide a translation. She just floated there, tears trickling down her cheeks.

With a roar, the hounds opened their oral surfaces wide, straining the fringing tendrils.

I slowed time.

What did he say, Andalon?

She lowered her head. "You've helped me enough, Genneth. You've helped so many. Now… let me help you." She looked me in the eyes. "That's what he said."

Why are you crying? I thought-asked. Does Brand mean anything to you?

"I… I dunno," she said. "Why does it make me so sad, Mr. Genneth? Why?"

I spent a second figuring out what to say before I readied my flight cocoon and let time roll.

Assuming Brand would distract and/or obstruct any monsters coming my way, I'd need to hover around the back side of the third floor to get into the hospital.

Immediately, Brand lashed out with a fan of psychokinesis, one broad enough to hit both the hounds and the behemoth, blowing back the latter's tentacles as if by a great wind, while slamming the hounds into the adjacent jungle. One of the hounds split itself in two in an effort to doge. Both halves sprouted tendrils from their breakpoints, which they used to scramble toward me.

Beast and Queen, the fungus really was giving its all to try to get me—to get Andalon.

I had to keep her safe. I had to.

I yelled. "Brand!" I sped as fast as I could, letting my powers flow freely, zipping down the aisle.

Brand glanced at me.

I cried. "Next time," I said, "lunch is on me!"

Then, Dr. Nowston roared in acknowledgment and threw himself onto the behemoth.

Though the creature struggled mightily—thrashing, flailing—it failed to escape Brand's grip. Brand spread his arms over it, using his powers to rip it in half to increase the surface area available for his body to absorb it.

And now, he was going to grow into a monster because of it.

I shuddered to imagine what that must have been like for him.

I'd be a terrible friend if I didn't make that sacrifice fudging count for something.

I trained my gaze on the shattered double doors leading into the hospital's third basement level and then zoomed in.

I'm coming, Heggy, I thought. Just hold on…

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