The Newt and Demon-8.88 - Finale

Chapter 88

Finale

Written by Teef

Scrawled in what appears to be mud, blood, and charcoal

First year during the reforging of Iaredin

Accompanied by sketches, and a burned manuscript written by Theo Spencer

It is with a heavy heart that I regret to inform you that the manuscript, which I have titled ‘Theo Spencer’s mad ramblings and interesting leaf pressings,’ hasn’t survived the reforging. Seven notes remain complete, with those most interesting pinned to the previous manuscripts, which have been dutifully recorded by some scribe that looks like a turtle (I don’t know if he’s really a turtle, or if he just likes the shell, but who cares?) The purpose of my writing here is to detail some interesting facts that might not fit into the body of the other manuscripts. Tales, trials, tribulations… All that good stuff.

Hey, and maybe I’ll shed some light on what Mister Spencer was trying to say in his last note. Honestly, a lot of it was burned away, and what I could read seemed little more than the ravings of a mad demon. We’ll cover that nonsense first.

Theo had a habit of putting his thoughts into this little leather-bound notebook. His eighth note talked about a hopeful future, and how he was going to do his best to make sure he didn’t repeat his previous mistakes. HAH! I say again, HAH! The man is prone to quite a few things, chief amongst them repeating mistakes. The only thing the poor bastard has going for him is a bunch of people who are now stronger than him.

I’ll address the first part of his letter. Theo believes he’ll maintain some of his power to enforce order into the sector. Nothing could be further from the truth. The Throne Holders, Gods, Elementals, Dragons, and so on are now bound so tightly by system rules they couldn’t fart without getting approval. It took like 50 or 100 years for the local sector to spin back up, which isn’t surprising. Their local time barrier was gnarly, and the local system, which had established it, had done such a poor job that estimating time in centuries as a guess is as close as I can get to accuracy.

Amateurs, am I right?

The Throne Holders, Arbiter, Herald, Dreamer, Dreamwalker, are all now bound tightly to both their planets and their stations. Each has a job, and they’re expected to do it without messing around with the sector’s balance. BALANCE. That’s the most important thing around here now. With the Grand System’s power now influencing the area, they’re being rubbed raw by the amount of laws they have to follow. Damn… Maybe that’s where we’ll start? At the start.

Fine, that’s how we’re going to do this. Behold, as I work my amazing narrative prowess to force a turtle-man to write some stuff down. I’ll label each of these stories with a title, and give you a general idea of when it happened.

Okay, please note: some of these stories are different from the main-line stuff. I’m not censoring stuff like was done in the original 8 manuscripts, so there might be some naughty words and violence. Hey, I’m just warning you. Skip Elrin and Maria’s story if you don’t want to read the word “viscera.” Kay, thanks.

***

Iaredin before the merge, 50-some years after the Great War, Kingdom of Perisart, Southern District, noon.

One thing the elves of Perisart City were known for was their sturdy nature. Unlike Silvan Elves, which were known for their love of nature, the Kuzanite elves absolutely loved sturdy fortifications and the safety afforded by them. Fifty years ago, somewhere thereabouts anyway, a monster wave had swept across the world. No one spoke of the Parantine Empire much anymore, and for good reason. The same elves who loved their safe walls had refused to leave from behind them, failing to send those vital reinforcements.

Attributes:

Strength: 8

Dexterity: 23

Agility: 20

Toughness: 12

Endurance: 18

Mind: 5

Affinity: 10

Groaning, she fell back onto her bed. The sound filling her room was that of the fans on her computers. She had tasked her local Cluster to crunching numbers, searching for reports and generally maintaining the Earth-bound side of the Warriors of the Shard. Their messaging groups and boards had been the target of unfriendly eyes since the start of it.

As far as she knew, the only person who had their class outside of Iaredin was her. Only when the others delved through the Monoliths did they get access to their other bodies. But as she finally stood, rolling her shoulders and doing a quick hop, she realized that the screen wasn’t just a figment of her imagination. It was real. She had the class belonging to the rogue, and all the attributes and abilities that came with it.

Which would be a serious problem if those unrelenting eyes figured it out…

Shaking off indecision, Maria made her way to her workstation. It hummed to life, holographic screens flickering into existence. She urged the aging Cluster to display the status of her information network and grumbled, rerouting the existing system yet again. The feds grew closer by the day, and she didn’t know how much longer she’d be able to handle it.

A message chain flickered to life on her monitor.

[Command Chat]

[Mochi]: Got some chatter out of Concord. Looks like they found Cakes.

[Meya]: You mean his body? What happened?

[Mochi]: Nothing good. I don’t know who the hell gave the order, but his apartment was rigged.

[Meya]: …Rigged? Rigged to do what?

[Mochi]: Rigged to explode. They removed it, but there was a private chat. Some yahoo was teaching everyone how to make home-made explosives. He shouldn’t have even been in the group, but… Well, someone went looking for Cakes at his apartment. You know he was bed-bound before he gave up his body, so I don’t know how he did it. But half the building exploded.

[Meya]: Christ…

[Mochi]: That’s not it. Chris heard through the grapevine that we have at least three more instances of someone trapping old houses and apartments. The Org is furious and they’re ramping up.

Pushing away from her computer, Maria rubbed her face vigorously. Yeah, this wasn’t good. They didn’t really know who the “Org” was, but they knew they were looking for an answer concerning the Monoliths. A few months ago, giant pillars of black rock appeared around the world. If a person were to approach one, placing their hand on the surface, they were given an option. Assuming they were “worthy,” they person could give up their body and go to a new world. Or, they could become a Visitor. Maria was a visitor. People like Cakes had picked the permanent option. In his case, he had done so because he had been bed-bound since birth. She always wondered who wheeled him out to touch the monolith…

The place they had arrived at was a whole world. A real world, somewhere out there in the universe. The people there were living their lives before the entire world just reset overnight. The next day, the Monoliths had opened and the adventure of the Warriors of the Shard had begun. Three sharp knocks brought Maria out of her thoughts for only a moment. She ignored it, falling back into her thoughts.

Right now, on Iaredin, they were dealing with a real problem. The forces of the Shade were gathering, as far as they knew, and the nation of Perisart was preparing to defend. Well, the Warriors of the Shard were preparing, joined with other guilds in an attempt to defend the world. King Leon was being a lazy piece of shit and generally refused to help. Even if it was his nation that was the target of the first monster wave, he barely lifted a finger.

Maria’s thoughts went to Elrin without her command and she shook her head. One man wasn’t enough to turn the tide. She’d have to wrangle all the others to make this work. The knocks came from the door again and she grunted her disapproval, finally standing. She was in her underpants and a tank, but that hadn’t stopped her before.

Looking through the peephole, Maria frowned. The person on the other side was… what was the word? Abso-fucking-lutely gigantic. He wore a brown duster, his hands tucked into his coat pockets, and… That’s about all she could see. Instead of making herself known, her intent was to ignore the man.

When Maria turned from the door, she had expected to spend the rest of her day catching up with Earth life. The pain that flashed on the back of her head was immediate and immense. She tumbled to the ground, unsure what had happened before she was prone. Once her brain caught up with current events, she looked up to see the giant lumbering into her apartment, rail-shotgun dragging over to train on her.

“Ahmad,” the giant said, a growling grumble.

Maria’s mouth dropped open, blood trickling from her forehead. Her thoughts were cloudy, sluggish things that barely wanted to form the most simple of thoughts. The big dude’s finger pulled on the trigger.

Screw me, right?

“Do you know a man named Ahmad?” Giganto repeated. “Disappeared like all those other weirdos.”

Maria grumbled something, but no one could understand her. The golf ball-sized knot on her head was only expanding, and the spurts of blood were growing steady with the beat of her heart.

Giganto came over, straddling her and pressing the barrel of the shotgun to her forehead. The look in his eyes was something Maria couldn’t describe. The man was a killer, through and through. Deep down, she figured this might’ve been the way it ended. Her advanced attributes meant she could deal with a hit to the head, but the dude had swung the door open with such force that she couldn’t even recover. He eventually tilted his head, listening to the sound of her Cluster spinning up.

“Gotta move,” Giganto muttered. “Sorry, kid.”

Maria had experienced the sensation of magic before. There were a lot of different flavors. Some felt like an intense burning, others like a crisp night in winter. But this was completely foreign. If she had to describe it, she would say it was the unraveling of many things, like pulling the thread from a sweater until nothing was left. When the scrawny figure materialized before her, standing right behind Giganto with a finger over her lips, she could hardly believe it.

A young elven girl, maybe 8 years old, had just materialized in the real world. She had a mischievous look on her face and tip-toed close enough to Giganto so that he heard her. He whirled around, finger squeezing the trigger. The gaus effect of the shotgun spun up, but the elven girl was faster. She snatched him by the wrist, twisting until something in the poor guy’s forearm snapped.

Giganto wailed in pain while the elven girl tutted.

“Thread of Fate!” she shouted, doing a pose. “I can’t believe that actually worked… Oh, Meya! Is this Earth?”

Maria blinked away the haze clouding her eyes, forcing them open as she stared at the elf. She looked familiar… “Aline?!”

The elf flashed a smile, kicking Giganto in the side and removing the gun from hands. She snapped it in half as easily as breaking a twig before placing a foot on the man’s chest, preventing him from getting to his feet. “That’s right. Well, you can call me Fate.”

“How… How the hell are you here on Earth?”

“Simple! I followed the Threads of Fate.” Fate offered a sly wink. After a beat, she reached into Giganto’s coat and withdrew two hidden revolvers, a few knives, and a club. “This guy was going to blow your head off, not knowing you had nothing to do with Cakes.”

“Cakes?” Giganto asked, recognition flashing in his eyes. “Where is Ahmad.”

“Wow. He should really be down and out with that broken arm.” Fate leaned down, sniffing the man before pinching her nose. “Ugh…” She turned to Maria and sniffed again. “When was the last time either of you showered?”

“Can you get me some ice from the freezer?” Maria groaned, pushing herself to a seated position.

“From the what?”

Maria felt her attributes going to work on her body. Her latent Health Regeneration was patching her forehead, far faster than any Earth human could do. Giganto might’ve hit her hard, but she was well on the road to recovery. Steady enough to walk, she grabbed a bag of peas from the freezer and placed them on her head. She then turned her attention to the downed man. The pain spreading through her head abated slightly, but still remained as a throb that radiated with every beat of her heart.

“So you came to stop him from capping me?” Maria couldn’t help but laugh. If things hadn’t been messed up already, they were quickly swerving into the territory of the insane.

“And to do more.” Fate knelt by Giganto, tilting her head as she looked at him. “Are you going to be a good boy, Jan? Your nephew, Ahmad, is gone to the other world. I can help you get there, but there’s a price to pay.”

Giganto, his real name apparently Jan, pulled his lips into a tight line. “Maybe. What’s your price?”

From nowhere, Fate withdrew a small orb of light. It shimmered with obvious magical potential and she lowered it to Jan’s arm. He winced as an audible snapping sound filled the room. A moment later, he was flexing his arm, a look of disbelief washing across his features.

“Now you have my attention.” Jan tested his arm, but his eyes lingered on the guns Fate now held hostage.

“The mission is simple: We’re going to check out a housing complex. We’re looking for a book!”

“Muras’ Grimoire?” Jan asked.

Fate cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, that wasn’t in the Threads… Anyway, yes. We’re going on a road trip!”

“Wait, what does some book have to do with this?” Maria asked.

Fate scoffed. “Literally everything. Someone on Earth is responsible for the connection between our two worlds. And it all starts with that book.”

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Jan rose to his feet, holding his hand out. Eventually, Fate returned his guns. Maria thought she was about to get shot, but the big man just turned, stopping at the ruined door. He looked back. “What are you two waiting for? We’re taking a road trip, apparently.”

“Apparently,” Maria muttered, reluctantly following behind with the peas still pressed to her forehead.

***

Somewhere in Calet, first year after the Merge

Snow drifted through the air, alighting on the ground here and there. Snow had drifted through this region for ages. Since the first elves came free from the forests, since the maeth broke free from tribal groups, since the great vulbet empires fell in the south, the snow had fallen. And over those fields, the people who broke the endless line of snow were the destitute.

A group of bandits had once taken refuge in a sparse tundra, establishing a snowy fort that had lasted twenty years. Orcs, despite their desire for warm climates, had traveled from the passage leading from Calet to Perisart. When that was blocked, or otherwise well-defended, they would take the strait.

Silvain ruminated on these things, resting himself, prone on the ground. He reached up, amused one a single snowflake fell into his opened palm.

Kuzan, the progenitor of the kuzanite elves, had emerged from the forests ages ago. Instead of settling his sights on the warmer lands to the south, he had settled in the temperate forest. The winters were cold, snow driving from the frigid north. Silvain choked for a moment, wiping his mouth as his vision blurred.

“I wouldn’t assume you’d understand.” Despite the fact that he was on his back, Silvain thrust his shoulders back and his chest out. The act was painful. “Would an explanation help ease your mind, nephew?”

Emerging from the wall of whipping snow, Prince Armel stepped forward, sword and shield readied. Behind him walked Elrin Manastream, his massive Black Jungle Cat padding atop the snowdrifts. Of course they would never understood what he had done. But with how red the prince’s eyes were, and the streaks that had been cut through the blood and dirt on his face. Before anyone could act, a sword swept through the air. The flat of Armel’s cold sword rested against Silvain’s throat.

“Why? Why did you destroy the gate? Why did you help him?”

Silvain laughed, falling into a coughing fit. He wiped the blood from his lips, his body going slack as he watched the falling snow. “I said you wouldn’t understand, prince. And I am sorry for what is about to happen to Whisperwood, Manastream.”

“What’s going to happen?” Elrin stepped forward. He was a proud descendant from Kuzan, like most of the royal family. But his home had been Whisperwood, rather than ancestral Perisart.

“I figured it out. It comes down to a matter of energy.” Silvain coughed some more, barely able to hold onto consciousness. “Perisart had to fall.”

“You’re insane!” Armel shouted, switching from the flat of his sword to the blade. A trickle of blood ran down his uncle’s throat, but he didn’t feel it.

The cold helped preserve the snowflake in Silvain’s hand. That and his lowering body temperature helped preserve it. But all things melted. All things faded as the blood drained. No amount of attribute could help him, not with the gaping hole in his chest. With the snow below him stained crimson and the blade of his nephew digging into his flesh, Silvain knew what this was.

Oblivion.

“If Perisart had lost the first round…” Silvain choked, pinching his eyes shut. A cold tear ran down his cheek. “Hallben would’ve won.”

“Hallben did win, you fool!” Armel shouted, his sword digging.

“It didn’t.” Elrin approached, halberd gripped tightly in his hand. “Silvain turned the tide at the end. He used some authority from the Shade…”

“What?” Armel asked, turning to look at Elrin in confusion. “No, that’s not…”

“Fuck.” Elrin gripped his weapon tighter. The wooden haft groaned under his strength. “Damn it! The five assaults… They’re going to get stronger, aren’t they? If we lost the first one, the system would’ve given the Shade less power.”

“Exactly…” Silvain trailed off. “I tried… to tell you… but…”

Heartbeat fading like the snowflake in his hand, Silvain’s eyes viewed the snow for the last time. His thoughts were of his ancestor. He couldn’t get what the system had done to them all out of his mind.

Silvain Batteux, brother of Leon Batteux, traitor to the crown of Perisart, bled to death for his kingdom in the snow. When the darkness took him, Death’s Gate awaited him…

“Welcome, Silvain,” Death said, rubbing his hands together. “We have work to do.”

“Brother,” Silvain growled.

***

Iaredin, outside of Whisperwood, The Siege of Whisperwood

The broad savannahs of Whisperwood were filled with the wails of those who had not fallen. Elrin tightened his grip on his halberd, the tiger at his side growling. He watched as the trees of his homeland burned, the smoke rising high into the sky. Meticulous planning, months of training, and otherworldly technology that should’ve turned the tide and… they had failed. Kuzan’s forces had rolled over the poorly defended town as though it wasn’t even there.

“Elrin…” The voice coming from behind wasn’t nearly as calming as it normally was. Meya stood there, her well-laid plans crashed to the ground thanks to the Grand Hierophant. “We did everything we could. If Beryl had just listened.”

Elrin clenched his jaw, trying to bite back everything he wanted to say. The Shade now had one food on Earth, and the other firmly planted on the throat of Vesta. There was no way the Archduke would work with them. Things were falling apart fast.

“I’ve got this.” Meya’s voice cut through the haze. “Don’t worry about the strategy. I’ve got that handled.”

Honeyed words wouldn’t stop the rage he felt. The stupidity of the nations had been a thorn in their side from the start, and things weren’t looking better. Then there was the information from Earth. The authorities there were meddling with their operation and…

Elrin’s line of thought stopped dead. Something rippled in the edge of his consciousness. The crystal in his inventory buzzed, but it wasn’t the familiar buzz of alert. None of those burning feelings had vanished. If anything, the flames had been fanned and the Shards responded. He turned away from Meya, eyes settling on the middle distance. The Shard guided him to something distant, and he stepped forward.

A glowing portal appeared where he stepped. The next step he took was onto an open field in the dead of night. He didn’t know how he knew where to go, and he didn’t care. Before him was a smooth stone structure, bordered by a metal gate topped with point-tipped wire. A sweep of his halberd saw that metal structure destroyed. Both Meya and Trevor stalked after him, the rogue much more timid to what was to happen.

“This shouldn’t be possible!” Meya shout-whispered, coming alongside Elrin. “This is… Earth. How does that even work. Is my body…”

Meya went silent as Elrin turned to her, his eyes gleaming blue. Whatever fear struck her was enough for his satisfaction and he lumbered forward, the head of his weapon dragging along the ground. It caught on the smoothed stone of the courtyard area, sparks flitting from the ravenous Darksteel. He had heard too much from Meya. Too much of her stories concerning what her people had done to the Earth-bound Warriors of the Shard. Why his system followed him into a systemless world was beyond him, and he didn’t care.

Elrin’s eyes searched the sides of the stone structure, finding a spot where a metal door sat on a frame. Meya said something as he approached, his sleek midnight-black tiger, Trevor, moving into position. Rearing back, the hunter could almost smell the prey inside. Something beeped above him, a horn blaring somewhere in the distance. Putting his full weight, and the accompanying weight of his attributes, into a kick, the door blasted off its hinges, crumpling the metal frame.

Calls of pain echoed from inside the vast structure and the hunters surged inward. Elrin took the hall straight ahead while Trevor searched the adjoining passages. The interior was a confusing arrangement of impossibly smooth stone and some magic-driven lanterns on the wall. Meya had explained what they were, but he couldn’t care. A name echoed through his mind as though Trevor repeated the phrase over and over with his animalistic instincts.

Mochi. Find Mochi. Kill. Rip. Tear.

The tiger’s powerful claws found prey in the various tunnels. Elrin found nothing as he pushed through the halls, removing doors from hinges. They grew thicker the deeper the group went, and all Meya could do was stammer behind him and avert her eyes from the mayhem. When things happened on Iaredin, she didn’t bat an eye. But here, on her home world of Earth, it was different.

He thought less of her at that moment.

One last, massive door fell to the power of his kick, bowing inward with the first strike before eventually breaking at the hinges. Elrin rushed forward, barely dragging his halberd through the ruined entrance. Within was a vast room with flickering images mounted on the far wall. Several human men stood, wearing strange armor and holding the guns he had heard so much about. Even as the bullets ripped from the muzzles, shredding the air and the surrounding stone, the hunter didn’t pause his ominous approach.

“I tried to make those.” Elrin chuckled sardonically, another bullet tearing through the air. It impacted his leather and chain armor, not even penetrating the magically enchanted item. “The system rejected it.”

The men, Elrin counted 5, didn’t even think to turn their weapons on Mochi… Or whoever Mochi was in this world. The woman, middle-aged and beaten to hell, was slumped in a chair on the far side of the room. A lump formed in the hunter’s throat as ideas of torture, maiming, and worse entered his mind. As Trevor stalked around to the left, slipping down stairs and preparing to pounce, he realized the beast had the same idea.

“Elrin, don’t!” Meya shouted, promptly ignored.

“We call them muskets in my world. Single-shot things.” Elrin stowed his halberd in his inventory, withdrawing instead his single-shot rifle that had served him so well. Forged from Darksteel for the barrel, and Fairy Apple Wood on the stock, it shot rounds that could blow holes through a hydra. “What you worms are experiencing is something we discovered a long time ago. You’re using unranked weapons against someone like me.”

Trevor growled, voicing his own annoyance with the situation.

Elrin leveled his musket at the closest target.

“We can’t just waste people from the Org.”

“Why not?” Elrin asked. “That one shit himself anyway.”

“They’re going to—”

Meya’s words were drowned out by the bark of Elrin’s musket. Time slowed for him as he watched the other 4 reel in surprise. The sound was enough to damage their hearing. As unclassed people, what happened next must’ve really been unpleasant.

Elrin drew the slender sword from his belt, ducking under the railing and slipping forward. The first man, whose head was currently expanding like a smashed melon, still gripped his weapon. The hunter’s sword met his prey when Trevor’s claws found the throat of the man with the least armor. From the perception of someone without a class, especially against a class that had been enhanced by so much, the slaughter took place over two seconds.

By the end, the vast room was painted red.

“Elrin…”

“You don’t fuck with my people.” Elrin returned his dripping sword to his inventory, kneeling to aid Mochi. A potion appeared in his hand and he tipped it down her throat, watching as the many bruises and lacerations reverted to pristine condition in a flash of light. She didn’t hesitate, after her bonds were cut, to wrap her arms around him. The hunter turned to give Meya a disapproving look. He turned his nose to the wind… which is to say, he withdrew the Shard from his inventory and squeezed it tightly. It pointed in a direction and he nodded to Meya. “We’ll find the rest of them. Get her back to Iaredin.”

“How?!” Meya threw her hands up.

“Funny how things are so easy for you in my world.” Elrin pushed past Meya. He paused, releasing a heavy sigh. “I’m not mad at you for the failure at Whisperwood. They were doomed from the start. I’m mad because you don’t think this is worth doing.”

“Elrin…”

Trevor released a growl, cutting her short.

“I don’t blame you. For manipulating me, or for my home. Leave the Org to me.”

Meya and Mochi watched as Elrin vanished. She bit the inside of her cheek, and if not for her enhanced attributes, she would’ve drawn blood. Things were fucked. The plan was completely fucked. Vesta would fall, and then Earth was next.

“Screw you, Meya.” Mochi shoved Meya. Half-playful, half-serious. “You wanna keep a leash on a dog like that? Good luck. They took Chris, Meya. My Chris. I hope he does the same to any other Org bastard he finds.”

Meya looked at the carnage around her. It wasn’t that she didn’t want Elrin to get the captured Warriors back. There were just too many unknowns. How did they keep the Warriors from shifting between worlds? The answer was simple: they knew something about the magic that coursed through her veins.

They knew Muras’s Ancient Magic.

***

The Timeless Realm, Throne of the Primal God of Time, who knows (time doesn’t matter here)

Mark had already watched this event. He itched the stump of his leg where it connected with his artificial limb. Becoming a Space-Time Mage had been the most interesting thing that had happened to the goblin. From the time he was living in New Jersey, to the time he had been reincarnated as a goblin, to the time he had learned to teleport. Nothing had been as interesting as the time the universe had been opened up to him.

“Focus, please.” Lutia, her mantis-like face looking back at him with an annoyed expression.

This was one of their many sessions where they reviewed the timeline, ensuring everything was all good. Typically, they did so when someone was trying to screw with time in one way or another. Mark leaned forward in his chair, eyes locked on the projected image of a proposed timeline. The room he found himself in was comfy, with a small fireplace against a plaster wall. Lutia liked the simple, homey appearance of this iteration.

“Where’s this guy coming from?” Mark asked, watching as untold runes and sigils unfurled on the screen. It was the ‘code’ of the timeline, and just about the most important language if you wanted to hunt down future time mages and kill them dead.

“A year from the current time.” Lutia released an annoyed sigh. “Seems as though we have another Time Mage.”

“Huzzah. Nothing I like more than murdering babies… But, why is he going back to the merge?”

“Trying to stop it, most likely. Which would undo a lot of our work.” Lutia’s hand passed through the air, displaying the two distinct phases that represented the entire universe. Separating them was the River. “There. That’s when I split your version with the other.”

Mark grumbled, watching as the future unfolded. They couldn’t see the future. Not exactly, anyway. But they could see projections of what the future might be based on new information. In this case, there was a mage in a distant world that had just grasped the basics of Time Magic. This was usually just the concept of Time Magic, and the person just wrapping their head around it. Some rogue Time Mages could pop up, but were typically too weak to affect the timeline. This guy was an exception.

“I’ve set your destination. Please confirm he doesn’t show up.”

“Where? And when?” Mark scratched leg. It was far too sore today for him to go alone, so he planned to take his familiar along for the ride.

“Earth, just before they agreed to the Merge.”

With a labored sigh, Mark stood. He took a few tentative steps. Lutia gave him a look and he rolled his eyes. No matter how much time passed, he refused to get it fixed. Some things were best left as a reminder.

A lumbering bookshelf with a claw-foot design, clear glass windows on the front that displayed flaming eyes, and a pair of shadowy arms came lumbering in. Tan didn’t need to be told where they were going or why they were going there. It hardly mattered. Instead, the goblin waved his hand to summon a Time-infused portal. Before heading inside, he cast potent spells that shielded him from sight, sound, smell, taste… the ward was powerful enough that they wouldn’t disturb a single atom on the far side of the portal.

“I do wish we could go somewhere else. How many times have we seen the Battle of Boston?” Tan was as grumpy as ever. They had just spent a decent amount of time heading back in time to help some poor druid. This crazed raccoon had almost screwed up the entire sector, and the effects on time weren’t favorable.

The moment Tan and Mark stepped through the portal, they appeared in chaos. Boston was on fire and that was a generous statement. Monsters flooded through the streets, doing battle with the Warriors of the Shard, and generally just murdering civilians. A dungeon break was one thing, but this was a planet break. One of the worst ever recorded between two universes. Mark sighed as he pressed forward, watching as a group of fighters simply passed through him and Tan.

“Are you taking the readings this time?” Mark asked.

“I suppose so…”

“Ah, man. Look at what they’re doing to Boston…” Mark sighed, gesturing to the state of things. It wasn’t good.

“You hate Boston. You told me multiple times, ‘The only good thing in Boston is the exit.’”

“Yeah, but… the history.” Mark shrugged.

Watching the Battle of Boston again was pretty painful. The issue was that Mark’s version of Earth, and this version were so different. Lutia called them the “good” and “bad” versions of Earth. She had assured him multiple times that there were only two versions. And mostly, he believed her. He had after all watched the two timelines closely. On his Earth, they had an apocalypse. Here, they get merged with another world. The result is very messy, and in about 300 years the entire planet would be destroyed. On the other end, the world they were merging with came out alive and healthy. It was actually a really good thing for Iaredin’s sector, but a real crappy thing for Earth… Since… ya know… it was annihilated by the sun.

“There the rascal is.” Tan’s comforting voice came to batter away the constant blur of combat. “Over by the river.”

Mark sighed, rolling up his sleeves and marching forward. Those around him couldn’t see him. There were likely none powerful enough to even perceive him. It didn’t take them long to find the entity. Standing near the river, buck-ass-naked and glowing with ribbons of energy was the First. This was the shaven head version.

“Is it the first time, or…”

“We’re at number 500-something at this point.” Mark approached, leaning against the railing. It was too high for him to peer over the edge, but he could do a casual lean.

“How many times have you removed me from this one?” The First’s voice held no emotion. He was so lost in time he was unlikely to know anything that was going on and there was certainly no way he’d remember a previous encounter.

“Second time.”

“Ah. I see.”

Gazing off into nothing, the First reserved himself to his fate. Mark had always hated encountering the entity. Lutia didn’t have a good solution for it, as she couldn’t figure out when it had been “born.” He just chalked it up as another annoying thing about being able to change time. The entity likely had more to say, but with a wave of his hand, the time-traveling goblin did away with him.

“Should we stick around?” Tan asked.

Mark considered the question for a moment. Sticking around sounded fun. At least he could see Earth again. That was always fun.

“Yeah, I wanna see them get the dog again.”

“Ah, yes. That is also my favorite part.”

The goblin and his living piece of furniture headed off, intent on seeing one of the more spectacular events that had occurred on Earth before it had been destroyed.

***

The outskirts of Boston. Or, what’s left of it, 2035

“Look what I made!”

The Battle for Boston had rolled on far too long, and could now be called The Battle for the Immediate Area Outside of Boston. But that didn’t roll off the tongue very well, did it? Zeal, who sometimes took after his name, had created something amazing. Amazing in his mind, anyway. He had cast off his mortal form, assuming the 7 foot tall vulbet form and all the muscles that came with that. His companion, Solace, had the much shorter 3-foot-nothing figure of a maeth.

The squirming chihuahua in the big man’s arms tried to turn and bite him, but missed.

“Put that poor creature down. Wait, did you duct tape a knife to it?”

Zeal held the dog aloft. “Yeah! I have a plan!”

Impossible as it was to figure out what Zeal’s plans were, Solace had to accept that she’d never get to the bottom of it. Instead,s he sighed and moved on with her life. It was best not to ponder the thoughts that bounced around in the man’s head.

“Come on, Biscuit.” Zeal gave Solace a knowing look. “I named her Biscuit.”

Zeal pranced off, stabbing the dog into oncoming orcs with abandon. It was truly a deranged time to be alive.

***

… About three weeks later, twenty miles north.

A fireball whipped across an open field, slamming a bird-creature in the chest. It released a strangled yelp, tumbling over backwards as it died. Zeal hooted with excitement, the dog he had changed the name of yipping. It looked back at him, both eyes looking in opposite directions as its tongue lolled out.

“You got a face only a mother could love.” Zeal scooped the dog up, giving it a good amount of kisses.

“I can’t believe you taught that thing magic…” Solace was always nearby. Always judging.

“She learned on her own!” Zeal held the dog up, parading her around. “Because she’s a precious little baby.”

The mood dropped almost right away. Clearing the monster out, and all the dungeons they were depositing, had been a real pain in the ass. The Warriors of the Shard were used to quick defensive actions, or hit-and-run tactics. The way things had gone on Earth had seen many of their soldiers dead. Yet somehow, under Meya’s guidance, they had pushed forward. She marched across the field, hands on her hips as she cast admonishing looks at both Zeal and Solace.

“What did you do to that poor dog?”

“I’m pretty sure she has a system.” Zeal presented the animal for Meya to see. At least they didn’t have a knife taped to her anymore. “Which means she’s one of us.”

Meya stared at the dog for a while before shrugging. “Whatever. I guess. I got word that some mediator is coming to talk with us. I need everyone front and center. If they’re going to kill us, I’d rather have it done at once.”

“How encouraging,” Solace grumbled.

“Oh, it won’t be that bad.” Zeal nudged her with his leg. “Everything will work out on its own. I promise. What? Nevermind the giant red eye.”

***

Sorry, jumping in here as the narrator. Teef again. Remember the person who introduced this whole thing? That’s me. Yeah, yeah. I’m aware you’re reading this. You specifically, John. That’s only gonna work for a few of you…

The point of putting all these stories together is to give an understanding of what happened before. Because from the moment the Warriors of the Shard made the pact with the weird bird entity, things went downhill. Nothing interesting happened from this point for another 300-something years. The universe keeps churning.

Here’s the short version of events: Earth blew up. You met Theo in Book 1, and the end of this book is when the time-barrier-thing dropped around his sector. Now, the sector is filled with fun tales to tell. We’ve got a guy with a pen. We got a dude with some slimes. No matter where you look, we've got a guy with something!

With that, I’ll leave you with one more story. This one comes from the perspective of something that doesn’t really have linear thought, so I’m doing a lot of interpretation here. Basically, assume I’ve made up about 90% of what follows. I commit this last story to the last pages of the Newt and Demon hoping someone enjoyed it. Thanks for reading.

***

Actually nowhere and everywhere at the same time, depending on how you look at it.

The universe is, as one might imagine, unforgiving. Me and my kin were driven into existence by the split of the universe, an action guarding one half from the other. Should our mission fail, ours will burn. This has given us great clarity, unlike the denizens we try to protect. They seem determined to immolate themselves as soon as possible, even given a second chance.

The sector I guard, the very one my predecessor failed, progressed better than I had expected. Promises of a grand plan felt empty. Ideation of any kind seemed unproductive when the inmates were running the prison. Yet somehow, they pulled themselves from the mud and forged something anew. For now, I depart this sector for other worlds. They are more distant places with bigger problems.

I find it hard to care about any of them. Yet their struggle is still important to me. I don’t know why.

Watching as the sector vanishes behind me, I can’t help but think about the forces outside. Pressure tends to build in these situations. Those inside the sector have plans. Big visions for what they could be. A part of me, in a certain way thanks to my biology, is now dead inside there. I’ll never get that part back, and the purpose of my existence is to leave it there. Perhaps it is too selfish of me, but I want to bring that part wherever I go. No matter how painful it was to end, that version of me had meaning.

Passing through the River, I find myself content. Perhaps not exactly happy, but content enough to know the sector I nurtured came through the other side. Perhaps it isn’t the best. But there are still more stories to be told within. One day, the tales of those willing to fix the sector, perhaps little by little, will be told.

For now, my thoughts are in the universe. Scattered like the untold millions of the dead and the yet-to-be-told millions of the living.

Souls are strong like that.