US Trophy Hunters Division

The Trophy Hunters are a clandestine unit composed of members from various Spec Ops groups across the military, run under the CIA 'Special Activities Center' heading. They are a series of blurred lines and grey areas, crossing military branches, occasionally recruiting civilian experts, run by the military but technically under the CIA's control, hunting monsters that don't officially exist. There are only usually 300 people with the tag "Trophy Hunter" in their file at any given time, making the Division one of the smallest and most rarified groups the US can field. The Division uses its own ranking system, since the members come from various branches with various rank structures.

Commander Vancina is the officer in charge of the whole Division. He accepts and directs missions and is in charge of final decisions. He also enjoys a personal hand in recruiting.

The Division splits into 3 Companies, Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie Companies. Each company is 100 men, with the Captain being the 100th man.

The Division recruits from CIA SAC, USMC Force Recon, USMC Scout Snipers, USAF 427th, USAF Non-Standard Aviation, USAF SpecOps Low-Level II, USN Seals (including Seal Team 6), USN Special Warfare Combatant-craft Crewmen (or Special Boat Teams), USA Rangers (including Delta Force), USA Green Berets, USA Civil Affairs, and USA PSYOPS. With 12 major Special Operations groups recruiting into a Division of only 300, there is quite a diverse array in operators. However, the requirements to become a member of the Division are incredibly steep, limiting candidates.

The Trophy Hunters are monster hunters, although some of the more particular men prefer the term 'Cryptid Containment'. These monsters are often the subject of myth and legend, and are deliberately kept that way by governments and people in power. But they certainly exist. And they're certainly deadly. The Trophy Hunters were formed as a response to these monsters, and have been engaged in counter-cryptid operations for a long time.

They've been deployed along the Pacific Rim to fight Kaiju.

They've been deployed in North America and Asia to contain rampaging Sasquatches and Yetis.

They've been deployed in the Atlantic to take down various forms of Kraken.

They've been deployed around the world to combat werewolves, vampires, shapeshifters, minotaurs, the Loch Ness monster, wendigos, the Jersey Devil, wampus cats, chupacabras, and many of the other horror stories mothers tell to scare their children.

The Trophy Hunters have protected the civilized world from all of these threats, as well as the panic that would rise if the average person knew of the existence of monsters and aliens.

Members of the Division are sworn to an extreme level of secrecy. They are all men who have gone on black ops and been labeled 'MIA' or 'KIA'. They have gone through a similar process to the Witness Protection Program, and have had their identities changed. All of the men recruited have therefore been selected because of their lack of family ties and responsibilities back home. They cannot form long term relationships before the age of 45, when they're up for retirement, and they are on call at any and all times to respond to threats. According to the US government, as well as any family and friends they may have, their old identities are dead, killed in action, or missing in a combat zone. This has lead to the Division being referred to as the Revenants, ghosts of their former selves.

The Revenants form a sort of family amongst themselves, since they are the only ones who know the truth about each other. Teams are very close, officers wind up acting as father figures, and funerals are usually held only among the division.

This is where we find Ronnie Vale.
…..

Ronnie cursed internally as the deer took off into the woods. He'd been about to hit it with a railgun round, but something had spooked it as he'd been settling into position. The traps were all clear still, he'd checked, but his second objective for the patrol was still incomplete.

Dinner.

The local deer had been more skittish recently, as if they'd finally gotten wind of the Blue Blood living amongst them. Ronnie shook his head as he settled back against the tree roots he was camouflaged in. The monster had been there for a while now, but the wildlife were just now showing signs of duress.

Or maybe it was whatever he'd seen last week.

Ronnie had reported it to Sergeant Evans, who had run it up the chain of command, but the other scouts and all the sensor arrays had reported nothing so… they had chalked it up to the stress of his first mission. But Ronnie knew what he'd seen.

And if the wildlife had seen his mysterious xeno, maybe that explained the sudden skittishness.

He had the oddest sense of… of not being alone, as he sat there. The Russian woods gave him the creeps. Being out here, where Division history told him they'd once hunted down Baba Yaga, just reminded him that there was so much they didn't know.

The unknown had scared him, ever since… the Incident. But becoming a Revenant?

This was his way to fight back against the unknown.

He squared his shoulders, trying to clear the feeling of being watched from his spine, and stood up. That deer had scared any other wildlife away with its mad dash into the woods. Maybe he'd have better luck at Rally B.

He hit the coms button on the inside of his gloves. "Corporal Vale here, moving from Snare 6 to Rally Point B, still executing Operation Dinner."

He heard the coms tech snicker. "Roger, Corporal, logs updated. Proceed with Operation Dinner, and good luck, Vale."

Ronnie smiled to himself as the tech broke protocol to crack a joke. Operation Dinner was a very serious affair. Food was important, no laughing manner.

He took a step, and the feeling of you're not alone suddenly increased.

The Division had recruited him because he had good instincts. When Charlie Company had deployed to Russia to contain this cryptid, he'd been told to trust his instincts. So he froze.

Because those instincts were screaming right now.

Ronnie scanned the area, tightening his grip on the railgun. He didn't move, but his senses were on high alert. He squeezed down on the thumb pad in his glove, and his helmet visor turned to ENVG, throwing up thermal imaging and light contours. Nothing was showing up though. He squeezed the other thumbpad and his Peltors cranked up, his hearing enhanced to the point he could hear the shifts in the air current.

There. A rustling in the trees. He snapped his head in the direction of the offending tree but still saw nothing in the foliage. There was a weird… Something between 2 trees, and the other tree shook slightly, but Ronnie couldn't tell what was there. Whatever it was, it was moving away, and Ronnie swallowed hard before keying his coms.

"C1E2, Vale here, I've got an unidentified contact heading towards Civilian Checkpoint 2. Tailing, please advise."

"Copy, Corporal, tail but keep your distance. I'll connect you to Ensign Davis."

"Roger." Ronnie heard another rustling and moved forward, his railgun at his shoulder. He moved to the first tree and saw nothing out of order, but as he was moving to the next one, he saw the same Something between two trees much further ahead. It was like a strange bending of the light between the trees, in a big shape. Too big for how little the tree rustled. Ronnie crouched and tagged the spot on his GPS output, so that Command could find him if he went down. He then moved quickly across the forest ground, following the rustlings. Suddenly, they stopped. He didn't see anymore light bending just then, and was about to move to the next tree, when his ENVG lit up with thermal signature. He swore in his head as a realized it was one of the local Voloshkan farmers. The Russian nationals hadn't responded too well to their livestock being killed and a whole group of heavily armed, futuristic black ops operatives moving into the woods. The Civilian Checkpoints kept track of how many Voloshkans went into the woods, and clearly, this guy had come looking to kill something. He had a shotgun and appeared to be wearing something similar to camo or light body armor or… something.

There was a thud, a soft noise but incredibly loud on Ronnie's Peltors. The farmer was near a spot where the light suddenly bent again, and he gasped before firing the shotgun several times. The Peltors muted the sound of the gun, but now Ronnie could see the farmer scrambling backwards from something. He turned off the ENVG and pulled his railgun up, prepping to run in, when the light stopped bending.

And morphed into something hideous.

Easily 7' tall. Bipedal humanoid. Bodybuilder muscular. Mostly green. Thick dreadlocks. Functional cloaking. Bristling with weaponry. Covered in armor.

And already decapitating the farmer.

Ronnie froze as he remembered he had no backup in the area at all. His coms clicked softly, and relief flooded him. Command was watching and had seen what he was seeing.

The massive creature picked up the farmer and looked around. Ronnie instinctively started to duck but managed to keep from moving at all. He knew if the creature had any kind of sensor it would see him, but he could hope in the middle of battle it wasn't paying close attention.

It strung up the farmer from the nearest tree.

Ronnie watched every gristly second, knowing if he looked away, command wouldn't have the video logs to analyze. He tracked its movement, did his best to get trees in the shot to show scale, and occasionally zoomed in on things he thought were important. Wrist blades, for instance. What looked like quills. The face, which might be armor.

And then it just… cloaked. The light bent and it was gone, except for the rustling of a nearby tree.

Ronnie waited a decent length of time, listening as the rustling moved farther off, before turning and sprinting back towards HQ. He wasn't a runner but the adrenaline made him soar. The critter didn't chase him down and kill him, so that was good.

At least Command knew he wasn't crazy now. Something else was out here.

And it might be out of their league.
…..

Ronnie ran up to the picket line, trying to calm his racing heart. The pickets had no mercy.

"Hold!" A round bit the tree behind him, whizzing up over his head. "Identify yourself."

He hit the brakes, sliding slightly in the dirt. "Corporal Vale, Revenant, stand down! Tim, it's me."

Corporal Tim Garcia stepped forward. He was completely blended into the bark of the tree he was standing against, and the effect was like seeing the trunk split. Ronnie flinched slightly as the 6'9" ex-Ranger revealed himself, much nearer than Ronnie had expected.

"Vale, what on earth are you doing sprinting up on my picket position?" The big man kept his gun pointed over Ronnie's shoulder, obviously expecting some attack.

"Tim, we're not under attack, it's just…" Ronnie swallowed as he tried to figure out some other answer than the truth. Tim cocked his head to the side, waiting for a response, so Ronnie sighed and spit it out. "I was running scared."

Corporal Garcia nodded. "Hey, everybody gets spooked their first mission." He turned his head again, listening to his coms, before gesturing at Ronnie. "Command wants you inside, Vale. Better keep running. I'll let the sentries know you're coming."

Ronnie nodded and jogged towards camp. He glanced back and Tim was gone, melting back into the tree. It reminded Ronnie of how the critter had just… disappeared, and he shuddered.

By the time he got into camp, all of senior leadership and the analysts were examining his footage. The sentries had waved him through, and he was being directed toward Captain Allen's mobile bunker- "The Tent" as the men called it.

When he stepped inside, he could see the footage he'd captured thrown up on several screens. The various analysts were working on getting measurements against background elements, tracking movement speed, checking footfall impacts to determine weight, and checking the critter against the Division's database. The database held info on all of the creatures and cryptids the Trophy Hunters had been called on to contain, as well as worldwide rumors.

"Corporal Vale!" Ronnie looked up to see Lieutenant Ramos beckoning him over. "Join us."

The officers were around a holo-table, essentially a big touchscreen, with a map of the area wide open. As Ronnie glanced at it, he could see his GPS pings marked where he'd dropped them, as well as the various rally points, civilian checkpoints, snares, known contacts, and the picket circle.

Lt. Jameson laid a hand on his shoulder. "You good, Revenant?"

Ronnie nodded, the collective name reminding him who he was. "Yes sir."

"Good." Captain Allen himself piped up from head of the table. "I've been briefed on your recent report. Do you think this is the same creature, Corporal?"

Ronnie swallowed and nodded. "Yes, sir, I believe it's the right dimensions for the ship I saw."

Allen grunted. "Remind us why we didn't believe you?"

Ronnie was a little confused by the question, but responded anyway. "Sir… I'm brand new. Fresh out of the grave, and I didn't have my ENVG on, so there was no footage. Others heard the noises but they could be explained by other things, and we already have one critter out in these woods, so the likelihood of a second is statistically low."

Allen had a serious look on his face. "Valid reasons. But you got your proof." He stood up and beckoned one of the analysts over. "How long were you tailing this monstrosity?"

Ronnie spent the next half hour detailing his snare trip.
…..

"All units, copy by click, repeat, copy by click, proceed."

The mass communications went out, sounding in every helmet. Every Revenant either clicked with their glove controls, or verbally clicked. The entire 100 headcount came up as present, and the coms tech nodded.

"This is Captain Allen, keep your coms lines open for a moment, but maintain radio silence. This mass com is to let you all know that there's a 5th element in these woods. Target, Revenants, civilians, wildlife, and now a potential second target. We'll refer to this element as "Critter" for now, till we have a better lock."

Every helmet received a visual of the creature Ronnie had seen, spinning in the corner of their visor.

"Critter is clearly sapient, and has proved hostile to humans, but only upon provocation. Critter possesses advanced cloaking, much superior to what we're able to field. Weaponry is untested at this point, other than blades from the arms, but as always, men, assume if we have a weapon, they have a counter. We've got microwave rifles, they might thrive on microwaves. We have plasma ejecting rounds, they may be fireproof. Do not attempt to fire on this creature without mission approval. The Critter has shown a preference for arboreal travel, so stay out of the branches."

A scheduling table popped up, with some sections highlighted. "Also, some of our snares have been tampered with, and it is believed this Critter may be behind that as well. The new snare check schedule is here, as well as moving our pickets to 2 hour shifts rather than 4. Stay alert, do not let your guard down, and remember that this Critter is not our target. If an opportunity comes where we need to prioritize, always bump the target to the top of your personal hit list. The Blue Blood is still our main mission objective."

A map location popped up, the GPS ping blinking. "Last point. Retrieval Team, there's a civilian body at this location. Retrieve carefully. Do not engage the Critter if it shows up, and seek mission approval before engaging the target. The body is strung from a tree. Apparently this Critter of ours likes to send messages. We're not trying to send one back by getting in a fight, but out of respect for the dead, lets get that Russian down. Allen out."

The men all clicked acknowledgment.
…..

Ronnie had asked to be Retrieval Team's sniper. Lt. Jameson had tried to get him to go rest, but it was mid afternoon, and Ronnie was keyed up. Captain Allen had approved his request, so now here he was, staring down the scope of his Bushmaster BA50, watching the team cut down the body.

There was so much blood.

He pulled his head back for a second, as the image of the farmer's head hitting the ground jumped unbidden into his mind. The Critter had been so… just so Efficient, Ronnie was feeling equal parts horror and admiration.

Something caught his attention way off to the side of the team. He quickly put his eye back up to the scope and swung the gun over.

There. The Blue Blood had startled a flock of birds a ways away, and was eating one.

It didn't seem to have seen Retrieval Team yet, but it was walking in the right direction.

"Ensign Roland, this is Corporal Vale, I have visual on the target, approaching your position, copy?"

"Copy, Vale, how long?"

Ronnie took a second to estimate. "You got about 60 seconds."

"Acknowledged. Command says engage if necessary, whatcha packin'?

Ronnie checked his ammo pack. "I'm carrying incendiary rounds, as well as armor piercing. We can try again with the conventional rounds."

Ens. Roland hesitated. "You got anything bigger? Those rounds didn't do much the last time."

Ronnie smiled as he opened his second ammo pack. "I've got compressed plasma rounds, as well as density collapsed deuterium. You ok with those?"

"Roger, Corporal. Fire at will."

"Copy that." Ronnie settled a little lower into his perch on the side of a ridge. He could see Retrieval Team moving faster, trying to get the body situated and search the area for clues about the Critter, and he could see the Blue Blood approaching.

He took a deep breath and settled his crosshairs on the target. It seemed to change direction just then, scenting something in the wind.

"Target has acknowledged your presence, Ensign. Get outta there." Ronnie could tell the Blue Blood had noticed the team when it lowered its head. There was a sense of purpose in its movement now.

"Good to go down here. Keep it off our tail, Corporal." Ens. Roland sounded out of breath, and Ronnie knew they would be heading out of the area at a jog. They had to carry the body, but there were 6 of them, so they could jog and pass the body off and keep from getting tired before crossing the picket line.

Even so, the Blue Blood was big and moving quickly. It could still catch them.

He squeezed off the first round.

At around 1000 meters from the target, it was a midrange shot for Ronnie. He watched through his scope as a full second passed, before the armor piercing round hit the target square in the body. Just like before, it didn't do much.

So he fired off the incendiary round.

Wait a second. Watch the round go off in the Blue Blood's face.

A slight flinch but again, no real damage.

So he quickly switched magazines, and this time when he squeezed the trigger, the Bushmaster sent a compressed plasma round towards the target.

Compressed plasma rounds were still cutting edge, and Ronnie always enjoyed watching them go off. They were like incendiary rounds, except, instead of a fireball when they made impact, they would erupt into a directed stream of superheated plasma. They were pretty effective on most targets.

Ronnie wasn't sure how the Blue Blood would react.

The next round he had loaded was a density collapsed deuterium round. As a localized nuclear explosion, getting hit with one of those felt like getting punched directly in the face by the sun. If the compressed plasma round didn't work, he was pretty sure the DCD would, but… you could never be sure with cryptids.

By this point the Blue Blood had reached the site, and Ronnie kept his crosshairs trained on it.

He didn't notice the light shimmering in the tree as he fired the DCD.

Ronnie watched as the plasma round slowed the Blue Blood, but didn't really hurt it. He closed his eyes when the DCD made impact, but he could tell the difference in reaction.

"Ensign, confirmed, DCD rounds cause noticeable damage, repeat, DCD rounds affective. If you change vectors back to base I should be able to keep the target from engaging."

"Roger, Corporal, updating the MO now." Ensign Roland would make sure the entire base knew to use DCD's in their weapons, at a minimum. They could pull out gravity or magnetic rounds if they had to, but if enough DCD's would do the trick, that was fine.

Ronnie watched through his scope as the Blue Blood oriented itself in his direction now, instead of after the squad. Time to go, then. He quickly scrambled backwards, loading another DCD round into the Bushmaster as he went, before standing and lining up a shot. He'd run when it went off.

He had his scope up when the Blue Blood sprouted something from its leg in a spray of blood. It looked like a spear, or something. A shimmering caught his attention and he moved to cover as he saw the light bend to reveal the Critter. He made sure his scope was recording the data again, transmitting it to command.
He hunkered down to watch, keeping his weapon trained, knowing if things went south, he might have to try to slow down both parties.

Not a happy prospect.

Pillow Fight I

Brogan adjusted his armor nervously. The last few minutes before the tournament began were always nervewracking. This was the third year he'd been a part of it, but his first year in the lists as one of the fighters. There was a whole new kind of adrenaline in his veins, standing on this side of the rails, instead of his usual spot as a squire.
His own squire, his younger brother Deegan, was standing on the other side of the rails, frantically restuffing the pillow that would be his primary weapon in this fight. It had developed a hole in one side in the qualifying fights, and Deegan had repaired it quickly. Brogan was impressed with how fast his brother had picked up his squire duties.
"… and now, ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've been waiting for!" The herald, who had been endlessly droning on about chivalry and gallantry on the field of battle, and then recognizing the various royalty and nobility in attendacne, finally got to the point, and Brogan paid more attention. "On the east lists, you will see the representatives of the royal family, as well as some of the heroes you know best!" There was a loud cheer from the crowd, and several of the knights waved. "And on the west lists…. the challengers! From the barracks of the nobility, these men have chosen to try their skill against some of our nation's finest. A cheer for their courage!" A quieter cheer, went up, and Brogan shook his head just a little. Everyone knew what this really was.
The king and the highest nobility drew from the lower nobility for their soldiers and knights. So the east lists were full of nobleman's children and high-born men, who'd been trained in the arts of war from childhood.
This selection meant that the lower nobles were left to draw from the serfs and peasants, like Brogan's family. The west lists were full of commoners and low-born peasants, which always gave these tournaments a heavy symbolic value. It seemed that every year, somehow, regardless of rule changes and other attempts to even the playing field, the royal knights came out on top.
In fact, these tournaments had become a yearly reminder of the superiority of the nobility over their peasantry, and Brogan always hated that.

But being a knight paid well, and he had a family to feed, so here he was.

He looked up into the stands, and saw three faces that made him smile. One was Lord Timmons, a minor baron who had given him a chance. One was his mother, smiling at him with worry in her eyes. And one was his blind father, face held up to feel the warmth of the sun, leaning into his mother so she could describe the scene to him. His sisters were at home, so he had only these three faces to look for.

Deegan tapped his shoulder, and handed his pillow over the rail. "All set, Brog. I'll toss up a quick prayer to Tulkas, but good luck!" His younger brother hissed quietly to him, before the marshals nudged him back from the rail.
"Thanks, Dee." Brogan hefted the pillow, densely stuffed with goose feathers and thick stuffing, and noted the heavy-duty patch Deegan had put in place. It would do just fine.
The herald wrapped up his blustering about the two sides, and finally explained the rules for those who didn't know. "This contest shall be decided by the last man standing in the arena. A fighter can be eliminated in several ways. If he surrenders, if he's knocked unconscious or incapacitated, or if he's knocked under or over the rails, he is declared out of combat. It shall be at the discretion of the marshals to allow a knight's squire to remove him from the arena, if need be." The herald turned towards the royal box. "And of course, his majesty will start the tournament, and may call a stop to the fighting anytime he wishes. Now, to arms!" Another wild cheer went up from the crowd, and Brogan took a deep breath.

This is it.

He looked across the flat dirt of the arena at his opponents. There were roughly 100 men on each side, prepared to dive into a huge free-for-all, where the goal was to outlast your opponents. He looked at each man, armored similarly to how he was armored. Blankets and comforters, wrapped in tight circles and figure-8s across his torso and limbs would protect his body. A pillowcase turban on his head as a helmet would hopefully keep him form serious damage. He could see that some of the wealthier knights had things like weighted blankets to add extra strength to their armor, or small pillows wound into their turbans to provide extra protection to their heads.

And the weaponry… it varied from man to man, and some of it was… intimidating, to say the least. Most of Brogan's allies had what he had: a common pillow, 2 feet long and about 6 inches thick, full of roughly 3lbs of some kind of stuffing. A few had a second, smaller pillow, that they could use for secondary attacks.
Over in the east lists, though, he could see pillows of all shapes and sizes. Heavy couch pillows that could concuss a man with one well-aimed blow; small, quick pillows that overwhelmed a man's defenses and drove him beyond the rails. Some knights carried a normal pillow, and also a large, dense body pillow, which they used as a full-sized shield.
And one man, Sir Rixtus, a towering giant who was easily 7ft tall in his cloth boots, was carrying a full bean bag chair as a weapon. It was as big around as Brogan was tall, and had to weigh 70 lbs. Getting hit by that thing could send a man flying, regardless of how good his defenses were.
That's what had happened to Larenk, Lord Timmon's former knight in the tournament. Brogan had been his squire for 2 years, when a smashing blow from Sir Rixtus had knocked Larenk backwards into the rails and flipped him over them. He'd landed awkwardly with all the momentum, and had broken his neck. The doctors had been able to help some, but… he'd never been the same.
That's what had given Brogan the chance to step in, and now, here he was, sweating in his armor and trying to calm his racing heart.

There was a trumpet blast, and the herald exited the arena to stand in the royal box, near the King. A hush fell on the crowd, and the lists seemed to tense, like a coiled spring ready to explode with energy.
The King raised his hand, and Brogan realized he was holding his breath. He wasn't the only one, he knew, but that wasn't a comfort.
Tulkas, help me now…

The King's hand fell, and with a shout, the lists sprinted at each other, clashing in the middle with the dull whumpf of pillows hitting bodies. The fight was on.

Pillow Fight II

TW: Gore, Violence against Pillows

The day had slowly grown dark, the thick clouds obscuring the sunlight over the rolling hills of Almohada. With the darkness had come a certain grim quality to the air, like the very sky was engaged in the fierce battle happening down below.
Timbo swung his blade, his intangible hands handling the broadsword expertly. It clashed with the heavy blade of his current enemy, a towering Neck Pillow, its non-descript face covered in little bits of fluff and stuffing from its other fallen foes. The Neck Pillow gave an incoherent cry, and swung its sword in a big circle, aiming to cut open Timbo's soft pillowcase and spill his stuffing. The smaller, more nimble Deco Pillow Leapt backward, hopping frantically as the Neck Pillow lunged again. If Timbo couldn't get away from the blade, he was likely to lose this fight. Another huge sweep missed, but cause Timbo to trip and fall backwards. He landed flat on his back, a very dangerous position for pillows, given their shape and difficulty in standing uright from that position. The Neck Pillow roared, and raised the sword high, point down, intent on stabbing Timbo. The young Deco Pillow tried to roll, but couldn't fight his rectangular shape.

A flaming arrow whistled across the battlefield, from the top of an adjacent hill, and hit the Neck Pillow square in the middle. It screamed and dropped the sword, flailing as its cover was pierced and its fluffy stuffing began to burn. It hopped away, but only a few hops, before it crumpled to the ground and lay there, a smouldering pile of burnt polyester.

Timbo looked up to see his buddy Venner load another arrow and fire it into the fight, before turning and hopping down the hill to him. "C'mon, Timbo, get up! We're right on the knife's edge here! One push either way, and we win or lose in this moment!" The archer bent in the middle, and Timbo could feel invisible hands lift him, enough for him to stand up on his own. He shook himself and hefted his sword again. "Thanks, Venner. I can always count on you."
Venner slapped his back. "I'm a Wedge Pillow, support is what we do. Now get in there! Show them that Decoratives are useful too!" His face-less friend, marked only by his patterned pillowcase, turned and hopped back up the hill, loading his bow as he did. Timbo watched him go for a moment, before turning and looking at the fight happening.

The political situation in Almohada had finally spilled into all out war. King Gantu of the Tempur-pedics had done nothing to quell the growing discontent in his kingdom, and it had continued to grow and grow. There had always been tension between the utility pillows- pillows with a clear purpose, like Neck pillows and Body pillows- and the non-utilitarian pillows, like Timbo's people, the Decorative Pillows, or the rarer PillowPet People. This had come to a head, when even the aristocracy began to split. The Down Pillows and the Memory Foam Pillows had been quietly eyeing each other for years, but a recent assassination had made things worse.
The story of the murder of Lord Alanth had circulated the kingdom quickly, along with pictures, drawn on handbills by the artists who'd seen the grisly scene early on. Lord Alanth's library was the backdrop; it looked like any normal library, except for a few details. For one, the window had been smashed, clearly to be used as an entrance or exit. Furniture was overturned, chairs and bookshelves flipped. The worst part of it all was the bits of cloth everywhere. Little pieces of pillowcase, indicating Lord Alanth had been ripped apart, made the scene dark enough. The final detail was the light coating of goose down on everything. Nothing in the room had been free of getting the aristocrat's insides all over it.

A picture like that, with the story that investigators had found bits of Memory Foam in the room, was what had started outright conflict. At first, it was just a pillow at a time, found on the side of the road with their pillowcase cut open, or a knife stuck in them; but soon, it had escalated to whole groups of matching pillows, all cut to pieces, hemorrhaging stuffing of all kinds onto the dirt. The final blow had been when the utility pillows had begun killing non-utilitarians and completely stripping them of their pillowcases and cloth, leaving nothing but a pile of stuffing to be scattered to the wind.

That had started the war, and now here they were. Timbo had those thoughts cross his mind as he looked out across the battlefield. Part of him saw enemies who needed destroying, their anger and ruthlessness fueling his own sense of righteous indignation.

And a part of him wished they could all just have peace. After all, they were all basically the same when it came down to it. All of them were Pillows, faceless, armless, legless… just soft blobs of material stuffed with other material. Were they really so different? They all hopped the same, they all used their invisible hands to conduct their little lives, and at the end of the day, this fight? It was nothing but a fight over tiny differences, like shape and stuffing.

He was pulled from this line of thought by the sound of tearing cloth as a Body Pillow came spinning across the battlefield and sliced open a poor, defensless little Couch Cushion. The Cushion toppled, spilling its cotton stuffing, and Timbo felt his anger rising again, even as he gagged at the sight. The Body Pillow turned in his direction, and Timbo twirled his sword as a challenge.

The Pillow Fight went on.

The Vegan Dragon

Part 1

It had been a perfectly typical morning in Varakun for Alak. He'd woken up, gone to the market to get the day's food as usual, and then headed to work. Today he was helping Brandth the Blacksmith rebuild a section of the old forge.

He'd been on his way down the main street in the small farming town, when a shadow fell over his section of road. There was a scream, and Alak looked up to see the unmistakable form of Olybriccazchus the Iron-skinned descending towards him. The laborer barely had time to throw up his hands before the dragon's massive talons wrapped all the way around his body. Alak saw every moment of his life flash before his eyes, as he waited for the inevitable killing pain as the dragon crushed him in its grip.

It never came.

Instead, he found himself lifted into the sky, and his fear of death turned to fear of being dropped. They got to a certain height, and Alak's brain stopped trying to process his various fears. He passed out and knew no more.
…..

Olly sighed to himself as the human passed out in his grip. He'd been hoping not to terrify the poor thing, but humans were so fragile, it seemed he could barely let them see him before someone was swooning in fear.
He flapped his massive wings and headed towards home, the peak of craggy Mount Vespasitas, the Mountain of Storms. Very few had ever seen the summit, other than Olly, because of the dark ring of clouds that constantly wreathed the peak. The cave where Olly lived was the only shield from the fire and lightning and wind that the perpetual storm brought with it.
It was this cave where Olly was headed now. He flew through the storm and landed on the ledge, doing an awkward hop-skip on three feet so he could keep ahold of the poor unconscious human. Inside the cave mouth was an antechamber full of one thing: bones. It was meant to deter anyone who managed to make it up here from going any further, but it was also just where Olly tossed any bones he didn't crack open to suck the marrow out of.
It was also the reason he'd gone into town today. The dragon sighed as he walked through the path he'd had to clear through the bones, which were piled high enough to come up to his chest.
The next room was a little bigger, and more homey. Fewer bones. A big open space, where a dragon could stretch out. Furs and pelts and hides of all kinds lined the floor, creating a soft padding for Olly's scaly skin as he plopped down on his stomach. The dark of the cave was dispelled by the soft glow of the fire blazing under his skin. His red scales glowed a dim orange with the heat, and gave him all the light he needed to see.
The human woke up after a few minutes.
…..

Alak woke up in the dark. He was lying on his back on something soft, but smelly. In fact, the entire place where he was smelled of smoke and death. A distinct combination that brought his situation back to mind. The dragon!
He sat straight up, and was suddenly aware of some lighting in the chamber. Orange lights, covering the wall in front of him, that seemed to glow like they were bioluminescent or something. They were also moving, and that's when Alak realized what he was looking at. Manwe above, it's huge!
The laborer swallowed hard as he felt the heat coming off of what he now realized was the dragon's side. He was close enough to reach out and touch it, and some hypnotic force made him do it, slowly reaching his hand forward to touch the glowing ornage-red scales.

"Ah good, you're awake."

Alak didn't realize he was screaming, until it had been a couple seconds. He stopped, clamping his mouth shut and covering it with both hands. The dragon had startled him by speaking, and Alak wasn't sure what scared him more: the voice that sounded like rocks grinding together mixed with thunder and bestial roaring, or the amber eye with the slitted pupil as big as his head that was now fixed on him, not three feet away.

"No, no, don't stop yourself. Let it out. You can scream." The dragon sounded annoyed, maybe even a bit long-suffering, but Alak took his advice and uncovered his mouth, allowing his screams to come out for just under 30 more seconds.
He finally ran out of breath and just sat there, panting, and the dragon opened the huge eye it had closed in irritation.

"Now that that's out of the way, can we talk? I need your help."

Alak froze, staring at the massive creature in front of him. Olybriccazchus the Iron-skinned was a massive red and black fire drake. Easily 50 feet long, tail to nose, with wings wide enough to lift his several-ton body into the air with ease. Teeth as long as Alak's arms, razor-sharp talons that could shred armor with a flick, long curved horns on his head and spikes on his tail. The ability to breathe fire which was so hot it melted metal and caused the very air to burn.
Nothing about him looked like he needed Alak's help. Which made the laborer even more curious.

"…. How?" He was only able to squeak outone word, his body still shaking in fear too much to say more. The dragon shifted, as if settling in for a long story, and sighed, a noise like rushing wind that blew smoke in long trails out in front of him.

"I'm tired of killing. I'd like to try something else for a change. I've heard you humans have this concept, something called 'going vegan'. I want to give it a try."

Alak's jaw hit the ground as the dragon, The Scourge of Varakun, The Flaming Death himself, asked about veganism. He just stared at the giant death-dealing machine for a moment, unsure if this was some trick, before deciding that if it was, he was dead in the dragon's lair already.
"I think I can help with that…"

The Vegan Dragon

Part 2

1 Year Later

Mayor Alak trudged up the street from his house to the town hall, where his office was. Today promised to be a stressful day, and part of him wasn't looking forward to it.
Breakfast was waiting for him in the conference room, as were several of his local leaders of industry. They all looked serious, and he could tell they'd all come to some kind of agreement about what they were going to speak with him about this morning.
He had a feeling he knew, but he said nothing other than greetings as he walked in and sat down to his eggs and toast.
After a few minutes of silence, void of the usual pleasantries and small talk, Alak finished his plate, pushed it back, and leaned back in his chair. "Well, gentlemen. You seem to have something on your minds this morning. Please feel free to say what's bothering you."
There was a moment where they all just looked at each other, before a gentleman in a silk tunic, denoting his position as Chairman of the Merchants' Guild, spoke up. "Well… Mayor, we've been talking. All of our industries have suffered recently, and we've narrowed it to one common factor causing the issues. We wanted to talk to you to see if there's anything that can be done, but we're aware it's a sensitive issue."
Alak had a sinking feeling that he knew what the problem was, but he asked the question anyway. "And what is this common factor, Chairman?"
The Chairman hesitated, but a man in leather armor with a star pinned to his breastplate spoke up. "It's Olly, Mayor."
Alak groaned and leaned forward, resting his face on his hands for a moment, before sitting up. "I figured. I think I know, but… each of you, explain to me how he has caused suffering in your industries."

Varakun's Game Warden spoke up. "Well, before he went vegan, Olly was keeping the local predator population down. In the last year, however, we've had more deaths to livestock and people from bears, cougars, and wolves, than we've had in a very long time. Hunting parties have had to be organized, and our people are farmers, not hunters. But even if the hunts were successful, we can't keep up with the rising predator population. Turns out removing the top of the food chain is a bad idea."

"And the effect of the predators on our livestock is worse than when Olly would eat them. A few sheep or cattle from each farm once or twice a week is very different from a couple every night." The Head of the Farmer's Union, known as the Yeoman, picked up where the Game Warden left off. "One huge sentient predator was bad enough, but we would gladly take that over hundreds of big, unthinking beasts tearing our farms apart. He also never caused structural damage unless challenged, but our fences and pens are torn down regularly now."
He went on. "On top of that, the hit to our agriculture has been gigantic. We supply him with huge portions of our vegetables and plant food, which has caused our industry to crash. We've had to import foodstuffs from other places. We initially thought it would be ok, because we could sell more meat now that Olly wasn't eating it, but we haven't been able to do that because of the predator problem. So we're losing money."

The Chairman jumped in. "And our economic standing has gone down quite a bit, meaning our ability to procure other goods has shrunk. Without our booming farm business, many of the merchants don't have the capitol to expand their businesses to cover the losses. We also-" he paused, unsure of himself, but went on with a nudge from the Yeoman. "We also have realized that the presence of a vicious dragon near our town was actually protecting our business. Nobody wanted to set up shop and try to cut our profits. But now that Olly has been 'gentled', as they say, we've got competitors rolling in, and that's bad for the families depending on our business for their daily bread."

The Sheriff, the man in leather armor with the star, finished for the group. "And competing businesses aren't the only ones rolling in. Varakun is remote enough, near the Mountain of Storms, that we've always had a little bit of a problem of criminals trying to hide out here. But it wasn't a problem, because most criminals are cowards who aren't big on living near the lair of a dragon. But now, we're being overrun. My 4 deputies and I cannot keep up with the level of crime our little town is generating. I've had to deputize more men in the last year, but they're all farmers, and fathers as well. The town is becoming more unsafe."
He shook his head. "On top of that, as Olly has gotten gentler and more friendly, people have flocked to see him. We've become something of a tourist attraction, which of course means lots of people coming through. The crime rate would be up anyway from that, but the addition of criminals to the mix means that hardly a day goes by without some visitor turning up in my office complaining of robbery, being conned, or being assaulted, and with the high numbers of people coming and going, theres often nothing we can do. It's uniquely frustrating, Mayor, and I don't mind telling you I kinda wish Olly would go back to killing things."

Alak listened carefully, and slowly nodded at the end. "it certainly seems like it would fix a lot of things. But we were all in favor of it before."

"Because getting the local dragon to go vegan seemed like a great solution. Who could know it would lead to all of this?" The Game Warden gestured around them. "Our farms are failing, our businesses are closing their doors, our town is full of criminals and our forests are deadly to all the visitors coming through, all of whom leave here with terrible stories to tell the rest of the kingdom."
The Yeoman was a bit more quiet. "Olly wanted not to be hated… it's our fault he felt that way, because now we see how much he was really doing for us. He didn't deserve our anger."

Alak nodded again, and leaned forward. "So. How do we fix it?"

They brainstormed all day, tossed around ideas, and by the time the sun was sinking in the west, they had a plan. Mayor Alak left townhall with just one question in his mind.

Would Olly agree to it?

Of Chloris and Vulcan

It is said that in the eons past, Fordivore was smaller, and its people few. In those days, the forests of ironwood, oak, elm, and ash spread across the face of the main landmass of Londris, and in those verdant groves did Chloris rule. Lady of Life, Her Grace of the Gilded Greenery, and Spirit of Nature did her followers call her. In the open did they worship her, at that time fearing nothing but her anger should their devotion fail.

Chloris was but one of the Children of AinaTar. Her siblings were given their realms and responsibilities, and at the start, none did match the power which was given to Chloris, save her sister, Venilia, who ruled in equal measure over the great oceans of Londris.

Out in the dark of space, AinaTar worked to answer the requests of those who cried out to him in need. He formed a gift, one of great import, and sent it to those who called for aid.

In her sylvan finery, Chloris looked to the heavens, some sense whispering to her of gifts sent from her Father. She noted her brother, Vulcan, also gazing into the firmament with hope and expectation.
Then did their followers rejoice, sighting the gift of AinaTar breaking into two parts, to bless two parts of Londris. Chloris noted part of it would land in Venilia's domain, and part in hers. She called out, then, a clarion call for action from her brother Cedalion. God of Stone, Master of the Mountains, and Delver of Deepest Caverns, Cedalion saw the gift approaching, and in great strength stomped his foot. The power of this blow formed a landing place for the first part of the gift of AinaTar, a cavern deep beneath a mountain formed to house it. Chloris was gratified that her brother, as much as was within his power, left her greenery intact.

She watched as the gift landed in its cradle, and smiled upon it. So too did she smile upon those of humanity who came racing to see this wonder, and in like manner did she smile at Vulcan as he came timidly forward to gaze upon this gift.
The purpose of the gift was not clear to Chloris, but the longer she watched Vulcan's reaction, the greater her sense that he knew what to do with it. And therefore did she speak gently to him, and grant him leave to do with gift of their Father as he thought best.

Vulcan leapt at this chance. He would never have taken unto himself the nerve to ask Chloris to give ground in her own domain, but the gift of AinaTar called to him, in both places it had landed. To those few who worshipped him did he impart knowledge and secrets, which would allow them to master the gift.
Venilia followed her sister's example, and gave place to Vulcan to work what he could with the gift. And so it was, that the followers of Vulcan spread across the face of Londris, working wonders and uplifting mankind out of the dark.

But with the gifts of AinaTar often come trials, to sharpen and hone the receiver, and thus it was with this gift. Vulcan was careful, but he longed to help the people who called to him. In his zeal, yea, even in his love did he work wonders which began to infringe upon the mission of Chloris. She beheld that the people were happy, but that a further growth in Vulcan's power would shrink her own, and in that moment did jealousy over what had once been hers sink into the heart of Chloris.

In wrath did she send her followers to break down that which was built of Vulcan, and in devotion they followed her instruction. In her anger, she aided them with allies of wood and green, the very wildlife itself turning against the followers of Vulcan.
From his place atop The Mountain Cedalion had built did Vulcan look down upon this conflict. He grieved the anger of Chloris, wishing her hurt to be healed. From her craggy perch, he stepped down, and offered her a truce, in hopes of assuaging her. But in her ire, Chloris refused the olive branch he offered, and pressed her attack.

Then did Vulcan turn his back on the conflict, for he knew what was to come. The slow creep of his power, and the gaining of great strength imparted to his followers, had not been intentional. He turned, partially in irritation at the attack on those who worshipped his name, and partly to hide his eyes from the carnage that would follow. For not lightly was Vulcan known as the Master of Metalwork, Lord of Weaponry and Engineer Divine.

Gifted with Auranium, that most precious of metals, the Vulcanites defended themselves. Chloris went forth to wage war on humanity, and found their engines of battle to be too strong for her followers. Indeed, when they found their endurance fading, their stamina for the battle waning, the disciples of Chloris fled from their Vulcanite brethren. In vengeance did the Vulcanites pursue, only to be stopped by the calloused hand of Vulcan himself. He would not allow his sister to be defeated entirely, nor her followers wiped out.

In this, Vulcan hoped to show Chloris that he wished for peace, and still loved her as a fellow child of AinaTar. But in that moment, when with his own hands Vulcan turned the blades of his followers, Chloris felt only betrayal, and pity. The perceived betrayal she could not forgive, and the pity she did not want. In her belly then was planted a seed of deepest bitterness, a long rage which the ages could not wither.

And to this day, no peace has there been between the Vulcanite Church and the Chlorisian Disciples.

The Vegan Dragon

Part 3

Olybriccazchus the Iron-skinned, The Scourge of Varakun, The Flaming Death, sat in his cave at the top of Mount Vespositas, the Mountain of Storms. Outside, lightning cracked, and thunder rumbled as the perpetual storm hanging over the mountain continued its progress, casting rain and wind into the valley below, seeding it with life.

Inside the cave, Olly's stomach was doing the rumbling.

It had rumbled almost constantly for a while now. He'd thought that going vegan would be hard; meat had been most of his diet for a long time. But he hadn't realized just how much plant food he'd need to eat in order to be full. It was massive piles of greens, whole wagon-fulls of tomatoes and carrots, multiple sacks of potatoes and turnips, and as many peppers as he could get. Those were his favorite flavor, but… they’d done nothing to fill the void that was his stomach.

Poor Olly had lost so much weight in the last year, he'd molted and shed his skin because he was too small for his current set of scales. That had never happened before. He was lighter, quicker in the air, but he didn't have nearly the same energy as before, and his fire burned so much cooler now. He didn't give off the same healthy glow as before, and he'd had to actually light a fire in his cave to be able to see.

Of course, the lack of bones was nice. The townsfolk had helped him clean out his cave partway through the year, as a favor and a thank you for not eating their animals. Now, he could see his lovely hoard. Gold, artifacts, and all kinds of other goodies from years past, that had long been buried under the bones.

It was nice to sit and run his paws through the stuff, letting the metals clink off his razor-blade claws, but the constant rumbling of his stomach and the consistent ache made it harder to focus. He'd thought about backing out, but… the little people in Grenston seemed so happy with his new choice, he'd feel bad going back now. They trusted him, and people liked him, and the big city of Varakun was growing, which benefited little Grenston! How could he sacrifice all of that for his stomach? It wasn't right.

So here he sat, sleepy and lethargic, his belly empty, and his mind hazy.

"Olly?"

The dragon lifted his head and looked towards the mouth of the cave, where the familiar figure of Mayor Alak was coming in out of the rain. The humans had built a small basket system with pulleys to get themselves up to Olly’s cave much quicker than climbing the mountain. Ingenious, really. "Oh, hello Mayor. How goes it?"

Mayor Alak took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "It's…. it's going, Olly."

The dragon frowned. "Oh? Something wrong?" Alak was usually pretty upbeat in their discussions. They had talked a lot, and had grown quite close. In many ways, Olly considered Alak his best friend.

The mayor walked forward and plopped down next to Olly, leaning against his scaly chest. The skin that was described like iron had lost some of its strength in the last year, and it was more like thick leather now. Sad, really. "Well… yes."

Olly dropped his head back down on his paws, eyeballing the mayor with one large eye. "Well, if there's any way I can help, just tell me." He’d helped with multiple projects over the last year. Mostly moving large things for building projects.

Alak paused a moment. "Olly… how's being vegan going for you?"

Olly blinked, before answering cheerfully. "Oh, it's, uh, it's going great! Really enjoying it, the not-killing and the veggies and such. I really have appreciated all the folks pitching in to help keep me fed. I know you are doing a lot of work and-”

His stomach chose that moment to betray him by rumbling again so loud, it echoed in the cave.

Alak was sitting with his back against Olly’s scales, and felt the rumble before he heard it. He turned to look at Olly, skepticism in his eyes. “Going great, huh?”

Olly wanted to argue. He wanted to try to say that was normal and things were fine, but of all the people, Alak was the least likely to believe that. So he didn’t even try. “Ok, look, I’m hungry.” The dragon sighed. “I’m always hungry.” The admission was like opening the floodgates, and the words were tumbling out before he could stop them. “I know I’m eating too many of your veggies, but they never fill me up, no matter how many I eat. I could try to gorge myself on them but it wouldn’t work, and on top of that, I’m tired and weak and my fire smells weird and it’s just… a lot harder than I thought it’d be…” His voice quieted as he trailed off, feeling a bit ashamed of himself.

Alak just listened, his face set in a concerned expression. It seemed Olly was suffering more than he’d thought.

Olly took his silence as judgment. “And I know my alternative is to go back to killing, which I wanted to stop, and I don’t want to do that, but… if you’re really asking, I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this up…”

Alak nodded slowly, after a long moment. “I’m glad you told me.”

Olly rested his head on his front paws, not looking at his friend. “Yeah… better that someone knows, I guess.” He snorted smoke, frustration clouding his voice. “I should have known better than to try to change the natural order. What was I thinking?”

Alak could hear the disappointment in the dragon’s voice. He was quiet for a long while, before asking another quiet question. “Olly… what do you believe about the gods?”

Olly raised his head and looked at Alak in confusion. “I mean… I’ve heard a lot of legends and myths and have seen many things I can’t easily explain, but… I largely don’t think about them, I guess.” He narrowed his large amber eyes. “…Why?”
Alak looked at his hands for a moment, before forging on. “Well. I believe that the way things are is the way things are for a reason. That our natural abilities are given to us by the gods to be put to good use. And that when we all play our role, the world spins much easier.”

“Sounds reasonable, but… are you saying that I’m a dragon, therefore my role in the world is to kill?” Olly frowned at that.

“No, no, not quite, but… in a sense, yes.” Alak stood up and turned to him. “Your role is to protect. Which often involves killing.”

“Protect who?” Olly’s frown changed to raised brows in confusion.

“Well… us.” Alak gestured out the cave and back down the mountain. “We need your help in Grenston. We need your help-… I need your help with many of the issues we didn’t know you were helping us with before. Like keeping the numbers of predators down. There are two many wolves and bears and cougars and other vicious creatures in the woods, and you were keeping them at bay. Or like keeping too many people from coming to our town. Only the brave would come so close to the mountain and your lair before, and now every coward who thinks he can hide from the law in Varakun comes to Grenston.”

“But-… but those were the things you feared and hated me for before, Alak… I can’t go back to those. To that. To being alone.” Olly leaned his head closer, trying to get a good look at Alak’s eyes.

Alak recognized the movement, and heaved a small sigh. “No, you’re right. You can’t go back to that, and we should have never let it be that way in the first place. You weren’t indiscriminately killing, or carrying off hostages or eating our children. But we treated you like a beast, instead of someone we could talk to and reason with. And that’s absolutely our fault. As Mayor of Grenston, I’m offering you an official apology for that.” He stepped forward and placed his palm against Olly’s scaly skin. “And as your personal friend, I’m offering you an official promise to do my best to change things.”

Olly leaned down, even close, and looked Alak in the eye. He was there for a long time, his massive head only a couple of feet away, one amber eye studying Alak’s face. Finally, he saw whatever it was he was looking for- reassurance, hope, love between friends, even. He found it there, and pulled back.

“I believe you. So what do we do now?”

Alak smiled up at him. “We fulfill our purposes, Olly.”

The Vegan Dragon

Part 4

1 year later

Alak strolled through Grenston’s market, tipping his hat at the ladies and shaking hands with the men. He smiled at the children and coo’ed at the babies. The whole town was out; it was right around noon, the height of market day in the warmth of the sun. He headed towards the pens, noting with satisfaction how full the animal pens were. Chickens, cows, sheep, hogs, all plump and healthy looking, milled around in their pens, ready to be sold. There was enough food here to feed an army. Or a dragon.

The noon sun was suddenly blotted out by a massive shadow, and Alak was briefly reminded of that day a couple of years ago. The shadow had prompted screams and running away then; now, there were cheers and running nearer as Olly landed in the large open space next to the pens.

“Hello, folks. Didn’t start the bidding without me, did you?” Olly settled down onto the ground, chuckling deep in his chest as the village children immediately flocked him and began climbing his wings, his tail, his sides, literally anywhere they could get a grip. “I brought some lovely goodies today.”

Alak waved at him, smiling as the town’s folk reassured the friendly dragon that they’d waited. Olly gave him a small wave back, inhibited by the children trying to look at the small trunk of shinies under his paw. They knew the dragon always brought something special, and it had become tradition that whichever child could get the trunk open first got a little prize of some sort. Usually it was a small coin, tarnished with age, but worth quite a lot really.

The bidding began; Olly bid several pieces of treasure from his horde on some of the larger animals, buying himself enough food to eat for several days and be satisfied. The farmers and merchants were always happy to have the things he brought, especially since they were usually worth a lot more than Olly would say they were. He got his food, they got their money, and everyone was happy. Within an hour, it was done, and the people began dispersing to finish up shopping elsewhere, or herding their livestock back through the streets to the farms. Olly left his purchases in a pen, all together, and gently extricated himself from the melee of children.

He moved towards Alak, who turned and headed back through the streets towards the town hall. Next to the town hall was the little jail, which had needed to be expanded after last year. As usual on every market day, the Sheriff had the most recent criminals lined up outside the jail. They were unchained, and looked decidedly nervous as Alak approached, followed by the massive dragon.

“So these are the morsels you offer up, huh?” Olly lowered his voice way down into his chest, and let the flames lick at his throat. His fire was back in good health, and the glow of his scales was visible even in the sunlight. “They don’t look like much, but-”

“We would ask for mercy, Huge One.” Alak said loudly, playing his part. The hardest thing was keeping the smile off his face during this little charade.

“Mercy? Well… if you say so. But.” Olly took another step, and let his weight settle on that paw, shaking the ground under the criminals’ feet. “I’m not prone to repeating mistakes. So if I ever catch any of you causing trouble near here again, no amount of begging will save you.” He punctuated his words with a soul-rending snarl, flames licking between his teeth. “Now go, before I change my mind.”

The mad scramble of criminals fleeing the town always made Alak laugh a little bit, and this time was no different. Hardened thieves and conmen and the occasional killer, fleeing as fast as they could run, tripping over themselves in their haste, many of them whimpering involuntarily in fear… the sight was enough to make anyone laugh. Even a dragon.

Olly’s chuckled rumbled behind Alak, and the mayor turned to look at his friend. “You seem to enjoy that quite a lot.”
Olly just winked at him, before turning to the Sheriff. “How are reports looking?”

The Sheriff pulled out a piece of parchment to refresh his memory. “Crime is down a further 10% since last week, and we’re at our all-time low for reported incidents against those coming to see your artifacts. And the Game Warden reports that the predator numbers are right where they should be to keep the ecosystem balanced, so good work there.” He folded the parchment and stuck it back in a pocket. “All in all, things are good and we’re happy.”

Alak smiled up at the dragon. “Thanks, Olly.”

“Of course.” Olly fluttered his wings happily, then shook his head. “It’s not my favorite part though.” He flapped his wings once, rising over a row of shops and other buildings, only to land gently back in the same spot near his pen of animals. When Alak came around the corner, he was greeted by the sight of the dragon once again being swarmed by small children, smiling and rumbling in happiness. He caught Olly’s eye, and the two of them shared a long look, before the dragon went back to playing with the children.

Alak didn’t need to ask what Olly’s favorite part was. The joy and love in that look answered him enough.

He did have to chuckle as he remembered their first conversation. “A vegan dragon, indeed…”

TW: Discussions of suicide, self harm
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Memorable

Rix'tushedimaon was beginning to get bored.

Every year, between sundown on October 31 and dawn on November 1, he got the chance to respond to a summons. The Veil was thinned that night, and travel was a bit easier. He'd found, over hundreds of years, that there were two types of people who summoned him.

The first type had happened several times, but were uncommon. They were the types who knew what they were doing and thought they could use him to take down their enemies. Political, geographic, religious, financial- all sorts of enemies he'd been summoned to hunt down. What these people never got right was that he was there to get them. The summoner was the target of Rix'tushedimaon's… unique form of soul harvesting. Not their petty human enemies.

The second type made up 90% of his summons over the years. These were people who got ahold of his name from some old tale or scroll or book, and performed the ritual thinking it would be kinda fun and creepy. Successfully summoning a Harbinger of Death by accident was a shock to them. Having that Soul Reaper then crawl around in their heads and trap them in nightmares of their own making was usually enough to end the night and turn him into a cautionary tale in that area again for centuries. Every once in a while he'd get a strong-minded kid who wouldn't die to the strain on their brain, and then things got… messy. Rix'tushedimaon actually preferred not to get his claws dirty, if possible, but once every couple hundred years was okay.

But this year, he'd have taken literally anything. The night was waning fast, the moon sinking low in the sky, and dawn was approaching quickly. And still, nobody had called his name with the right parameters to pull him through the hole in the Veil he'd settled next to at sundown. His boredom stretched out in front of him, mocking, almost a tangible thing he could see leering at him as he glanced at the fading stars again, wishing for a chance to do something.

"Hey, Rix'ifreanach, still here? Nobody calling?" A voice called from the dark corridor, gently mocking him by using his diminutive name. "Cutting it close, aren't they?"

Rix'tushedimaon looked up from his seat to see his uncle sauntering down the corridor towards him. He heaved a sigh in the older demon's direction. "Nothing so far, T'iodiabo. Usually get at least one by this point, and have others I turn down. But nothing tonight." He clenched his fists, digging the points of his claws into his palm. "Almost like I've been forgotten by the humans…"

His uncle chuckled, not unkindly, but not sympathetically either. "Well, you've got to be more memorable then. My little togh'ar, learning the hard lessons." He stepped closer, reaching down to yank on of Rix'tushedimaon's horns affectionately. "Stick out in the minds of those you leave behind. The souls you harvest leave a mark, but you the Harvester have to leave one as well." He slapped Rix'tushedimaon across the back, before continuing his walk down the corridor to wherever he'd been headed. "Let me know if you need ideas, Rix'ifreanach. I've got a few tricks from my summoning days you might like." A glance over his shoulder revealed a small smile, and then Rix'tushedimaon's uncle was gone.

He left the younger demon sitting there, thinking heavy thoughts. The idea that humans could have already forgotten about him so quickly because he wasn't vicious enough or flashy enough or gruesome enough was one he hadn't considered. But if that was the case… he'd need some way to keep his reputation floating around. His memory needed to live in the hushed whispers of fear the humans thought the Veil filtered out.

Rix'tushedimaon was so lost in thought, in fact, that he almost missed the summons when it finally came. Sitting as close to the hole in the Veil as he was, he was being pulled through before he realized it. The sensation of his body becoming strings for a moment as he phased through the Veil yanked him out of his thoughts and brought him back to the moment.

As he exited the hole and found himself in the profound dark of Earth at night, he flexed his hands, resolving that whoever had summoned him would be the first in his campaign of being memorable. His muscles coiled under his dark red scaly skin, and as soon as he coalesced from strings back to a demon, he was already snarling and lunging, knowing the ritual would put him right in front of whoever had called on him.

What he saw stopped him cold.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Of all the stupid things Finn had ever done, somehow this one felt the silliest.

Not because of the intent. That was nothing new. An end to the noise was all he was looking for, but without becoming more of a burden. The docs had tried drug after drug till his money ran out and his nervous system couldn't handle it any longer. He'd done all the exercising and healthy eating he could. Essential oils, candles, meditation- none of it was doing anything to clear the dark cloud from over his head. The fog he'd been in for what felt like all of his life had only intensified as he'd gotten older. The constant voices and noise and distraction in his head had only gotten louder. He'd tried drinking, but seeing his father's worried expression when Finn stumbled home drunk had broken him of that. He'd tried drugs, but they tended to make some voices louder than others, and his mother's concerned tears had stopped that avenue real quick. He'd gone back to exercising, and had decided on combat sports; something about the discipline sounded like it might help. That had lead to fights, and the adrenaline had given him some peace, for a moment. He'd gone looking for more, which meant bigger fights, and after his brother Connor had been forced to call the ambulance for Finn's bruised and bloodied face and broken arm, that habit was ditched.

Everything he tried had lead to him hurting someone he loved. Even once he'd moved out, his family were too good, too kind, too loving- they wouldn't leave him entirely alone. Finn didn't have the heart to cut them out, not after all they'd done for him, but… he couldn't really pursue more drastic action like he wanted to with them coming around. His mom had made him promise not to overdose. His father had convinced him not to get drunk and wrap his car around a tree. His brother had found his gun and taken it, citing worry and love for Finn. Their kindness and support had lifted his spirits for a bit. He'd gotten rid of some of the blades he'd been collecting; he stopped looking for supports capable of supporting his weight and accessible enough to tie a rope around.

And then Connor had gotten engaged.

Finn hadn't even met the girl. Her name was Rebecca, apparently, and she seemed nice, but Finn knew nothing about her, and he could only imagine she didn't know he existed. The shameful brother. The mental mess. The burden. His family would never say that, he knew; they were good people, too gentle and loving and careful with him to say such things, but… he could see it. It was in their eyes every time he walked in the door. It was there every time his dad asked him how he was. It was there every time his mom gave him a hug for just a little too long and reminded him she loved him.

It was there when Connor had asked him to be in the wedding. Finn could see the trapped feeling in his brother's eyes.

It was that look earlier this week that had sent him spiraling. Spinning in vicious little circles all the way down into a loud mental hell of his own making was not a new sensation, and Finn sank back into it like going back to a toxic ex. The familiarity of the dark clouds muting the world around him, even while the fog amplified the internal noise, was… so natural and normal to him by now that he almost didn't know how to exist without it. In the next few days, as it had gotten worse, he'd looked for ways to finally escape. With his family blocking some of the normal avenues, he knew he'd have to get creative.

That's where the silliness came in. Google had eventually brought him to some old stories, which he'd just thought were creepypastas, until he began seeing news articles. A more refined search brought him to 4chan and dark corners of the internet that did not help his internal noise, but did give him further answers. At first, he'd just been curious, but the realization that there was potential here had drawn him in further.

And that's how Finn came to be kneeling in a collection of occultic symbols drawn in his own blood on the white tile of his bathroom floor, at 4:30 in the morning after Halloween, trying to summon a demon. He'd prepped well: the blackout curtains in his small apartment meant the room was very dark; there was plenty of space for whatever size entity was about to show up. He was wearing an old t-shirt he wouldn't mind getting blood on, and jeans with holes in them from work. He was surrounded by old towels- no sense in leaving a huge mess for his family to find. Everything was ready, but so far, he'd had no luck. He was pretty sure he'd butchered the pronunciation several times, which was apparently important in these things. On the verge of giving up, he decided to go for it one more time.

"Gabhvenha iate leithmim Rix'tushedimaon."

This time, when he spoke the line, he tweaked a few vowels, and suddenly, it felt like something was plucked deep in his chest- like he'd tapped into some otherworldly force, and his heart had registered it. Finn took a deep breath, and by the time he was exhaling, he could see it- a hole in the fabric of space, hovering in front of him, vantablack but lit around the edges with hellish firelight. He found himself almost smiling as something huge stepped through the hole and solidified in front of him. Something snarling and already moving to kill him. He closed his eyes and leaned towards his doom, for a moment feeling peace.

Excellent. Do it.
……………………………………………………………………………………………

Rix'tushedimaon froze for a second as he exited the hole in the Veil. The sight in front of him was not one he was used to at all. Usually someone crossing the Veil was met with screams or cries of fear, perhaps shock that the summons had worked. Alternatively, if they wanted a favor from him, they might bow or prostrate themselves and begin begging his mercy and favor. Those reactions he was used to.

This human was… doing neither of those things. He was just… kneeling quietly on the floor, head bowed, eyes closed, a slight smile on his face. If Rix'tushedimaon hadn’t known better, he’d have said the boy was praying. The occultic symbols in the human’s own blood said otherwise, and Rix'tushedimaon’s brow ridge raised in mild surprise. Most people used some kind of animal blood. This kid was serious, whoever he was.

All of these observations, the demon made within just a second or two. The boy didn’t move in that time, so Rix'tushedimaon did what he always did. He lunged forward and roared in his victim’s face. Usually this resulted in the summoner screaming in fear, usually wide-eyed, and it was that eye contact that Rix'tushedimaon used to get into their head and sift through their deepest fears.

This kid didn’t move, and for the second time in less than a minute, Rix'tushedimaon paused, deeply perplexed. That usually worked, and he wasn’t used to being ignored. If anything, the boy seemed oddly at peace with the presence of a demon in his room. Almost as if he’d already accepted his impending doom.

But for Rix'tushedimaon, this could not stand. Being forgotten was one thing, but being ignored when he was within killing distance? That was too much to ask him to deal with.

I’ll get that eye contact somehow.

He reached forward and grabbed the young human by the neck, bodily lifting him off the ground, his razor-tipped claws digging into the soft human flesh. He squeezed, and the veneer of peace disappeared for a moment as the boy felt pain, and his eyes snapped open. Still not in shock or fear, like Rix'tushedimaon would have hoped, but definitely in pain. Still, that was enough.

The demon locked eyes with the boy, and was immediately transported. This part of the job was his favorite. The killing wasn’t where he got his enjoyment. It was digging around in human minds that was the most interesting and pleasant. People’s minds and souls, while different, were linked in inextricable ways, and Rix'tushedimaon loved digging through emotions and memories and theories and stray thoughts, sifting them and weighing them and learning the person in just a minute or two. It made dragging out their darkest fears and using those to end them so much more poetic.

So he locked eyes with the boy, expecting to be suddenly shifted from the physical plane to the mental one, which looked a bit different for every human, but which he’d largely learned to navigate. He stared down into the human’s hazel eyes, and crossed through those windows to the soul.

The hellscape he landed in was worse than the literal hellscape he called home.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………….

If the demon had bothered to ask, Finn could have told him what he’d find in Finn’s mind. For starters, it was foggy in there. Another thing was his head feeling heavy with the weight of his thoughts. Yet another thing he’d have mentioned was the constant noise. The constant replay of his worst moments, the admonishments of everyone who’d ever been disappointed in him, the self-accusatory whispers about how much of a burden he was on those who loved him… they never stopped. He might have mentioned all of these things, if the monster currently boring into his mind through his eyes had bothered to ask.

But he hadn’t. So Finn stayed quiet, trying to relax despite the fact that he was, annoyingly, still alive, and the grip the thing had on his neck hurt quite a lot. It would all be over soon, he was sure.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Rix'tushedimaon stumbled as the transition to the mental plane happened. He got his footing and looked around, surprised once again.

Most minds took the form of some kind of organized structure. A house, a palace for some of his smarter victims, maybe a detailed office space, or even a replica of the physical plane home of the victim. Sometimes it was their favorite place or a fond memory- the gym, a restaurant from a first date, etc. But this space was none of those.

This mind was-… deformed. Or ruined, or something. No cheerful picture met Rix'tushedimaon’s gaze. Instead, he was in some sort of cave, in a giant cavern. It was pitch black, like there was no light source anywhere, and in the darkness, he felt a weight, as if the very air itself was heavy. It settled on his shoulders, and Rix'tushedimaon had to focus for a moment so his knees wouldn’t buckle. He could tell the space was huge, because he suddenly felt very small- like flotsam in a dark sea.

The second thing that struck him was how loud it was. Most minds had a quiet monologue going on, or with some of the quicker thinkers, a quiet susurrus of decisions being made. A few minds he’d been in were dominated by someone loud- usually someone in a bad memory who loomed large in the fears of his victim. But this was different.

This mind was echoing with multiple voices, all talking over each other insistently, some sound angry and others sounding-… disappointed. Rix'tushedimaon closed his eyes for a moment, for all the good it did in the complete darkness, and just tried to focus on where the voices were. They seemed to be coming from everywhere, and echoing off the walls of whatever massive cavern he was in. As he tried to focus, his concentration was broken by a sudden whisper, right in his ear, so close he could feel the warm air on his scaly skin.

You’re still alive.

He flinched, and instinctively turned to slash at whoever was speaking. There was nothing there, though, and his claws felt sluggish as they cut through the heavy darkness.

How can you be so much of a screw-up that you can’t even get dying right?

He flinched again, this time slashing towards the other ear, where another sibilant whisper had just occurred. Again, nothing there.

And then the whispers piled on.

This is why you’ll never be any good to anyone.
This is why they will hate you eventually.
You’ll never be worthy of all they’ve done for you.
You can’t even get this one simple thing right, and it’s literally the easiest thing in the world. How hard could it be to just die already?
You’re nothing. A piece of garbage, trash to be taken out.
Everyone around you will be better off without you here.
You cause nothing but pain and suffering, though they bear it with love.
You’re a burden.

Rix'tushedimaon didn’t realize he had clamped his claws over his own ears to stop the sudden onslaught of whispering, until he felt the sharp points prick his scaly skin. The slight pain snapped him from the fugue he had immediately sunk into. He took a deep breath, reminding himself these weren’t his thoughts, they were the human’s thoughts. A quick moment to clench his fists at his side brought him back to what he was supposed to be doing. Sifting through the boy’s memories and fears.

Now that he was aware of them, he became aware that the whispers had been there the whole time. They were layered over the other more normal voices like some kind of ugly adornment. And, as he listened closely once again, he realized he could hear a third distinct sound. Under the whispers, quieter than the echoing voices, there was a sound he recognized very well from transporting souls across the Veil.

Someone was screaming. One long, never-ending, heart-rending cry that had been a constant background noise since he got here, Rix'tushedimaon realized. He frowned as the thought came to him that this was the only voice that seemed to be in the right place… which meant it belonged to the boy. The human whose mind was an aberration of some sort, who was, himself, stuck screaming in the painfully loud darkness.

There was a long pause as Rix'tushedimaon thought about that.

No wonder he didn’t seem scared of me.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Finn was fighting his own instinct to struggle. He couldn’t tell if the demon had been dangling him off the ground by his neck for ten seconds, or ten days. He did know those claws were sharp enough to shred his neck like knives through wet paper, and that grip was powerful enough to suffocate him quite easily. But neither was happening. Instead, there was enough claw contact to bleed and hurt, and enough of a grip to keep him from getting away, and that combo was just… uncomfortable. He found himself wishing the creature would kill him, or let go, one of the two. Hanging here was… not preferable.

On top of that, there was a dull ache in his head that hadn’t been there before, like extra pressure from inside his skull. It almost felt like someone else had been crammed in there, though he couldn’t imagine how. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the yellow slitted eyes of the entity in front of him, so maybe that had something to do with it. He got the distinct sense of someone rifling through his mind, the same way he dug through his sock drawer at times looking for the ever-missing left sock. Why anybody would wanna dig around in his head was beyond him, but that’s what it felt like.

Then there was a sudden stabbing pain behind his eyes, and Finn yelped as he was unceremoniously dropped back onto the bathroom tile. He squeezed his eyes shut as the tears came unbidden, and pushed himself up on shaking arm, before looking at the creature.

To his surprise, the demon was also rubbing his own face, and had taken a step back from Finn. That was odd, given the very obvious difference in physical strength and apparent magical or spiritual powers or whatever that had been.
In fact, the longer Finn looked at the demon, just looking back at him, the more his confusion moved towards frustration, and then anger. Finally, he came to a conclusion.

What’s he gonna do, kill me for mouthing off? I wish he would…

The words came out in a tumble. “So? You just gonna stand there and look at me? I called you here to do a job. So do it.” He got to his feet, shaking more than he’d realized, and took a step towards the beast that towered over him. “Do your job and end me already.”

There was a long, silent pause, and then, to Finn’s surprise, the demon heaved a long sigh. And Finn found himself further shocked when the creature spoke to him. In English.

“I think we’d better talk.”
………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

“So you’ve just always been that way?”

“Pretty much. Ever since I can remember, anyway. Always loud. It only got dark later though.”

“Yeah, about that- your memories are super spotty, and I can’t find the link as to why, or when some of those things changed.”

“Oh, yeah… the internet says sometimes it’s a trauma response- something about the mind repressing things that would otherwise hurt it. Hilarious that it only chooses some things.”

“You’d think it would suppress all that whispering…”

“Yeah, you’d think. That gets pretty annoying.” Finn glanced up to where Rix was leaning against the wall. The tall demon had introduced himself by that name, likely because of Finn’s obvious trouble pronouncing his full name the first few times he’d tried.

The scaly beast was watching him, muscular arms folded across his chest in contemplation. Rix didn’t blink much, and that would have been unnerving to Finn, except for the fact the demon had been nothing but gentle with him since letting go of his throat.

Rix kept his gaze on the young boy. He was aware that by human standards, Finn was an adult, if a young one, but by demon standards… Finn was a child. And for a child to have the mess in his head that Rix had found in Finn’s was-… concerning, to say the least. He kept his eyes locked on Finn’s face, trying to read his expressions as they talked through what Rix had discovered.

“Seems like it’s more than just annoying. It’s driven you crazy, in many ways. I mean, you wanted to get away from it so bad, you went to all the trouble of calling me up.”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?” Finn frowned, gesturing at the fact he was in his bathroom, in his apartment, having a conversation with a literal demon. “You’re here, and all the stories say you don’t leave summoners alive.”

“How do you know any of those are true?” Rix asked, arching one side of his brow ridge questioningly.

Finn looked exasperated. “They haven’t been wrong so far, right down to the incantation.” He looked down, suddenly angry at the blood on his arms, and swiped at it a bit. “Not that I could get the words right, but still, I managed.”

Rix watched him fidgeting, and came again to the very odd realization that Finn, opposite to every other human he’d ever met, was nervous about the possibility of not getting killed. The demon stepped over and sat on the edge of the counter, which creaked under his weight. He leaned forward on his knees, and did his best to look curious. It didn’t work, if Finn’s slight recoil when he looked up was anything to go by.

“Why exactly do you want to die so badly, Finn?”

The human looked back down at his arms, and continued to fidget by starting to wipe the blood off, and then just resorting to smearing it around in little circles. He shrugged a little. “You’ve been in my head. Would you wanna live with that?”

Rix considered that for a moment, before shaking his head, being careful not to clink his horns off the mirror behind him. “No, I wouldn’t, but that’s not really it, is it… I looked through your mind for your fears. I dug down as far as what your soul is most terrified of, and it wasn’t the dark or the noise inside your mind.” He paused for a moment, as a thought occurred to him. “Do you even know what I found?”

Finn was quiet for a long moment, before he answered Rix, speaking so softly the demon had to perk his ears to hear it. “Being alone… because I’m too much of a burden for people to continue to love…” He pointedly did not look up, not interested in how the demon would react.

Rix nodded slowly as Finn confirmed what he knew. “In the darkest recesses of that cave of a mind you’ve got, I found a crippling fear of driving others away. A terror of losing those you love because you’ll never be good enough for them.” The demon huffed quietly. “Very deeply personal fears. Not something I can pull out of your head and use to kill you. Usually it’s spiders or snakes or men with guns or screaming mothers swinging a frying pan or something tangible I can use to send people to a memorable death, but-… not you.” He shook his head. “You have to make things difficult.”

“Why does it have to be difficult though?” Finn looked up now, his brow furrowed. “You’re fully nine feet tall and weight at least two of me in muscle mass, on top of having claws and fangs, why do you keep saying it’s hard?” Here, Finn scrambled to his feet, the very real possibility he might live flashing through his head. “Just do it! Kill me, Rix!” He stepped right up to the demon, spreading his arms as if to say ‘here I am’, leaving his chest open to shredding, his throat open to rending, his belly open to disemboweling- he could think of multiple ways for Rix to do this.

But the demon just sat there and looked at the boy, staring at his expression. This was uncharted territory, once again. Rix had seen plenty of people beg for mercy. He’d seen many supplicate on behalf of their stupid, wayward friends. He’d even had a priest or two challenge him on religious grounds, which had ended interestingly. But this? A human challenging him, begging him, mocking him even, to get him to kill them? Totally new.

“It’s not that simple, Finn. Look, you summon me by accident and get killed, that’s one thing. I harvest souls and guide them through the Veil. You call on me, hoping for me to kill an enemy, and end up dead, that’s normal. In both cases, I’m the master of both of our fates.” He tapped a claw on the countertop. “If I take your soul through the Veil, and any of my family or the rest of the tribe finds out I obeyed you, in any way, shape, or form, I’ll be the laughing stock of the entire Plain of Kejenom for probably thousands of years!”

“Oh, come on!” Finn yelled at him, and seemingly without thinking, swung his hands, now clenched into fists, at Rix’s face. “You have got to be kidding me! This isn’t happening!” The frustration and adrenaline were working together now, forming rage, and Finn realized he finally had a target who could handle it. The first punch hit, and Rix didn’t even flinch. Finn’s knuckles crunched unpleasantly, not breaking, but definitely bloodied, and he swung the other fist harder. Rix tilted his head slightly to avoid getting hit in the eye, and held out a claw, trying to calm Finn.

“Finn, c’mon, take it easy, this isn’t getting us anywhere-”

“Take it easy?! Take it easy?!” Finn’s fist slammed into Rix’s chest this time, again bouncing off the thick scaly hide, leaving a small bloody splotch behind.
“You’re the only being ever, in all of my life, who’s been in my head where he could understand what it’s like to be me, and you think I should take it easy??” Another punch, a little more blood.
“I fight to wake up every day, though I have no real idea why!” Another punch, this one bouncing off one of Rix’s horns.
“I have to fight a war with my body and mind to get out of bed every morning!” Another punch, glancing off Rix’s face again.
“Every moment with my family is a reminder they love me and I’m letting them down!” Another punch, this one hitting Rix’s claws and leaving more blood as gashes opened on Finn’s fist.
“Every minute I spend with them is a cherished moment of agony, because they’re everything to me but I’m useless to them!” Another punch, and Rix noticed this one was weaker as it bounced off his chest.
“I’m watching myself lose them in third person, screaming inside my mind the whole time, and you think I ought to take it easy?!” Finn swung one more punch, aiming for Rix’s face, all his anger behind his fist, but his vision was blurring from tears, and he missed.

The result of all that moment was that he fell forward, and by some twist of fate, landed against Rix’s scaly chest. The demon had his hands up, trying to ward off the weak blows, and wound up catching Finn as he fell.

They both froze for just a moment, as the unfamiliarity of the situation caught up with them.

And then Rix felt Finn suddenly relax. Or, as it turned out, collapse, as heavy sobs wracked his body. From the feel of them, these cries were being pulled out of his very soul, from way down deep, like the body finally rejecting a deeply-set infection. Finn took a deep breath, trying to control himself, but the tears kept coming, and when he tried to step back to get ahold of himself, Rix wouldn’t let go. The scaly arms tightened, and Finn didn’t have the strength, couldn’t find the strength, to pull away.

Similar to the long moment of dangling from Rix’s claws by his neck earlier in the night, Finn wasn’t sure if he stayed weeping in that embrace for ten seconds, or ten years, but when he could get his breath, he managed to choke out something he hoped was coherent between sobs.

“I just… want the noise… to stop…. Let me…. See daylight for… once… please, Rix.”

In any other situation, Rix could never have imagined himself in this position. Supporting a sobbing human who was begging for death. In fact, as he took a second to think about it while Finn cried, he still didn’t really understand what had caused him to stray from his usual methods. There was no good reason why Finn should still be alive, though Rix hadn’t been lying about being a laughingstock if his folks found out. Maybe it was the realization he’d almost been forgotten. Maybe it was the fact that Finn had reacted differently to him than any human ever. Maybe it was the conversation with his uncle earlier, about needing to be memorable- Rix couldn’t pinpoint it, but something had caused him to look at this differently, and now, he was in completely new territory. And he still had no idea what to do with Finn.

“Finn, I-… it doesn’t work like that. You can’t just use a summons on a Soul Harvester to get what you want, especially when you’d rather be dead more than alive-”

The solution struck Rix between the eyes just then, and he paused to look down at Finn, who was trying to extricate himself from the demon’s grip and swipe at his wet face.

“You’d rather be dead.”

Finn pulled back, using Rix’s momentary state of realization to get free of his arms. “That’s what I’ve been saying, yeah. Glad we’re on the same page” His sadness was fast turning to cynicism, as it seemed like Rix got further and further from what Finn had asked him there to do.

“But I can’t just give you what you want.” Rix said quickly, his words starting to tumble over each other. “So we just have to make you not want it.”

Finn frowned, his brain too foggy to follow the implication. “What?”

Rix stood up off the counter, gesturing as the solution sharpened up in his head. “I can’t just kill you because you asked. It’s a punishment for messing with things beyond you, not a reward to get you away from your internal messes. So it needs to be clear this isn’t something you want, which means I just have to get you to enjoy life, and then I can harvest your soul.”

Finn’s frown deepened as he slowly blinked, trying to process that. He quickly gave up, running a hand over his face. “I mean, it sounds like you’re still saying I manage to get out of my mess, right?”

“Yes , but-…” Rix trailed off, and decided to explain it another way. “Think of it this way- at this point, killing you would be a mercy, and my whole thing is no mercy. So in a way, leaving you alive is the more brutal ending, right?”

Finn nodded after a second. “By that logic, yes.”

“And by the time those things have switched places in your mind, I can take your soul through the Veil and still keep my ‘no mercy’ policy intact.” Rix was speaking faster as he realized this might work.

“Ok, but… how are we gonna get my desire to live to be stronger than my desire to die?” Finn was still a bit confused, since he’d been trying to work on that a long time himself.

“Well, we-… I mean, I’m sure you-… well, I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out.” As Rix said the words, he realized he meant them. He was going to figure this out if it took him the rest of Finn’s life- which, if he was successful, it would.

“So you, a big scary scaly demon from hell, are going to help me find happiness?” The sarcasm dripping off Finn’s words formed a puddle down around Rix’s feet.

“From beyond the Veil, not hell, but yes. We’re going to figure it out.” Rix laid his heavy claws on Finn’s shoulder, and looked into the human’s teary eyes. “I’m going to find a way to make you happy enough you’re begging me for your life by the time I’m through.”

And for once, as Finn looked back into the eyes of someone reassuring him they were going to try for him, he had no reason to doubt. No reason to think they were just being nice. Rix was a demon, after all. So he swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and nodded his head. “Fine. We’ll do it your way.”

“Great. Then all you have to do is learn to say my name, and give me your full name, and I can travel back and forth to you through the Veil.” Rix smiled, his grin an unsettling amalgam of blood red gums and huge teeth. “Not a power I’ve had to use much, but it’ll work.”

Finn just rolled his eyes. “Great. Trying to pronounce that mess again.” He glanced at the window, where the faintest sliver of light was beginning to peek through. Dawn was approaching. “You’ll have to coach me later.”

Rix followed his glance, and nodded, surprised by the time that had passed. “I guess so. I need to get going.” He stepped away from Finn and mumbled the phrase for ‘return home’, watching in satisfaction as the hole in the Veil opened up again, beckoning him back through. “We’ll figure this out. I’m coming back till I can take your soul with me.”

“Sounds like a plan, I guess.” Finn shuffled his feet, suddenly embarrassed about several things. “And Rix?” The demon glanced back at him as he was stepping into the weird mind-bendy portal thing. “Thanks. I think.”

Rix nodded ever so slightly, his gaze locked with Finn’s for a moment. “Don’t thank me. Just hurry up and enjoy your life so I can kill you, alright?” With that parting shot, he stepped into the hole, and felt his body turn to strings as it pulled him through. The hole in the Veil closed behind him, and Finn was left in his bathroom, with the sun rising, with a mess to clean up.
“Well. That was… certainly something.” he said quietly, before deciding the mess could wait till later. “I need some sleep, I guess.”

Maybe it was the fact he’d nearly died. Maybe it was the deep cathartic cry. Maybe it was summoning a literal demon to his bathroom that did it. But when Finn slid into his bed and fell asleep, something nearly as strange as the entire evening happened.

For the first time in a long time, he didn’t nightmare.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

“Well, Rix'ifreanach, you’re back, and-… empty-handed I see.”

Rix looked up to see his uncle waiting by the thin spot in the Veil as his body reformed. “Hello, T'iodiabo.”

“So you were summoned after all, but no soul to guide. Trying something new?” His uncle seemed genuinely interested, a small smile crossing the older demon’s face.

Rix nodded after a moment. “Yeah… you might say that.”

His uncle didn’t press too much, but there was a glint in his eye as he asked a single follow-up. “Seem to be working?”

Rix'tushedimaon chuckled quietly, looking back towards the shimmering barrier that was the Veil. “Well… it’ll certainly be memorable.”