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Vuxten walked quietly next to Sergeant Addox, listening in on the rest of the platoon talking to one another on the chat channel. They were either taking bets on how long the little green mantid had been in cryostorage or bitching about the taste of the nutripaste or their water.
All good.
Addox stopped in front of the door that the little green one pointed at before settling back down on the top of Addox's helmet. Vuxten checked and saw that Addox was running his internal heat at three degrees above normal and raising the threshhold for dumping heat into his heat sinks or deploying the small cooling fins.
"Past. Open and there," the little greenie said. It settled back down and began gnawing on the beef jerky that Casey had run up for him.
"Casey, crack the door," Vuxten ordered. He opened the channel to the rest of the platoon. "Everyone, weapons off safe but fingers off the trigger."
One by one the icons went to amber.
Casey knelt down and started working on the door, bypassing it in only a few minutes. It took a few more minutes to break the weld holding the door closed and Casey took a minute to lube the track the door was set on.
"Ready?" Casey asked, holding up the two wires.
"Ready," Vuxten told him.
Casey touched the wires together and the door slid open. Helmet lights and shoulder lights illuminated the inside of the room with harsh white light for the first time in millions of years.
"Mantid automation, man," Addox said softly.
The computer was obvious. Quantum systems, supercooled, the piping repaired over and over again. The dangling superconductor wires woven through everything.
Vuxten saw the "Phasic Control Maintenance Manifold" right away. Looking at it gave him a headache as the psychic shielding jumped six points. The system was complex, the shielding and casings removed on half of the equipment.
"Dropping my psychic shielding five percent," Addox warned. He gave a low grunt. "Wuff, I can feel the tingle across the back of my teeth."
"471, talk with your ancestor, check the system, see what you guys can do," Vuxten said.
--roger roger-- 471 sent back. --better have turkey for us--
"I'll have Casey fab you up some turkey jerky," Vuxten promised.
--casey use too much lemon pepper-- 471 said, opening the clamshell.
The psychic protection clamped down hard enough the little mantid's knees buckled for a moment. He shook his head, the other dozen green mantids following suit. He climbed down Vuxten, moving across of the floor to the electrical conduits.
--it appears to run off of some form of power-- 471 sent.
Vuxten laughed.
--checky checky-- 471 said. --we will see what we can see--
Vuxten watched the greenies check out the computer systems, the phasic system, the wiring on the walls. He moved over and leaned against a computer console, watching everyone get to work.
"He's asleep," Casey said, jerking a thumb at the green mantid on top of Addox's helmet. "Poor little guy has some serious freezer burn. Probably been in cryostasis on and off since the Precursor War."
Vuxten nodded, remaining silent.
Long minutes passed while Vuxten chewed a piece of gum and watched.
"Glory, do you read?" Casey asked from where he was standing next to one of the computer consoles.
"I read you, Sergeant. Line's full of distortion and interference though," Glory answered.
"How's your dataslicing? Any good at it?" Casey asked.
Glory chuckled. "I'm a DS, what do you think?"
"We've got a Precursor Era computer system here, VI run. Can you do your thing and, you know, take over the system?" Casey asked.
There was a pleasant laugh. "No can do, Casey. Your pipeline is wide enough for me to talk, maybe do some data exchange, but the interference would cause too many errors and your pipeline is too thin for my fat ass."
"Heh, first time a woman's ever complained about the width of my pipe," Casey laughed.
"I'm hard to please," Glory laughed with him. "I'll help what I can, but you're going to have to depend on the greenies. 680 was in Digital Warfare Corps before transferring to the Telkan Marines," she said.
"680, can you lead everyone into cracking that computer open?" Vuxten asked.
--easy peasy lemon squeezy-- 680 sent back.
The greenies crawled over the equipment, using access hatches designed for them but not.
-----------------
Cordexen sat in his command chair, staring at the console he had moved in front of him. He had traced, as best he could with only limited permissions, the areas where the servitor caste had stopped responding for a long period before responding again.
It was a wandering, meandering path from the Deep Ore Miner Maintenance and Processing Bay that led the empty area on his map that Cordexen knew contained the Hive Queens chambers, the primary phasic control system, and the facility's master control computer systems.
He wracked his brain, trying to figure out how the mere passage of the bipeds could be disturbing the servitors. Perhaps they left behind some of their numbers to be devoured?
No, that would be done by primitives, and primitives didn't fashion high tech combat armor or work Substance W.
Cordexen knew he should be alarmed by an alien species invading the facility but he honestly could not muster up the emotion to care much. If they destroyed the facility, he would be free. If they busted down his door and shot him, he would be free. If they destroyed the computer and the phasic system, he would be free.
No matter what happened, as long as it changed the unending status quo, he would be free.
"Warning, unauthorized entry to computer mainframe detected," the facility VI suddenly said. "Security control alert: unauthorized entry to computer mainframe housing."
"Open the door. I will examine the breach," Cordexen said, sitting up.
"Unable to comply. Message is as follows," the VI said.
Cordexen slumped in his chair as the Queen's words were repeated back to him.
"Unauthorized breach to..." the computer started. "Access granted. Welcome 'little teapot', admin access granted. Maintenance access granted. Power user group 'all your base' has been created."
Cordexen perked up again, watching his screen. Data was flowing by at an incredible rate, the screen's refresh capability actually being overloaded by the amount of data flashing. The VI kept reciting groups being created, access being granted to groups, power users logging on.
He watched as the facility actually posted a maintenance update to his screen.
Half of the facility was dormant. The cryopods were at critical. The power was running at one tenth power. Life support was at bare minimum.
He felt the heaters kick on, blowing warm air into the control room.
Cordexen slowly unfolded from his chair, moving over and standing under the vent.
He raised his face up, closing the armored eyelids, relishing in the warmth.
He imagined he was standing outside.
----------------
Klakeka stirred as the lights came on in his command center. He heard the environmental system kick in and felt warm air pour from the vent, enveloping him in a warm blanket of heated air. His monitor was showing a deep level scan of the facility's status.
"Environmental system lockout lifted by admin power user 'hip hop soldier'," the VI stated. "Nutripaste lockout lifted by power user 'delicious delicious turkey'. Facility lockout under review by power user 'all the electrons to my yard'."
Klakeka stared at the monitor as data flashed by almost impossibly fast. User groups he had never heard of were taking over systems, rebooting some systems, powering down others, powering up the rest.
"Power user 'Great and Powerful Zig' has issued autonomous mining machine recall and maintenance phase," the VI reported.
"Define user 'Great and Powerful Zig'," Klakeka ordered.
"Cannot comply. Message is as follow," the VI said and Klakeka started to huddle in on himself.
"Hi. My name is Technical Sergeant Grade Six 'proton movement in high gravity low temperature semi-solid strange matter' but you may call me 538. If you shoot at us we'll kill you. This facility is under lockdown by the Terran Confederate Military. Please keep all hands and bladearms inside the vehicle and remain seated at all times. Question and answer period will be after full facility control. The war is over but we'll still kill you if you resist. Turkey is delicious and we will share it with you. End message," the VI said.
Klakeka just stared. "Computer, replay message."
The VI obediently obliged, repeating it.
Klakeka frowned slightly, his antenna crossing slightly.
"Computer, define... 'turkey'," Klakeka ordered.
"Cannot com... data loading. Loaded," the VI said. It suddenly showed a picture of a fat strange looking fowl. The feathers flew off of it, the head fell off, and it suddenly fell in boiling grease. It emerged looking golden brown and covered with a light crust of ground up grain flour. The skin and meat was pulled away, revealing moist white meat that dripped grease and juices.
Klakeka found himself salivating just staring at the image.
The meat was ripped away and dropped to cartoon green servitors, who were all dancing with strange little icons replacing their eyes to display happiness.
"Turkey," the VI stated with authority. "Is delicious."
"I would very much like some," Klakeka said softly.
"Cannot comp..." the VI started to say. "Do not resist. Resistance will be met with 15mm high explosive armor defeating phasic enhanced antimatter kinetic rounds delivered in groups. Compliance will be met with delicious turkey."
Klakeka kept salivating, watching the picture.
Comply? I'll do more than comply. I will put on a hat and dance like a Vurkeent at a mating ritual for a chunk of that delicious looking meat, he thought to himself. It sounds much more delicious than bullets.
----------------
Abriketa petted the little green servitor in his lap gently. He was able to generate enough of a psychic field that through contact he could ease its anxiety at not working on the task it had been ordered to complete. Its chitin was dull and flaky, waxy and distressed, but it huddled up against Abriketa in the cold and dark of the command center.
"Someone please talk to me," Abriketa mourned.
"Cannot comply. Message is as..." the computer suddenly cut off. It had been spouting gibberish for the last few minutes and Abriketa had tuned it out.
"Hi. My name is 'P2=G1(M1m2/r2^3)3' which is the universal law of phasic strength over distance accounting for gravity but you may call me '680'," the computer suddenly said.
"I am Abriketa," he said. Part of him, ancient commands from a queen long dead, wanted him to immediately storm out and kill this '680', but he ignored it, the command no longer having the power to induce anxiety or stress. "One of the facility security commanders. What of you?"
"I am a Technical Sergeant Grade Five with the Terran Confederate Military, specializing in computer system penetration and protection," the computer stated. It sounded different, like the words were almost tumbling over one another despite the steady cadence from the computer. "I'm only dataslicing your archive records so I can spare attention speak with you while I carry out my task."
"Are you real or is this another hallucination?" Abriketa asked.
He had once suffered hallucinations for the entire time he had been outside of the cryopod, his brain taking him back to the time he was in the creche learning to be a warrior caste. Not that the VI had cared. It had merely put him back in cryosleep.
"I'm real, but that's what a hallucination would say, isn't it?" the voice answered. "Huh, rare earth mining, like we suspected. Interesting, the liquid nickle-iron core is nearly 11% rare elements, down from 14%. You've been busy. Oops, sorry. What do you want to talk about?"
"Who are you?"
"I told you already. Call me 680, it takes forever for you non-technical types to say my name and you sound dorky," the voice said. It repeated the longer name, only with an accent that made the name sound mangled and stupid. "So, how long have you been here?"
Abriketa exhaled slowly through his abdomen, slumping down slightly. "Forever. I have been here forever. Since the Atrekna released their great war machines upon the Lanaktallan and us both, betraying us."
"So the Atrekna fired the first shot? Good to know. Willing to talk about it?" 680 asked. "Hang on, you've gotta be miserable."
Abriketa nodded. "I am indeed miserable."
The lights came on and the fans whirred to life. Abriketa felt warm air begin to circulate and sighed deeply.
"I thank you, 680," the massive mantid warrior said.
"How long have you been in the dark?" 680 asked.
"Since we slew the queens. We did not know that they had prepared for that eventuality and they entombed us all here, for all eternity," Abriketa asked. "The phasic regulators allow the computer to give orders to the mantid as if it was a queen. I am unable to countermand the computer's commands to the servitor castes."
"That's interesting," 680 said. "So the servitor caste's higher brain functions are controlled and suppressed?"
"Without the phasic regulator the servitor castes would return to primitive hunter gatherer reflexes," Abriketa said. He gave a sigh. "I so wish they could talk. I have been so lonely."
"Don't move. We have to reset the system. It'll come right back," 680 said.
The lights clicked off and the environmental system went dead.
Abriketa didn't care, still petting the servitor in his lap.
Even if it had only been a hallucination, being able to speak to another after so long meant he would die happy.
--------------
"How's it look?" Vuxten asked from where he was sitting in a chair designed for a massive mantid.
Addox had a good dozen green mantids huddled on his shoulders, on top of his helmet, and on his legs as he sat on the floor. Some were shivering, almost all of them were munching on turkey or beef jerky that Casey had ran off his nanoforge.
Another green mantid came in, started moving toward the computer, passed within a few feet of Addox and stopped. Its antenna lifted and it looked around, almost as if it was waking from a long sleep. It moved over next to another one of its kind.
"Food?" It asked.
"Is good," the one eating said. "Is turkey."
"Here, little guy," Addox said, holding out a piece of turkey. The little greenie took it and sat down next to its brethren.
"How's it look, Sergeant Addox?" Vuxten repeated.
"Pretty good. The phasic system is on its own dedicated systems, the software is all hard encoded, no way to patch it. It's different than the phasic systems used by the Confederacy to ensure no queen pops up and slams a hive-mind down on our Mantid allies and members," Addox said. Several little green servitors were in his lap and he was carefully petting them with one armored gauntlet. The ones on his lap had eaten more beef jerky and then gone to sleep. "If we want to disrupt it, we'll have to blow it in place."
"What about the active mantids? Any data on them?" Vuxten asked.
Addox nodded. "Three warrior caste are awake, pulled from cryostasis. That represents over half of the remaining warriors. No speakers, no queens, looks like most of the warriors and speakers were killed attacking the queens. There's about twenty active greenies, but the computer keeps sending them in here. There's only about fifty more in cryostasis. The remaining ones have largely succumbed to cryo-shock."
"How long?" Plunex asked.
"They've been down here for longer than anything I've ever seen. I'd say the Precursor War. They weren't hatched later. From the records 680 pulled, it looks like the computer would wake them up for emergencies it couldn't handle then refreeze them," Addox said. He gave a slight shudder. "They're the oldest living things I know of, frozen and thawed over and over for over a hundred million years."
"By the Digital Omnimessiah," Plunex said softly. "Talk about endless torment. May the Grave Bound Beauty comfort the damned."
Vuxten noticed that Casey was off to the side, doing something with a hologram projection. He shoved himself off of the chair and moved over to Casey.
"What are you doing, Sergeant Casey?" Vuxten asked.
Casey didn't look away from the hologram. "Back when I met Peak, oh, a hundred or so years back, she worked in psyops. Memetic Warfare Division," Casey said. He adjusted the colors slightly. "You've probably seen her handiwork a couple dozen times."
"OK," Vuxten said. The image was blurry to him, looked like it slightly overlapped itself over four columns.
"Well, explaining concepts to these guys is going to be difficult. We want to make sure they understand if they try to fight us, even if they overwhelm you and your people with their psychic power, Addox and I will rip them apart with our bare hands," Casey said. "Now, funny thing Peak taught me about memes is something I'm going to put to work."
Vuxten waited a moment. Finally, he tabbed up another piece of stimgum and sighed. "What's the weird thing, Sergeant?"
Casey shifted an image slightly. "OK, the more text on a meme, the less effective it is. Nobody wants to read your blathering manifesto, they want to look, laugh, and move on, or get the data quickly. The less words you use, the better. If you have a dual meme, they need to be on top of one another or side to side, instantly comparable, not 'turn over' or 'next page' crap," Casey said. He adjusted some of the lines again. "Now, a properly done image meme doesn't need text to convey its message. In some ways, the less words the more information you can have in the meme."
"What's the weird thing?" Vuxten repeated.
"A good, properly done meme, bypasses language and cultural barriers, even species barriers. We might not know anything about them, but there is a way to communicate, and that's memes," Casey said. "680 is talking to one through the computer, but the language drift and syntax morphology is damn near insurmountable outside of the computer. I want to make sure my meme works right and we don't have to fight these guys."
"So you're going to meme the warriors to death?" Vuxten asked.
"More like meme them to life," Casey said. He laughed. "There's an old classic song I could parody, right there."
"Think it'll work?" Vuxten asked.
"Might be a good idea to try this before we blow up the mountain, sir," Casey said, turning and giving a grin. "If it doesn't, I'm pretty sure we just blow the geothermal in place and ride out on a tsumani of lava."
"Hardy har har," Vuxten said, turning away. "Let me know when your magic meme is ready."
"I'll need a map of the facility, sir," Casey said, his voice distracted.
"Then I'll make sure you get it," Vuxten said.
---------------
General No'Drak moved into the situation room, putting a cigarette between his mandibles as he moved up to the holotank. He'd managed to get a good night's rest and a meal, but once again duty pulled him back.
The Precursors were largely defeated. Mopup was down to the infantry units. The tanks and strikers were largely cycled back for maintenance and crew relief.
Great Most High/General A'armo'o was requesting complete refit of his tanks. More than a refit, a "Service Life Extension" performed on them to bring them up to "parity or near-parity with Confederate allied military forces" that would require the least amount of retraining for his troops.
No'Drak considered it for a long moment. The decision was his, all the way to deciding if he wanted to offer a place in the Confederate military to the Lanaktallan soldiers.
It had proven highly effective in the case of the Warsteel Herd.
General No'Drak thumbed the approval button.
Next up was priority and No'Drak stared at it.
A list of template requests from that psycho Casey.
The most recent one was a recon drone with holoemitters calibrated for Mantid eyes. It had to be able to problem solve navigation issues, among other things, but didn't require a VI since his data bandwidth was low and depending on spooky particle boojums.
Oddly enough, there had also been a template request for turkey meat with Mantid vitamin additions as well as beef of the same kind.
General No'Drak frowned.
What are you up to? he asked.
Next up was notification that his request for a full Elven Court had been approved and was enroute from Telkan with an ETA of less than four days.
After that was meteorological reports on the damage all the atomic weapons and the Precursors had done to the ecosystem.
Well, at least there's going to be living people to worry about their ecosystem, No'Drak thought to himself as he settled in and began reading the reports.
Behind him, Second Most High Ge'ermo'o entered. He slaved his monitor to No'Drak's so he could see what decisions the General was making. No'Drak authorized it with a tap of his bladearm almost absently, noting the radiation levels in the sea water was far lower than initial projections.
Ge'ermo'o sat and watched the data Smokey 'No was looking over and contemplating why the Treana'ad officer made each decision he did.
He was a most observant officer, he was sure he could deduce, given time and information, each of General No'Drak's command decisions and the reasons behind them.
------------------------
Cordexen opened his eyelids at the hissing noise. He looked at the door and saw the bright sparkle of a fusion torch cutting its way through the endosteel. It was a round half-circle, roughly the size of a russet servitor.
Cordexen reluctantly moved away from the air blowing through the vent and his fantasies of standing in a field of grass. He moved to his command chair and sat down, watching.
After a moment the metal fell to the floor. There was burst of mist and then the strangest thing rolled through the hole.
It had two tracks providing mobility. It was a large box with a row of infrared sensors with a pair of infrared projectors on each side to provide it with the ability to see. The little thing rolled into the middle of the room and shifted until it was facing him.
It suddenly played a little tune that Cordexen found pleasing. A mathematical arrangement of audible tones.
Suddenly a hologram flickered to life and Cordexen stared at it.
It was designed for his compound eyes to see clearly, the colors pleasing and well defined.
It was two columns of three pictures. Drawn, stylized pictures that made the subjects enjoyable to look at even if the colors were arranged in a slightly humorous fashion.
On the left it showed a warrior caste Mantid holding his rifle and pointing it at the door. The picture below showed bipeds and green servitors coming in and the warrior caste mantid shooting at them. The bottom picture showed the warrior caste mantid dead in the chair with little skulls for eyes and symbols of displeasure and sadness over the dead warrior.
On the right it showed the warrior mantid's rifle on the floor, the warrior mantid's arms and bladearms were lifted up. The one below showed the bipeds coming in and the warrior mantid holding a little stick with a square of white cloth on it and waving. The bottom picture showed the warrior mantid eating turkey with symbols indicating happiness around it.
They wish me to surrender or they will kill me, Cordexen thought. If I fight, they will kill me. They are familiar enough with my people to create this image. It can be clearly seen, the colors are pleasant, and the artistic style is stylized to be pleasing to me. They know my people and this message tells me that they will not only try to kill me if I resist, they know they can kill me.
He looked at the little robot and it played the tune again. This time the back opened and Cordexen flinched, expecting death to come from the little drone.
Instead it popped up a plas stick with a white cloth on it.
I would do anything just to see the sun once more, Cordexen thought.
He moved forward, picking up the flag from the little robot.
It made happy beeping noises.
The back slid open and steam billowed out. Cordexen jerked back reflexively. He could smell cooked meat, strange spices, and his sensitive antenna were almost overwhelmed by the first taste of something besides nutripaste he had sensed in lifetimes.
A cooked fowl raised up with a little triumphant tune.
"TuRkEy Is DeLiCiOuS" appeared above the little robot in maintenance runes. It turned and clattered away as Cordexen took his two prizes and returned to his command chair.
At the first bite Cordexen had admit the robot was right.
Turkey was delicious.
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Hello everyone!
I apologise sincerely for the delay in predictions this week, I had a lot happening, Blood tests for glucose levels and such, a Job interview, overall not feeling super well, but I didn't want to let you guys down.
This is a fun card, not an amazingly stacked card, but a fun one, and an end to the question "Can two team mates destroy each other in the Octagon?".
(c) - Champ
(D) - Debut
FLS - Fight Lose Streak
FWS - Fight Win Streak
NS - No Streak
(#x) - Rank in Division
Lets go!
Prelims
Women’s Flyweight
Gillian Robertson (#13) (9-5-0, NS) v Miranda Maverick (8-2-0, 6 FWS) - This is an incredible match up. Robertson is a savage, one of the most underrated and dangerous submission artists in the division who hasn’t really gotten a strong hold on climbing the ranks. Regardless of her record, she has an excellent ground game, she works incredibly hard to get the fight to the ground, and when she does, she instantly works for a submission position, and most of the time, that works and her opponents succumb to pressure and present their neck or limb. Now, a lot of her opponents are aware of the threats on the ground and now work to avoid and defend takedowns, and thus keep the fight on the feet. This is key for Maverick, and I firmly believe that Maverick can quickly outpower Robertson, she’s an incredibly physically strong fighter who has great power in her hands, and being so young in her career. She has made great strides in her career since her debut in Invicta in which she dominated most of her fights. She has pretty effective striking, and she throws leather when needed, but most of her best work is done on the ground, she’s a very good submission artist and even though she’s probably not going to force the fight to the ground against a great grappler like Robertson, she would know how to get out of submission positions and work back to the feet. I love Robertson, she’s an animal, but she’s relatively one dimensional, and I love what I see in Miranda. So, another hype train i'm gonna ride for a little longer…
Maverick via KO R2
Welterweight
Gabe Green (9-3-0, NS) v Philip Rowe (D) (7-2-0, 7 FWS) - This is a great fight between two newcomers, Green had a fantastic debut against Rodriguez, and even though he did lose, he did manage to put on an incredible performance, he even came in as a late replacement so this wasn’t a full camp performance and yet he still landed 120 plus strikes, and he ate shots from Daniel Rodrigeuz for 15 minutes, it was a beautiful, violent fight. I love how Green fights, he has an interesting defensive shell and he gives off a lot of different looks that allowed him to land a few decent shots on Rodriguez. Green will no doubt look a little bit different this time around because he has had a full camp and is more prepared for this fight. Rowe has turned around his career since his two back to back losses at the start of his professional career. Nothing but submissions and knockouts on his record, but in regards to this fight, he has one major advantage and that’s his reach, he’s very long, and has a 7.5 inch reach advantage, if he can avoid the pressure of Green (and Green is the type of fighter to push forward nonstop), and maybe take the fight to the ground, I can see Rowe getting a slick submission in, because from what I can see when it comes to Green’s chin, it’s pretty damn solid. So the best bet for Rowe in my opinion is to take it to the ground, and slip in a choke.
Rowe via Sub R2
Featherweight
Ricky Simon (17-3-0, 2 FWS) v Brian Kelleher (22-11-0, NS) - Any fight that has Ricky Simon in it, sign me up to watch it end to end because Simon is a specimen. I could easily copy and paste what i wrote about Simon when he fought Pirrello, but this time it’s a little bit different, it’s at featherweight and he will no doubt be carrying more mass, exuding more energy when he throws punches, or slams opponents, and that’s a bit dangerous when coming against someone who has fought in Featherweight beforehand in Kelleher, but the skillset and the power will still be there, i’m just weary about his cardio, Simon has excellent cardio at Bantamweight, but at Featherweight that’s a whole different question. Simon is incredible at creating pressure and throwing everything he has into every round, wild striking, vicious wrestling and a non-stop pace that is as exhausting for us as it is for his opponent, and that’s a good thing. Simon is facing a very durable and experienced, well rounded fighter in Kelleher though. Kelleher has an interesting array of techniques, with his signature, most mastered technique being a guillotine, but his stance (a somewhat blocky wrestling/striking hybrid) allows him to stand firm, defend any takedowns and throw hard, and with Kellehers proclivity to takedown and wrestle, his stance also allows him to dip and level change effortlessly, he’s a very good wrestler as well so he has a huge variety of weapons he can use to defeat Simon, but honestly, i’m still riding a Simon hype train, and I feel like by the time Kelleher throws something, Simon would be somewhere else, out of view and attacking, Simon is fast, durable, exceptionally well rounded and always entertains. Lets go Simon!
Simon via UD
Catchweight (140)
Andre Ewell (17-6-0, 2 FWS) v Chris Gutierrez (15-3-2, NS) - This is an interesting match up. Ewell is someone who a lot of people kinda overlook because of how talent rich the division is, but if there’s one thing you need to keep an eye out for with Ewell, it’s his volume, he just throws, and throws, and throws. He is a kickboxer at heart, and his length and range allow him to adjust his style of attacking to fit the situation. He can keep at bay aggressive fighters by hitting then evading, he can push forward relatively aggressively, but he’s somewhat smart about his range whenever he strikes. His left straight is by far his best weapon, but he does have one flaw, and that is he looks maybe too loose on the feet at times, if you look at the Jonathan Martinez fight, you’ll notice that he was milliseconds away from being cleanly hit by Martinez’s super fast kicks, you can’t take that risk when you fight someone like Gutierrez. Gutierrez is a powerful striker, everything he throws is just… dangerous, and sharp, and has the shortest travel time from Point A to B, it’s pretty awesome to watch him get loose in the octagon, landing heavy leg kicks, body kicks, combo’s, anything really, The way he methodically dismantled Morales was beautiful, those leg kicks were powerful, landing in the same spot over and over again. Gutierrez landed 36 leg kicks in that fight I believe. He had a gameplan and he followed it through. He will need to do the same to disable the aggression from Ewell, chop at those legs, bring Ewells hands lower than they sometimes already are, then target the head. That’s what I feel like will happen.
Gutierrez via KO R3
Women’s Strawweight
Polyana Viana (11-4-0, NS) v Mallory Martin (7-3-0, NS) - Odd little tidbit I noticed, this is the second Strawweight fight of 2021, both the Bantamweight and Flyweight divisions have way more fights, so i’m glad Strawweight is getting a little bit of love. Viana is a great submission artist, she’s always looking for the fight to go to the ground so she can work her magic, Viana is like a snake on the ground, always finding the better positions to fire off a few submission attempts, and whilst her striking isn’t exactly clean or effective, that threat of being knocked out is always going to be there. Martin has a solid stand up game, she’s got decent striking and mixes her attacks very well, and I strongly feel that she will want to keep this fight standing otherwise she’s going to get outworked on the ground. I’m not too sure about who is going to win this fight though, if it goes to the ground Viana has a solid chance of getting the win, but Mallory is a tough striker to beat, and I’m not too sure if Viana will want to risk a striking exchange. This could be a methodical, boring fight, i’m not too hype about this fight, but overall i’ll be leaning on Martin to win.
Martin via UD
Welterweight
Dhiego Lima (15-7-0, 3 FWS) v Belal Muhammad (#15) (17-3-0, 3 FWS) - An incredible match up to start this event. Lima is a super tough fighter, and whilst he hasn’t had a finish in quite a while, he still puts on pretty decent performances. Recently his performances haven’t been super good, throwing but not landing, grappling seems to be his main weapon, but with how inactive Lima has been, and how sporadic his fighting timeline has been, it’s pretty hard to see too many positives in comparison to the rise that Belal Muhammad has had in recent years. Muhammad is an animal at the moment, his style makes it very difficult to take him on, or even read him. He has two major threats for most of his opponents, his wrestling and his powerful, crashing right hand. He typically dips to level change but then launches that right hand. His wrestling is incredible and he is quite controlling when it comes to the ground game. Everything about Belal is something I like to see in a developing fighter. I can see Lima getting hit brutally over and over with those power right hands, then taken down and eventually submitted.
Muhammad via Sub R3
Middleweight
Rodolfo Vieira (7-0-0, 7 FWS) v Anthony Hernandez (7-2-0, NS) - A very interesting fight, and it’s always good to see an undefeated heavy favourite put his streak on the line. Vieira is a submission specialist, not a submission artist, a specialist, that’s a whole different level of whoa. Over 100 grappling bouts, multiple gold medals and tournament wins, Vieira is one of the most accredited grapplers that the UFC has at the moment, that’s still young and still has a chance to show off his striking, but holy crap he’s a solid grappler… he won 5 championships in 3 years, that’s not only impressive, but on a whole different level of skill. He’s called the Black Belt Hunter for a reason and well, Hernandez is going to go to sleep if he’s not careful. Hernandez has had a rough time in the UFC, and i’m hoping they’re giving him this fight not to beef up Vieira, but to give Hernandez an excuse to stay in the UFC. Hernandez has had some decent wins in his career, but most of those wins were in LFA. In the UFC he hasn’t been too successful, his recent loss against Holland kinda showed me that he isn’t great at being pressured, and if Vieira pushes forward, works hard for a takedown and absolutely dominates from there, I don’t see Hernandez getting the upper hand on the ground, he has a punchers chance but I mean… Vieira is a phenom at the moment, a rare addition to the UFC and i’m on the train, first class tickets!
Vieira via Sub R1
Main Card
Middleweight
Julian Marquez (7-2-0, NS) v Maki Pitolo (13-7-0, 2 FLS) - It’s a shame that 2020 was a horrible year for Pitolo. Marquez is coming back from a 2 year hiatus, after suffering a heavy loss at the hands of Alessio Di Chirico, or as we now probably call him, the Hype Train Derailer. Marquez is a powerhouse, he explodes and lands incredibly hard, he has insane power in his hands and everything he does has that extra oomph that you can probably hear in a full arena. Marquez however is somewhat one dimensional with his style, he loves to strike, he loves chaos and hates order, and that’s going to be dangerous for Pitolo because numerous times we’ve seen Pitolo succumb to pressure. Pitolo is a mad man, don’t get me wrong, he has insane striking, he’s wild, a showman and someone who you really want to see fight for a while, but he can’t go one on one against Marquez and think “i’ll just go wild”, he needs to keep Marquez pushing him for the first round, see where the cardio holds up (I don’t think Marquez has much cardio because of how explosive he is), and then start attacking him in the second or third, but again, it’s hard for me to tell how good a returning fighter is cardio wise, so this is a very rough prediction. I’m leaning on the Cuban Missile Crisis to win this one though.
Marquez via KO R1
Lightweight
Bobby Green (27-11-1, NS) v Jim Miller (32-15-0, NS) - Green is lowkey one of my most favourite fighters, the amount of work he does in the octagon is pretty impressive, especially when you watch his fight against Vannata, that fight will go down as a classic I can assure you. Green has gorgeous boxing, he’s incredibly crisp and fast with his punches, and he has his wrestling to add even more frustration and drain his opponents of their gas. Green had one set back during 2020 and that was against the incredibly talented Thiago Moises. Green has every skill that one would need to succeed in the UFC, especially with his crisp boxing and head movement, he’s going to be a dangerous fighter for Miller who has a more grapple heavy approach. Miller has had some significant wins over his very extensive career, recently submitting Clay Guida, Roosevelt Roberts and Jason Gonzalez to name a few, Miller is a dangerous, dangerous grappler, he can strike though but not to great efficiency, he mostly uses his striking to set up a takedown, where he does his most effective work. Miller is on a rough run at the moment, ever since losing to Anthony Pettis, or even prior to that against Poirier, he hasn’t really strung together any major streaks, a win here and there, but nothing to great significance, and since this is the Lightweight division we’re talking about, significance is important. I have Green in this fight, he can keep this fight on the feet, keep at a distance and keep striking, he’ll win this one.
Green via UD
Middleweight
Kelvin Gastelum (#11) (16-6-0, 3 FLS) v Ian Heinisch (#15) (14-3-0, NS) - This is going to be beautiful. Gastelum has incredible boxing, he’s the only one that gave Israel Adesanya trouble on the feet by using his beautiful pressure and interesting hopping technique that got him into range. Gastelum is on a losing streak but he has faced incredibly tough challenges. He went to war with Adesanya, he fought a highly technical bout against Till and has now lost to the submission artist in Hermansson. He is now facing the wild and explosive Ian Heinisch, which is going to be a brutally tough fight because Heinisch is pretty damn aggressive and has explosive takedowns that come with his explosive strikes, overall, Heinisch is an explosive dude and a perfect matchup for a methodical and tactical boxer like Gastelum. Heinisch is someone who is always improving, so there’s no doubt that what you saw in 2020 will be what you get in 2021 and more. That makes me wonder what his game plan will be, whether he will come in with a wrestling heavy approach to negate the power that Gastelum has on his feet, or if he’ll be incredibly aggressive and keep Gastelums back glued to the fence. Either way, Heinisch is going to be unpredictable, and I think it will be a true test of what Gastelum can accomplish if he can handle Heinisch. This is a great fight, one that I don’t want to overtalk this fight because well, it’s hard predicting a fighter on a losing streak, to win, i’ve done that one too many times (Michael Johnson being the most recent one) and it didn’t turn out how I expected… So this is a risky prediction, but War Gastelum!
Gastelum via KO R2
Co-Main Event
Women’s Flyweight
Maycee Barber (#9) (8-1-0, NS) v Alexa Grasso (12-3-0, NS) - An interesting fight to say the least. Barber is coming off a heavy loss and a horrible injury to her knee, so there’s a lot of variables coming into this fight. Barber has always been an incredibly aggressive and tough fighter, she pushes forward, launching punch after punch that can overwhelm her opponents, she put away Robertson very effectively, bloodied up Cifers and destroyed Aldrich. She’s no doubt still a prospect and if she can get past Grasso then that certifies her prospect status in the Flyweight division. The one thing i'm worried about is her knee… It was probably her first ever injury and that would hang on your mind for quite a while. Barber is going to have to get past the excellent boxing of Grasso if she is to win this one though, and that’s going to be pretty tough. Grasso has made her rounds in the UFC before, facing pretty much every up and comer that the UFC threw at her, Grasso is yet to get a solid winning streak going and her main weakness seems to be her ground game, She doesn’t have the best takedown defence, nor the best defensive submissions, her main style is her boxing, and if she can avoid the ground with Barber and keep the fight on the feet, I can see Grasso getting the upper hand. But Barber is a solid, solid prospect and one minor setback isn’t going to hurt her. Barber is still a very promising fighter and i’m gonna lean on her a little bit longer.
Barber via UD
Main Event
Welterweight Championship bout
Kamaru Usman (c) (17-1-0, 16 FWS) v Gilbert Burns (#4) (19-3-0, 6 FWS) - A fight that we all needed to see. Every match up has happened but this one. Usman is an athletic freak, he’s one of the most durable and strongest welterweights in the division right now, his wrestling is incredible, his striking is somewhat great, his cardio is neverending, and he has defeated the best the welterweight division has to offer, all but one. So many people think Usman is boring, the whole footstomp meme is everywhere this week and whilst it’s a good chuckle, I feel like some people are sleeping on the potential that this guy has. There is so much story behind this fight, training partners, Usman leaving his own gym to train with Wittman (which is a pretty great substitute), we might see a change in style from Usman, because I highly doubt he will wrestle with Burns considering Burns is one of the best BJJ practitioners in the welterweight division. I feel like Usman will try to trade hands with Burns, or at least grapple against the fence but not on the ground. Burns is one of the most improved fighters of the division, he was mostly a submission artist but in the last year or two, we have seen him become far more comfortable on the feet, and that throws off a lot of his opponents. His ability to change and adapt, and include striking to his skillset is second to none the best change I have seen in a fighter. It’s kinda like when Gaethje finally learnt to become patient and we saw an upgrade to Gaethje’s skill set. This is what is happening to Burns at the moment, we are seeing a newborn striker who carries significant power and isn’t afraid to show it. This is a super tough fight to predict. Both fighters have a solid chance of winning… but I feel like Usman will be holding onto that gold a little longer. I’m feeling a little ballsy with this prediction.
Usman via KO R4
And that's it!
Again, sorry for the late predictions, been a stupid crazy week.
f you wish to support me please message me and i can provide details on how you can do so.
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Lets have a fun discussion down below, let me know if you agree/disagree with my picks :)
But for now, have a beautiful week, take care of yourselves :)

Half an hour after the sun rose, I unlocked the front doors to the store and turned the sign to read OPEN. In the silence, the flipping pages of my paperback copy of Peyton Place were deafening. It was cool now, but the signature July heat would settle in a matter of hours. They predicted triple digits for the next few weeks.
I looked out the window at Hannah’s Diner across the street. I could see my wife Lorelei bustling along the lunch counter with a fresh pot of coffee, topping off the early birds’ steaming mugs. I smiled faintly. We both had dawn schedules. If I didn’t have my own customers to deal with, I probably would’ve been over there myself.
The bell chimed abruptly. Heavy shoes clacked on the tile as they walked towards the counter. Without looking up I tried to guess if it was Dr. Cook or Mr. Dugan. Dugan was probably just starting with Ms. McCabe for her funeral, so I assumed the former.
“Mornin’, Rex.” Dr. Cook’s voice rang out. I was right. I looked up at him in his white coat and eyeglasses, the black medical bag clutched in his hand. He’d been the town doctor for as long as I could remember. “Mornin’, Dr. Cook.” I replied. I instinctively reached towards the display case of cigarettes. “Pall Mall’s, the usual?”
Cook shook his head. “None for me today. I finally decided I’m gonna quit. I’ve been breathin’ smoke in the patients’ faces for who knows how long, I figure if I’m ever gonna stop it should be now. I will take a bottle of Coke, though.”
I grabbed one from the cooler by the register and rang him up. “That’s very good thinking, Dr. Cook. Did Ms. McCabe last night finally push you over?”
He nodded. “Rest her soul, the poor woman. I thought those things were supposed to be clean. It’s all over the papers now, how tobacco and menthol and all that jazz rots your insides. I’ll bet when Dugan finally cuts her open her lungs’ll look like overcooked pot roast.”
Cook stiffened. “Say, speaking of, that bastard hasn’t been here yet today, has he?” He asked.
I took the dollar he handed me. “Nope. You’re the first one here.”
He sighed as I gave him his change. “Well, when you see him, tell him it won’t do no good telling everyone I killed her or somethin’. That old joke wasn’t funny the first hundred times he told it.”
As if on cue, the bell rang. “It don’t matter, it’s still funny to me.”
Dugan, the town’s undertaker, stood in the doorway. He was dressed in his usual natty black suit dotted with formaldehyde stains. The gold chain he always wore around his neck glinted in the sunlight.
Dugan glided across the room towards him, skin sallow and pale. “Thanks for Ms. McCabe last night, doc. I was afraid I wasn’t gonna be able to pay the mortgage this month.”
Cook grimaced. Both of them knew how much he hated being called “doc”. He snatched his Coke bottle off the counter and began walking towards the door. “See ya later, Rex.”
Dugan stopped and put a thin hand on his shoulder. “No, listen doc, I mean it. That’s what, three in the past month? If you keep it up I’ll be able to buy so much embalmin’ fluid and coffins I could bury this whole town come Judgement Day.”
Cook shoved him brutally to the side, almost knocking him into the lotto display. As he opened the door, he turned. “And if you keep it up, no one that comes through your door’ll die a virgin, alive or not.” Dugan’s face twisted into a mask of anger. The doctor was far down the street before he could retort.
I already had his Malboros on the counter waiting. He threw a couple bucks at me and took one out, fishing his lighter from his pocket. The awkward silence was getting to me, so I blurted out, “Dr. Cook bought a Coke today instead of his Pall Malls. Said he’s trying to quit for the health of his patients.”
Dugan took a long drag and held the cigarette out, blowing smoke from between his lips. “Rex, I ain’t gotta worry ‘bout nothin’ like that. My patients are already gone. They don’t give no lip if I smoke in front of ‘em. Tar and black lung and all that nonsense. Buncha crap if you ask me. Doc’s just trying to look good.”
As I put coins in the register, he continued. “I don’t get him. He thinks that just ‘cause he went to medical school everyone should feed him with a silver spoon. Acts all high-and-mighty. It gets real tirin’, it does. Someone should teach him a lesson.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know, Mr. Dugan. He never bothered me all that much.”
He took another drag. “If there’s one person’s grave I’d dance on if they died, it’d be him. He’s been deliverin’ his failures to me for twenty-odd years now. It’s about time he came through my door in a box.”
He walked towards the exit but stopped and turned. “He makes me question my practice, he does. You can draft wills, and hope everythin’ is taken care of after you’re gone, but it don’t matter. The only person that can make sure it’s just the way you want it is you, and you sure ain’t gonna be there to stop it if somethin’ goes wrong. If idiots like him are all that’s left after I’ve croaked, is it worth it? Every man digs his own grave. You just gotta hope the living will see you through.”
I said nothing. I never knew how to respond when he went off on tangents like that. He stepped through the door with a smile. “You have a nice day now, Rex.”
That night, I told Lorelei about the encounter in the store. She dropped dumplings into simmering broth with two spoons. “I just don’t understand why those two to hate each other so much.”
I sat in the chair by the kitchen door, crossing my arms. “Every mornin’ at open, day in and day out, even since when papa still had the store. Dr. Cook comes in for his Pall Malls, and Mr. Dugan comes in for his Malboros. They snipe at each other for a minute or two and then go about their day. It has to get old after a while. I know it does for me.”
Our dog, a pit-bull mix named Tallulah, stretched on the rug by my feet. She sat up and turned to look at me for a pet. I smiled and scratched her behind the ears. I looked down at her swollen belly. She was expecting pups in the next few weeks.
“They were in Mama’s grade durin’ school.” Lorelei said, stirring the dumplings. “Dr. Cook got a big scholarship and went off to the city and Mr. Dugan just waited for his daddy to die so he could take over the practice. It’s not unlike you, Rex.”
I shot her a fake outraged look. She smiled. “Sorry. Mama said they even hated each other back then. Dr. Cook always got the grades while Mr. Dugan sat in the back, starin’ daggers at his head. He knew Dr. Cook’d never have to work to be successful. It’d just always come easy to him.”
“Well, that’s no reason to hate a man. Just because he’s a better student than you.” I replied, getting up and moving to the table. Lorelei ladled the broth and dumplings into bowls.
“Since when is life fair?” she asked. We sat down to eat, Tallulah staring longingly from the rug.
The next two weeks passed as normal. Every day it was like clockwork. Dr. Cook came in to buy Coke, Mr. Dugan came in while he was leaving with just enough time to get an insult. On a few off days, Cook came earlier or Dugan came later, meaning they didn’t meet.
Wednesday morning started like any normal day. I opened the store at 6:30 and sat down with my book. It was Valley of the Dolls this time, as I had finished Peyton Place a few days earlier.
I heard that familiar chime and looked up to Dr. Cook walking towards the counter, a slight smile on the corner of his lips.
“Good morning, Dr…” I started to say, but before I could finish, he pulled out a handful of coins and threw them on the counter.
“Mornin’, Rex. Gimme all of your Malboros, if you please.”
I stared at him, my finger slipping from my page in the book. “Dr. Cook, I thought you said you were layin’ off the cigarettes. Besides, that ain’t your normal brand. Even if it was, what about you kickin’ the habit?”
He looked impatient and tapped his fingers on the counter. “Just hand ‘em all over. This should teach that rotten crabapple to make jokes about my business.”
I reached for a single pack.
“I said all of them, Rex. Every last one.”
I started to protest but shut my mouth. Selling all the Malboros at 33 cents a pack wasn’t bad. Who was I to pass up a profit?
I pulled all the cigarette packs with the familiar red triangle off the shelf and laid them on the counter. “That’ll be…$6.60.” I said, carefully counting out the rough ball that Dr. Cook had given me. The whole time, his eyes flitted from me to the door, sweat dripping down. I knew who he was waiting for.
I finished and told him he had $0.50 extra. “That’s fine, Rex. Keep the change and put ‘em all in my pack.” I nodded and slid the small pile off the counter and into the bag. Just as I reached across to give it to him, the bell chimed again. I winced.
“And just what are you up to today, doc?” Dugan’s voice rang out.
Dr. Cook turned to look at him. “Don’t mind me, Dugan. I’m just savin’ your life.”
Dugan looked confused for a moment, then looked at the bag in the doctor’s hand. His eyes shifted from the contents to the wall behind the register, clearly seeing the empty space where his normal brand usually sat.
“It’s for your own good, you know. Those little cancer sticks’ll sneak up on ya. You’ll be takin’ off your condom after finishing with Alice Spaulding and fall right over dead before you know it. Think of it as a favor.” Cook grinned.
Dugan’s hands curled into fists. “You son of a bitch. Listen here, I can do what I want. Just because you got your fancy medical degree don’t mean you’re the bee all and end all on what’s good for me and what ain’t.”
Cook clutched the bag tighter to his chest. “It’s a free country, ain’t it? And if I want to buy this here store’s complete stock of a certain brand of cigarette, who’s gonna stop me?”
A vein throbbed in Dugan’s forehead. He opened his mouth to say something but Cook cut him off. “Thought so. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I got Mr. Newman to attend to. He has a nasty fever, you know.” He pushed past Dugan, shoving him with his shoulder, before disappearing down the street.
I tried to pick my book up again and look nonchalant, but Dugan’s eyes narrowed in my direction. “You knew what he was gonna do, an’ you didn’t stop it?” He demanded, nearly charging up to the counter in his fury.
I smiled apologetically. “I know it’s a pain for you, Mr. Dugan. But when I make a sale, I can’t pass it up.”
Dugan shook his head. At least he realized it wasn’t my fault. “That’s the damndest thing I ever saw. Spendin’ over five dollars to swindle a man out of his earthy pleasures. Doc is gonna get what’s comin’ to him, and soon. You’ll see.”
He settled on some Parliaments instead, not even waiting before he got out of the store to light one up. After the first puff, his face soured like he’d just put a worm in his mouth. “It just ain’t the same. It tastes like campfire ash.” He flicked it in the bin outside and was gone.
Dugan was missing from the store for the remainder of the week. Cook still came in and bought his Coke, grinning with triumph.
I closed the store on Sundays to spend the last day of the weekend relaxing with Lorelei. However, I got a call from Dugan late Saturday night asking me to deliver a case of beer to his house. Apparently he was going on a trip that would last a few days and wanted to have a cold one the second he got back. Since he was a regular customer, I agreed. The extra $5.00 he threw in as a delivery charge didn’t hurt, either.
Since it was such a beautiful Sunday morning, I decided to walk instead of drive. I kissed Lorelei goodbye and grabbed the case of Pabst, heading out for the two mile trek to Dugan’s.
The sun shone through the branches of the trees, casting shadows on the road. About ten minutes in, I found myself passing Cook’s house. He was standing in the driveway, fiddling with the van he used to visit patients way out in the sticks.
“Mornin’, Dr. Cook.” I called. His head whipped in my direction.
“Rex.” He sounded angry. “What are you doin’ out so early on a Sunday?”
I held up the Pabst. “Mr. Dugan’s paying extra for me to deliver this to him on my off-day.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, when you see him, tell him this ain’t over. I woke up this mornin’ to find this waitin’ for me.” He pointed to the left rear tire of the van, which was flat. A portion of the rubber was shredded, as if it had been slashed with a knife. “I’ll admit buyin’ all those cigarettes wasn’t the nicest move, but I didn’t damage his property or nothin’ like that.” Cook threw the tire iron he had been holding down to the ground.
“Well, I’ll tell him so when I do.” I said.
Cook frowned. “You better. He ain’t gonna be happy.”
I said my goodbyes and left, feeling his eyes on me as I walked away. Another fifteen minutes later, I arrived at Dugan’s. It served both as his home and place of work. It was a monstrous, gothic thing with a tower on the right side and a gabled roof. I walked up the to the front door and knocked loudly. No one answered. I yelled his name loudly.
“Rex? That you?” someone called from behind me. I turned to see Dugan stepping out of the trees on the other side of the road. His hands were covered in dirt and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. That gaudy gold chain around his neck glinted as much as ever. “Bring it right over here, if you please.”
I nodded and crossed. Just as I went to hand him the Pabst, he shook his head. “Wait. You gotta see this.” He said with a bit of excitement.
Truth be told I just wanted to go home so Lorelei and I could sit on the porch, but he was paying me good for this excursion, so I humored him. “Sure. Show me the way.”
We walked down a short path through the trees that let out into a clearing. “Sorry if I’m keepin’ you from the missus, but I don’t show this patch of land to just anybody.”
I had no idea what he was talking about, but once I saw what lay in front of me, I had my answer.
A ramshackle graveyard spread lazily over half a small clearing. Misshapen tombstones that looked hand-carved marked depressions in the grass where it had never quite grown back. There were at least twelve in total, but a few were bleached white by the sun or knocked over in pieces, so it was hard to tell.
“Uh…is this the place where you bury the folks who can’t afford a place at the county churchyard?” I asked.
He laughed. “No, it ain’t that. It’s the family plot. The Dugans’ve owned the undertakin’ businesses in this town for nigh on a hundred years now. This land’s been with us almost that long. Whenever one of us kicks the bucket we’re buried out here with all the rest.”
I looked over and saw a shovel leaning against a nearby tree. A few feet away was a freshly filled-in hole. He looked over and laughed. “Oh, don’t worry, it’s just Spot is all. That dog was getting’ old, you know. We got him just when Gordon started first grade. Oh, Dorothy didn’t want him in the house. Too rowdy, he’d break all her fine china. And he did! God bless her soul. She’s buried right over there.”
He pointed to her grave twenty feet away. Dugan’s wife had been dead for six years now, and his son Gordon was off in college.
“Yep, this is the place I’ll rest my bones when the time comes. I jus’ hope that Gordon has enough mind for tradition to bury me here. He finds it mighty ghastly, living across the way from where all his ancestors lie. But what does he know? Young people these days. I’d sooner be cremated and have my ashes stirred into the cake batter at the church ladies’ Sunday luncheon than be put in a hole any other place.”
The sun disappeared behind some clouds, causing the light in the clearing to fade. “I gotta finish up now, Rex. Thanks for bringin’ the beer all this way. It’ll be mighty nice to drink one after gettin’ back from my sister’s up in Riverside. I’m leavin’ as soon as this hole is dug. Just leave it on the porch. The money should be there too.”
I nodded and turned to leave when I stopped. “Did you pop the tire on Dr. Cook’s van?” I asked. “I passed him on the way over here. He was madder than all hell.”
Dugan smiled evilly. “That I did. Teach him a lesson for buyin’ all my cigarettes. God forbid he’d have to blow some of precious salary on a purchase such as that.”
I dropped the beer on the porch and started for home again. I was just passing Cook’s house when he burst through the front door, running towards me at full speed.
“Rex! Thank God you’re back. Mr. Newman’s fever got worse durin’ the night. He stopped breathin’ a few minutes ago. That fuckin’ bastard popped the tire on my van and I can’t get there in time by walkin’. Can you give me a ride? His life is at stake!”
I nodded and we set off, practically running down the road. Five minutes later, we rounded the corner and started towards the driveway. I saw that Lorelei was pulling out, backing up down the path. She stuck her head out the window and slammed on the brakes when she saw us.
“My goodness, Rex, what’s the rush? I was just goin’ to the post office. Why’s Dr. Cook with you?”
I explained the situation to her while trying to catch my breath. Her face went white. “Oh my, that is serious. Get in, Dr. Cook. I’ll take you there myself right away.”
“Thank you kindly, ma’am.” He said, jumping in the passenger seat. They sped off, sending a cloud of dust in their wake.
I waited for the next hour or so on the porch, scratching Tallulah’s ear and watching the road. I must have dozed off, because I woke up to the sound of tires on the gravel. I jumped up and ran to the car. Dr. Cook and Lorelei climbed out. Both of their faces were grave. Cook’s eyes were red.
He threw his bag down on the ground, hard. “He didn’t make it. I got there too late. Mr. Newman hadn’t breathed in fifteen minutes by the time we got there. I tried usin’ the defibrillator, but it didn’t work.”
He sat on the hood of the car, hanging his head in his hands. “This is all his fault. Dugan. Twenty-five years now and I’ve never lost a patient that didn’t have to be. If that cocksucker hadn’t popped the tire on my van I coulda been there ten minutes sooner. He’d be talkin’ to his wife right now. He should be.”
His voice broke. Though he managed to hold back the tears, his face got redder. I couldn’t think of much to say. I put my arm around Lorelei. “My god, that’s awful. I wonder what Mr. Dugan’ll say when he gets back from his trip in a few days.”
Cook froze for a moment. I thought he was heaving for a sob, but instead he wiped his eyes and stood up. He was looking at something in the distance, as if deep in thought. Just as suddenly as it had come, he snapped out of it. “Well, I guess I outta be goin’ home now. Thanks for your help today, you two. If you ever need anything at all, just give a holler.”
As he walked away, I could have sworn I saw a smile at the corner of his lips.
“He sure got over that mighty quick.” Lorelei said as we walked back towards the house.
I wasn’t sure what day Dugan would be back, so when I opened the store that week I only expected to see Cook early in the morning. But I didn’t see him, either. I waited there with the water bottle on the counter for four days straight, but there was no sign. I assumed he was still pretty broken up about Mr. Newman’s death and was taking a few much-needed days off.
I closed the store at 7:30 every night. If I didn’t have a customer between 6:45 and 7:15, sometimes I shuttered early. Thursday evening was shaping up to be just that. I put my book back on the shelf under the counter and went around to start turning the lights off.
I reached down to pick up a soda that had fallen behind the fridge when the door burst open, banging hard against the wall beside it. I dropped the soda, sending the bottle crashing to the floor.
“Now, what’s the meaning of…” I turned around to say, but stopped. Dugan stood in the doorway. His suit was crumpled like a tissue, marred by dark stains. His face was as red as a ripe tomato. His hair stuck up this way and that like he’d just gotten out of bed. When he spoke, his voice hoarse.
“Rex, I need you to gimme every last drop of cleanin’ supplies you have in this here store.”
I looked at him for a moment, dumbfounded. “Uh, Mr. Dugan, I’m not sure if I’m at liberty to do that. The other folks in this town might…”
He came running up and stood within a foot of me. “You don’t understand. I need it all and I need it now. Do you know what that jackass doctor did to me?”
I shook my head. “I can’t imagine. Now, I can sell you maybe half of it, but…”
He continued like I hadn’t spoken. “After I left town Sunday evenin’ he slithered like a water moccasin over to my property and chopped down the power line. With an axe. Ain’t nobody there to report the power’s gone out. D’ya know how I make sure that all of my customers get their grandmas and grandfathers and great aunts and all the rest back lookin’ as nice as their wedding day?”
I gulped. I didn’t like where this conversation was going.
“I put ‘em in freezers. Ones that must be kept with a chill to preserve ‘em. Now, tell me, if your power’s gone out and your freezer don’t work, what happens to all your ice cream and bags of Birdseye Vegetable Medley after all that cold is taken away? And it’s a hundred degrees for three days straight?”
I felt the color drain from my face.
“I opened my front door half an hour past and it was like I’d walked right into the Devil’s ballsack. I went down to the basement and you wouldn’t believe what I saw. Flies everywhere, like the room was made out of honey. Black liquid drippin’ out of the doors of the freezers. I near fainted, it smelled so bad.”
I didn’t need to be told anything more. I went over to the cleaning section and started handing him bottles of Clorox and Pine-Sol.
“He’s done it. He’s really done it. I passed the doc on my way over here. You wouldn’t believe the smile he gave me. Like he’d just heard the whole town came down with scarlet fever. I popped that damn tire on his van, but how was I s‘possed to know what happened to Mr. Newman? He’s gone and ruined my entire livelihood. I’ll never hear the end of this. Folks’ll start crossing the county line to get other business. They’ll whisper. They’ll point. I’ll have to deliver Mrs. Jameson to her family in a fucking paint can now. I won’t have it. I won’t take it for one second longer.”
As I rang him up, I saw that awful gleam enter his eye again. It glowed almost as brightly as the gold chain around his neck. He hoisted the bag up and turned to leave. As he slipped out the door, he grinned again. “Doc’ll never know what hit him. Maybe I’ll just have a new body for the graveyard soon.”
With that, I was left alone in the store.
I spent the rest of the night with a pit in my stomach, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. This was getting out of control. Had Dugan threatened Cook with murder? I’d hated many a person in my lifetime but I’d never hated them so much I wanted them dead. Lorelei must have sensed that I was troubled, because she leaned over and put an arm around me. I sighed and fell asleep soon after.
I was terrified to open the store Friday morning. I didn’t want Dugan to walk through the front doors, blood dripping off his hands, and ask for some garbage bags. Or Cook, for that matter. But I didn’t have to worry. Neither showed up all day. Late that afternoon, I was almost falling asleep. The bell chiming on the door woke me up. It was Josie Larkin, daughter of a farmer that lived outside of town.
“Hello, Mr. Clark!” she chirped, walking over to the refrigerated section and grabbing a bottle of Fanta.
“Good afternoon, Josie. What are you up to on this fine day? Did your father give you the day off?”
She popped the cap off with an opener from her pocket. “Yep. Daddy’s cuttin’ wheat all day and said he didn’t need any help. So I went walkin’ in town and ran into Mr. Dugan. He came up and asked if I’d make a special delivery for him. Said he’d give me ten dollars for doin’ it.”
I nearly froze as she handed me her money. “Did he now? What…uh, what kind of delivery?”
She grabbed the change and stuffed it in her pocket. “Sorry, Mr. Clark, I can’t tell you that. He had me sworn to secrecy. I can’t tell nobody. I just popped in here to get a drink before I drive over. It was hard work loading it all into the truck. Made me real thirsty.”
She started towards the door. “What? What did you load into the truck?” I called, but she just waved.
“You have a nice day now!” Josie bounded down the steps and jumped into her father’s pickup. The bed was covered loosely in tarp and rope. As she started the engine and drove away, the tarp flew up a moment and I saw it.
The back was full of gas cans.
I drove home from the store at 7:30 in a daze. Lorelei greeted me at the door. “My god, what’s wrong with you? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
I mumbled something and slumped down in a chair at the table. She glared at me, closing the door of the fridge. “Rex Clark, you ain’t gonna get a single bite to eat until you tell me what’s got you all riled up.”
I told her about the gas cans. She shook her head. “You don’t really think Mr. Dugan is thinkin’ about torching Dr. Cook’s house, do you? That seems like a bit much of a reaction.”
I hadn’t told her about the power cut. But I wanted to believe it. I wanted to tell myself that Dugan had a perfectly harmless explanation and it would all be over. So I nodded. “You’re probably right. Maybe he’s just plannin’ on having a bonfire or something.”
I buried my head deeper in the sand as the night wore on. Tallulah disappeared for a few while but came back later, barking happily. Lorelei looked down at her. “I thought for sure those pups were comin’ today. Looks like she might’ve gone off to try and find a good place for later.”
After supper, we went to the bedroom. I hadn’t thought about the cans for hours. Soon after we were done, I slipped off into a dreamless sleep.
I woke up at 4:30 in the morning to the acrid smell of smoke. I coughed and sat up in bed. Lorelei called my name from the living room. I rushed down the hall to find the front door wide open, with her standing on the lawn. I stepped out and looked up.
Black smoke was rising from a mile away, floating above the treetops in black clouds. I knew where it was coming from. There was the distant sound of fire trucks blaring their horns. I walked down the steps and wrapped my arms around Lorelei. She gulped. “Well, I guess that wasn’t too much of a step up, was it?”
I decided to close the store that day. I drove there myself half an hour later to flip the sign and write a note of explanation. On my way back I almost stopped at the sheriff’s to tell him what I saw, but I knew there wouldn’t be any proof. Dugan would’ve taken every precaution so that he wouldn’t be caught.
Saturday passed in a relative blur. Lorelei and I spent the afternoon and evening chopping wood and putting it in the shed for winter. Though the day started out sunny, clouds rapidly overtook it, growing darker with each passing hour. When the wind started to pick up and there was that electric feeling in the air, I knew we were in for a storm.
We finished around 8:00, just as the rain was really starting to pick up. Lorelei went into the house to change her clothes while I put the tools away. Just as went to walk up the porch steps, I saw Cook passing slowly by on the road in his van. One new tire stood out in contrast to the three old dusty ones. A pit formed in my stomach.
He turned his head and saw me, slamming on the breaks. I ran over. “Dr. Cook, I think I know where you’re goin’. I just want to say that before you…” but I stopped.
His eyes were unfocused, staring off into space. I saw a half-empty bottle of Jim Beam lying on the passenger seat, next to his medical bag, which was spilled over. His hair was scorched in some places and I could see burns on his arms.
His laugh was low and solemn, almost as slurred as his words. “Rex. I shoulda known that bastard would do somethin’ like this. That…that there house was in my family ‘most as long as his family’s been puttin’ people in the ground. My great-grandaddy built it with his own two hands. We’ve added onto it for years. Me n’ my sister were born in the guestroom. My mother died in the upstairs bedroom. All them mem’ries. And you know what? It all gone. Gone. Reduced to cinders. All because he couldn’ have his Malboros. My house looks like his lungs now. All black and ashy. Well, I got somethin’ for him. Somethin’ reeeeal nice.”
I shook my head. “Dr. Cook, wait, you can’t…” but before I could stop him, he slammed on the gas. The car thundered down the road, raising a dust cloud in its wake.
I stumbled back to the house. Night was falling rapidly, almost as fast as the rain was picking up outside. I went through the door and sprawled onto the couch, hanging my head in my hands. I had no idea what to do. As the rain beat harder and harder on the roof, I sat there lost in thought.
My stupor was interrupted by the back door opening and Lorelei stepping through, a panicked look on her face. “Oh, Rex! I can’t find Tallulah anywhere!” she cried.
Her yells broke me from my daze. What was I doing? I needed to stop this. “Lorie, I know that sounds bad, but I got somethin’ to tell you, Dr. Cook…” but she cut me off.
“Look at it outside! It’s rainin’ harder than hell and she’s got her pups! If we don’t find her soon they could be drowned! What if she’s holed up under a tree somewhere? Have you seen her since this afternoon?”
I tried to bring up the van again, but she ran towards the back door. “I’ll go look in the yard!” I almost protested but stopped. I looked out the window at the spot where Cook’s van had resided twenty minutes before. An idea formed in my mind.
“Yeah, you do that! I’ll jump in the car and go out lookin’ for her!” I grabbed my keys off the peg by the door and rushed into the storm.
I felt bad about lying to Lorelei where I was going. I really did care about Tallulah and her pups. But I had to stop Cook before he did something terrible.
I raced down the street as quick as I could. The wipers were on their highest setting and I still had trouble seeing out the windshield. Puddles had already started forming on the road, sending up large sprays of water whenever I went through them.
I was going so fast I nearly sped right by Dugan’s. But I slammed on the brakes just in time, almost running into Cook’s van parked in the driveway. The storm clouds loomed over the gothic house, making it look like a haunted mansion. I climbed out of my car and started towards the house. It was full dark by then, and I was soaked to the bone by the driving rain. As I passed the van, I saw that the driver’s door was wide open.
I mounted the steps, pounding on the front door. “Dr. Cook! Mr. Dugan!” I cried. “It’s me, Rex Clark from the store? Don’t…”
The door swung inward lazily. It was already open. No one answered my calls as it stopped, hitting the wall beside. I could see through the short, dusty front hallway and into the lighted kitchen beyond. A large pool of blood covered the tiles, seeping through the arch and staining the wood floor.
I moaned in horror and turned around, faltering down the porch steps. I was too late. If I hadn’t wasted those ten minutes doing nothing, this all could’ve been prevented. But now there was a man dead, and it was all my…
My train of thought came to a stop when something caught in my headlights. The car was positioned at an angle, sending two bright jets into the woods across the road. The first thing I saw was Cook’s medical bag lying in the ditch. The second was the figure in the trees.
I recognized the natty black suit right away.
I stumbled forward, collapsing against the hood of the car. Dugan was rapidly disappearing down the path towards the graveyard. Something was clutched in his right hand. I followed it down to the ground, where a dark shape was being dragged through the mud. The beams lit up the rain as it fell, making it shine like liquid gold.
I managed to let out a hoarse cry, barely audible over the wind. Dugan froze in his tracks. I realized too late that I didn’t want to see. But I didn’t look away. The first thing I saw when he turned around was the blood coming out of his mouth. It was pinkish and diluted from the rain, but I could tell what it was all the same. His hair was plastered to his head, greasy tangles taught against his face. The suit was stuck to him as well, emphasizing his skeletal frame. The large thing he dragged down the path was covered in muck and grime.
His bloodshot eyes settled on me for a moment. They seemed to glow in the lights. A few seconds passed before his mouth split open in a grin. It was the most terrible thing I’d ever seen, like putting your head underwater and seeing a shark baring its teeth at you from the depths. As I watched, he put one finger up to his bloody lips, like this was an inside joke that only him and I knew about.
He let it drop and turned around, dragging the body towards the graveyard again.
The next few minutes are lost to me. I vaguely recall getting in the car and driving in the direction of home. I know I hit a few potholes and bumped a thing or two along the way, because the car was covered in dents in the morning.
At some point, I stumbled through the front door to find Lorelei sitting by the stove, petting Tallulah’s head. Eight puppies were lined up along her stomach.
“She was behind the stove the whole time! Look at them, Rex! Couldn’t you just eat ‘em…” but she stopped when she saw my face. “Holy hell, what happened?”
But I ignored her as I stumbled into the kitchen to call the police.
Sheriff Winscott came to get me the next morning. Lorelei kissed me as she put Tallulah’s dish out. I climbed into the passenger seat and we were off down the road.
Winscott shook his head. “I knew somethin’ like this was bound to happen. Those two have been snipin’ at each other for many long years now. You can’t hate someone for that long without wantin’ to kill ‘em at some point.”
I said nothing. Five minutes later, we pulled into the driveway. Cook’s van was still parked, the cab flooded with water from the previous night’s storm.
Winscott stepped out, breathing in some early morning air. “Now, I want you to go over exactly what you saw last night.”
I shivered, but nodded. “Okay. Well, I parked over there and started going towards the house, and…” but I stopped when I saw the two officers carrying a sheeted body out the front door. The arms flopped to the side as they took it towards the ambulance. The sleeves of its jacket weren’t black, but white.
“What was that you were sayin’?” Winscott asked, jotting something down in his notebook. But I kept watching as they loaded the body into the back. One of the officers stumbled, causing the sheet to slip down from the face.
Dr. Cook’s lifeless eyes stared back at me.
“Two blood pools in the house. Both bastards must’ve shot or stabbed each other or somethin’. Doc was dead in there, body in the kitchen. But we can’t find Dugan’s…” Winscott was droning, but I took off running, towards the path that lead into the woods.
“Hey! Where are you goin’?” He called, but I ignored him. I swatted branches out of my way as I looked down at the ground. No footprints in the mud. Just drag marks.
I burst into the clearing. The sun graced the treetops, lighting the whole space with early-morning rays. Something gleamed off to my left. Ten feet away, right next to Dorothy Dugan’s grave, was a freshly filled-in hole. The shovel still stuck out of the wet dirt. I walked to it, staring down at the glinting object at the head of the resting place.
It was Dugan’s gold chain.

It hasn’t even been a day since I first laid eyes upon it.
I was dropping my girlfriend off for her last in-person yoga class before everything went back on lockdown for the winter, when a portrait hanging in the display window of the shop across the street unexpectedly caught my attention.
It was an eighteen-inch by twenty-four-inch expressionist painting of a black humanoid creature with poorly defined edges and features, like it was bleeding into the shadows around it. It was tall, gaunt, and hunched, dressed in a tattered hood and mantle that vaguely resembled a set of wings. It lacked all facial features save for a pair of misty white eyes, the only part of its body that wasn’t black. It held a lumpy sack in one hand, and in the other, it plucked up a child between two of its long, Dr. Seussesque fingers.
The child was bruised and bloodied, and undeniably terrified for its life, but no motive could be inferred from the stance of its tormentor. The whole scene was reminiscent of Saturn devouring his children, only with Saturn reimagined as some sort of Lovecraftian boogieman.
My interest sufficiently peaked, I decided to go inside for a closer look.
The shop in question was Orville’s Old-Fashioned Oddity Outlet, and was mildly infamous for selling strange items of questionable authenticity. Ever since I had first started taking my girlfriend to the neighbouring Eve’s Eden of Esoterica, I often found myself wondering how old Orville managed to stay in business. His oddity shop rarely seemed busy, and from what I could tell most people agreed that his merchandise was overpriced hokum.
It could have just been that Orville was living off an inheritance or something and was operating his business at a loss for the hell of it, or that the runoff from Eve's was enough to keep him afloat. But, a quick glance at the local paranormal forum HarrowickHallows.net produced photographs of some of our town’s wealthiest residents visiting the shop, along with a handful of other mysterious figures who nobody recognized. Everything from cloaked cultists to colourful clown girls had been seen making after-hours visits to Orville’s. So maybe, just maybe, a few of Orville’s high-end items were legit, and the occasional sale to his select clientele was all he needed to stay in business.
It was a fun little thought as I stepped through the door, paying no heed to the large ‘Caveat Emptor’ emblazoned upon it.
“VHS tapes? What am I supposed to do with VHS tapes?” I heard a gruff voice ask. I turned towards it and saw an old man in a garish pastel suit with his feet up on his desk and a phone in his hand. With his other hand, he indicated he would be with me in one moment. “Nobody has a VCR anymore, so what good would – You have a VCR to go with the tape collection? And what’s its deal? Of course you can’t set the clock, there’s nothing paranormal about that! Listen, what are you trying to sell, the tapes or what's on the tapes? Because if it's what's on the tapes then maybe you could – uh-huh. Well, I'll never be able to move them as a general item if I have to convince people to buy an obsolete VCR to go with them. I might be able to broker a deal with a specific buyer, but I'll need more information. Not now though, I've got a customer. I'll call you back. I – I said – no, if you put a piece of scotch tape over the removed tab you can tape over it again. If there’s tape residue then they could have been taped over, but it could just be from an old label, how would I know? I – yeah, you figure that out. I got to go. Bye.”
He hung up the receiver on the cradle of a bronze and mahogany rotary phone before folding his fingers and giving me his full attention.
“Honestly, the things some of these jerks try to unload on me,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Anywho, can I help you find anything, young man?”
“Yeah, actually. I was wondering about that painting in the window,” I replied, pointing to the display behind me.
“Oh, you mean The Self-Portrait of Rancorous Ruck,” the old man flashed me a devious smile before donning an iridescent tragedy mask with a surgical mask fixed to the inside.
“Self-portrait?” I asked skeptically.
“Absolutely,” he said, rising from his seat and leading me towards the painting. “Cryptids and monsters are notoriously difficult to get decent photographs of, and that was a bit of a problem for Old Rancor here. He can’t exist in the real world unless he already exists in the mind of a… suitable host, let’s say. He’s sustained by thoughts about him and uses his host’s innate mental energy to manifest a physical form for himself. This presents a bit of a Catch-22, since he needs people to know about him to exist, but existing is kind of a prerequisite for people to know about you. What’s a damned thoughtform to do? If you’re a thought-based murder monster with an artistic streak like Rancorous Ruck here, you leave a self-portrait behind as a calling card. That way, even after your host is pushing up daisies, another one is bound to come along sooner or later and end up getting you stuck in their head.”
He took the portrait down from the easel and allowed me to get a better look at it, taking care not to look at it himself.
The first thing I noticed was that the lumps of the sack were much more clearly hands or feet or faces pushing against it from the inside. The bottom of the sack was wet and dripping with a dark fluid, presumably blood, and the background showed many small sets of footprints running rapidly in all directions.
Finally, in the corner, I could make the signature of the artist in the same stark white as the creature’s eyes; Rancorous Ruck, Self-Portrait Sept. 1947.
“So, you’re claiming that the creature in the portrait is the artist, and it leaves these paintings behind as a way to infect other victims?” I asked incredulously.
“That’s right, and anyone with a lick of sense or concern for their fellow human beings burns ’em, so they’re very rare,” Orville replied. “I know what you’re thinking; why in the world would anyone pay thirteen hundred dollars for a cursed painting?”
“Thirteen hundred!”
“Before taxes and various fees and surcharges, yes. The reason is that since Old Rancor is sustained by your thoughts, you’re able to exert some control over how he manifests. The more you study this portrait, the more of Rancorous you take into yourself, and – if you’re strong enough – the more of him you can bend to your will. Potentially very useful; or, you know, life-saving, if he decides to come after you. Which he probably will, since you’ve taken such an interest in his handiwork. Good luck getting him out of your head now. Seriously though, your best bet is to buy the painting and study every square inch of it until your eyes are bloodshot, put in some eye drops, and keep studying.”
I was more than a little confused by Orville’s sales pitch of ‘buy this possessed painting in the hopes of inoculating yourself against the demon first’. I didn’t really believe him, but I did find the story mildly entertaining.
As for the painting itself, I genuinely liked it. It was delightfully macabre, and I was curious about why the artist would have titled it a self-portrait. I could tell that it was an actual painting and not a print, so even though I would have liked some actual provenance on the piece, thirteen hundred wasn’t an outrageous asking price for a decent work by an unknown artist.
As much as I hate myself for it, I ended up buying the damn thing, which came to almost sixteen hundred with all of Orville’s taxes, fees, and surcharges. He wrapped it up very carefully, still taking the greatest of care not to look at it himself, and helped me Tetris it into the trunk of my car. I didn’t want my girlfriend to see it; not because I was afraid of the curse, but because I was afraid of her cursing me out. Fortunately, when she came out of Eve’s, she put her bags in the backseat instead of the trunk. I didn’t really have a plan for what I would have said if she had opened the trunk, but I got lucky. That was a fight we could save for another day.
Once I had taken her home and gotten back to my own apartment, for some reason I took Orville’s advice and carefully inspected the painting before hanging it up. It didn’t make any sense though, since there wasn’t really anything to study. Rancorous Ruck was just a shadow person, and there didn’t seem much more I could learn just by looking at him. If I squinted, I thought that maybe I could make out the outline of a belt, ragged sleeves or the tattered hem of his hood, but that was it. I stared into the empty void of his face, thinking that if there was any hidden detail that was where I’d find it, but no matter how hard I looked I couldn’t see anything other than those two white eyes.
Since my thorough examination of the piece failed to yield any hidden secrets, I felt comfortably reassured that Orville had been full of crap. I even googled ‘Rancorous Ruck’, and got zero results, which seemed a crushing blow to Orville’s claim that there had ever been multiple paintings by an artist using that pseudonym. I was convinced the painting was a one-off by an unknown artist that had somehow found its way to Orville's shop, and he made up a story to go with it as he did for all his wares.
I did vaguely recall seeing something about a Red Ruck on the Harrowick Hallows forum, but I didn’t think too much of it. I figured both were just drawing inspiration from the same local legend. I tried taking a photo of the portrait with my phone to upload to the forum, and that’s when things first started to get weird.
When I looked at the portrait through my phone, Ruck was nothing but an amorphous black cloud. There was nothing humanoid about his form at all, and the white bits that had been his eyes were now clearly just breaks in the cloud. I fiddled around with the settings and even the lighting in my room, but nothing could make Rancorous Ruck appear on the screen the way he did in the portrait.
This got even more unsettling when I tried to take a photo or record a video. Each and every time, the file wouldn’t save, no matter what I did. I tried saving it to the device, the SD card, the cloud; nothing worked.
At this point, I was starting to get a little freaked out, but there were still rational explanations to explore before accepting Orville’s cockamamie story. Like, maybe the portrait wasn’t from 1947 at all but was far more modern, and embedded with some machine-readable code for digital rights management. But that wasn’t really how something like that would work, was it? I would get a notification telling me I didn’t have the rights to share the image. It wouldn’t just inexplicably be unable to save files, and it certainly wouldn’t automatically censor it the way it was doing. Could it have been for a joke or marketing scheme then? But that still would have required getting the software onto my phone somehow. Maybe my phone was infected with malware and it was just a coincidence that the first thing I tried to take a photo of was this creepy painting.
That was pretty much all I could think of, aside from the obvious theories about losing my marbles. Frustrated, I tossed my phone aside and leaned in to examine the portrait once again, to see if I could find anything that might explain the incongruity between what I was seeing and what the camera on my phone saw.
I found myself staring into Ruck’s eyes, the eyes that my phone said were nothing more than empty spaces in a shapeless black form. But they were too deliberately placed and shaped to be anything but eyes, and they had been painted a very distinct white to contrast with the darkness around them, making their presence undeniable. I could even make out the faint outline of pupils and irises, though I hadn’t noticed them before. In fact, now that I was really looking at them, I could see that they even had corneas, each of which held the reflection of a vague, ghostly figure.
It was astonishing, actually, how much detail had gone into eyes that would only be noticed up close.
By then I was really starting to wish that my girlfriend had discovered the painting. At least then I’d have a rational excuse to take it back to Orville’s. Not that he would have taken it back. He was very clear that the only thing about his shop that wasn’t real was his return policy.
I tried to convince myself that I was being silly. The whole reason I bought the painting was because it was creepy, and if I had spent as much money on my phone as I had on it maybe it would be able to take a decent picture of it. Sighing in defeat, I resigned myself to living with the portrait for at least one night. If it was still a problem in the light of day, I’d try to pawn it off on some gallery or museum for a tax deduction.
Sleep, unsurprisingly, eluded me that night. Have you heard of the Tetris Effect? It’s when you have residual imagery of something you were really focused on, either in the dark or in your peripheral vision.
Well, as I laid in the dark that night, I could see Rancorous Ruck. At first, it was just his eyes floating in the darkness, his body as amorphous as it had been on my phone. But, gradually, he started to take shape. His head, his hood, and his mantle, then his limbs, his torso, and finally his sack all slowly emerged as distinct from the surrounding darkness, and I could see him as clearly as if I was looking at his portrait. The child, however, did not appear, leaving Ruck with a free hand. He held up his long fingers to his face to examine them, and I thought nothing of it, dismissing it as more hypnagogic imagery.
Then he lowered his hands and looked towards me, and a smile made of nothing more than a bright white line broke out across his face.
He set his sack on the ground and began noisily rummaging through it, and as I drifted off to sleep, I remember thinking that it was very odd that a residual image on my retina should be able to make any noise at all.
It was still night when I awoke again, still dark, but I could immediately tell something was wrong. My bedroom door was open when I knew I had closed it, and light was leaking in through the crack when I knew I had turned all the lights off.
Panicking, I bolted out of bed and dashed into the living room, ready to confront any intruders with only my bare fists.
My machismo vanished pretty quickly when I saw what was waiting for me in that room.
In the sepia light of candles that I didn’t own, I saw the hunched figure of Rancorous Ruck working ardently at another self-portrait. His back was turned to me, and thus the painting was facing my direction. He had drawn himself emerging out of an inky black patch of mould on an old brick wall, wrapping his hand around the mouth of his victim while brandishing a knife in the other. Even though his victim’s face was mostly covered by his hand, there wasn’t the slightest doubt in my mind that it was supposed to be me.
He turned around to face me then, his face nothing more than two white dots and a smile against an impenetrable black void. He held up his brush, heavy with paint that he carelessly let drip to my floor, and moved slightly to the side so that I could get a better view of his artwork.
“I don’t think I got your eyes quite right, boy,” he mocked in a raspy voice. “Hope you can live with that.”
I didn’t respond. Hell, I barely heard him, my heart was pounding so hard. My veins were flooded with adrenaline but I couldn’t will my limbs to move. I was practically catatonic, sweating and shivering as I just stared wide-eyed at the monster painting in my living room.
Ruck just snickered in contempt, turning his attention back to his painting, adding a few finishing touches.
Only then, when his back was turned and I thought I actually had a chance, did I run. I ran to my apartment door and threw it open, only to see Old Rancor casually standing in the doorframe, blocking my path.
“Hello,” he smirked, with an exaggerated wave of his long, mangey fingers. “Yes, Dr. Seussesque is what you called them, if I’m not mistaken. A colourful description, I must admit, even if it’s not exactly what I was going for.”
I slammed the door shut, but it just went right through him, and he had somehow moved up slightly so that I had just shut him into the apartment with me.
I had two choices then, either to fight him head-on or try to reach the fire escape. For absolutely nothing remotely resembling a rational motive, I tried to throttle him and tackle him to the ground. Before I could even make contact though, he slipped behind me with an ethereal ease and leapt upon my back, putting me into a chokehold and muffling my screams with his hand. I frantically tried to buck him off, slamming up against the wall and rolling upon the floor, but he clung to me with a dauntless and uncanny tenacity.
It didn't take long for me to exhaust my oxygen supply like that, and I quickly lost consciousness.
I wasn't dead though, not yet. I awoke at my desk, tied to my chair, with my laptop booted up and placed in front of me. It was still night, and I probably wasn't out for more than a few minutes. I began frantically looking around for my attacker, and sure enough, he was standing over me with his arms crossed, waiting patiently for me to wake up.
“What the fuck are you?” I demanded, struggling against my bindings whilst on the verge of hyperventilation.
“Exactly what Orville told you, or at least close enough that it’s not worth going over again,” he replied. He bent over and picked up his soggy, dripping sack, and I could see slowly writhing faces, hands, and other body parts pushing against it from the inside, moaning in dull anguish as they thrashed within their burlap prison. “See this? In here are all the minds of my old victims, and they’re what keeps me going when the world forgets about me. You’re going in here too, but not just yet. I have a small favour to ask of you first.”
“Fuck you!” I cursed, vehemently spitting at him. He backhanded me so hard my chair toppled over. I was too out of it for a second to notice him putting me back up, but apparently, he did, because when I came back to my senses I was looking at my computer again.
"Orville was right, you know. Your thoughts sustain me, so all you had to do to beat me was not think of me as a monster," he taunted me, his smile twisting into a jagged white scrawl of chalk as he squeezed my cheeks with his prickly, slimy fingers. "A shame that's easier said than done. You have managed to make one non-trivial contribution to my being though, aside from the Seuss fingers. You couldn’t find a single search result when you googled me, and in this day and age, one needs an online presence if one hopes to get anywhere.
“So here’s the deal; I’m going to paint, and you’re going to write, and if you come up with something postable by the time I've finished my painting, you'll get the privilege of going into my sack in one piece. But if you refuse…”
He held his sack up to my face and pulled it open. Inside was an endless abyss of severed limbs, flayed skins, decapitated heads and scalped faces, all of them still animate and aware.
Worst of all, most of them looked like they had come from children.
He snapped the bag shut again, and I tried to muster up the courage to tell him to fuck off again – but I couldn’t.
And so, I’m writing this; Rancorous Ruck’s debut post to the interwebs, exposing him to a bigger audience than his paintings ever could.
I don’t know if something written by someone else will infect people the same way as his paintings do, but I really hope they don’t. But, if this post does infect people, please know that I’m truly sorry. The bastard’s in my head now, I’m not strong enough to resist him. Once I post this, I’m going in the sack, and maybe you think that’s what I deserve for giving into Rancor’s demands.
But if you pity me at all, and you ever happen to be in Sombermorey, then please, please, do me one favour; burn Orville’s shop to the ground.

Beating little commander on bad ass mode takes a lot less learning curve than beating the full game on bad ass mode, since it is mostly about your set up and not a whole lot about your game play. In this sense, it takes a lot of knowledge of the game (which buffs work with which weapons and which things are valuable to add and how to spend your pet coins etc...), so here's a guide that I find useful. There are definitely things about those mode I'm not 100% sure about (like how defense/milk works because it feels different), and there are probably some amazing OP ideas I haven't thought of or tried, but I have gotten the golden trophy, so beat the game on bad ass with the upgraded version of each character.
Starting the game - Not all necessary, but all helpful

• Most valuable drink - Tea (worth restarting until you get it)
• Most valuable statue - Engineer (Wizard is also solid), given the high coin cost to cycle statues (pay for statue, enter level, die, new statue will then be available), probably not worth resetting
• Garden buffs - I typically start with just the reusable Trap, Fire, Poison, Health, because I have them planted, but if you really want to juice your run, shotgun is super valuable, laser and bounce are often really helpful too
• Craft a weapon - Staff of Thunder, Missile Battery, and Flame/Frost swords to merge into Thunder sword are the most OP crafts you can give yourself
• Paladin is the best starting character, if you really want to juice your run, cloud save/restore until you get a 2nd paladin in your deck, so you can upgrade paladin nearly immediately. Do not pick a second mercenary until you get a paladin as your 0 cost second one
• Reset the game if you don't start with goblins, they are radically easier than aztecs and snow area.
• If you have a fully upgraded Paladin and start with the green sacred flail, when you start the game, the upgraded flail will be in your pets hands, so give it to the paladin as he will start with the crappy one.
• If you are going to use a staff character early, staff of nature is an extremely cheap, but really powerful early weapon. With staff and bounce buff it is a near end game quality weapon.

Spending pet coins - This is where you win or lose

• Except in extraordinary circumstances, upgrade your chest ASAP, use two coins and the 3rd coin from the first room, then go back and buy the chest upgrade on the 1st floor. I never upgrade it past this point, mathematically, it can work to upgrade it to level 3, but you break even on coins 6 levels later, and I find I need the coins more earlier. I have sometimes gone to level 3 when I simply don't get good things to buy early though. There aren't enough levels for the final upgrade to ever break even on cost.
• Next pay 1 coin to upgrade the flag allowing 3 mercenaries and putting 3 on the docket to pick from.
• Your goal is to get 3 paladins as fast as possible, so ensure your starting character is paladin and your 2nd (0 cost char) is paladin). Reset levels if paladin isn't in the 1st row, it's okay once you have extra coins to spend one coin to refresh the row once or twice with the drill master to search for the 3rd paladin, once you get your 3rd paladin and he's upgraded, you're in really good shape and can be patient, I can usually make it to 1-5 with two paladins using basic weapons.
• If you crafted a thunder sword or sacred sword parts, then after merging 3 paladins, upgrade him enough to use that weapon
• Drinks - I generally do not buy drinks, but if I have lots of coins and am not getting good characters to spend on that I need, then soda for the paladin is a really good buy.
• Buffs - Skill cool down is absolutely worth buying any time you see it. Probably the most important buff for little commander mode. Shotgun Bullets is key to almost all the OP weapons and is also almost always worth buying to do enough damage later in the game. Reflect buff is massive as the rooms are all total bullet hell, and reflect returns bullets when your mercs are hit and with upgrade paladin just reflects everything when he throws up the shields. Other buffs are highly dependent on your setup but bounce, laser, staff, and elemental are all useful depending on your setup.
• Most coins should be spent on characters, with the flag at just level 2, you can get two maxed characters, start with 2 paladins, buy a 3rd whatever, then upgrade your paladin when you see a 3rd, then get a 2nd whatever, and upgrade it when you see a 3rd. You will probably eventually want to upgrade your flag to level 4 (5 mercenaries, 4 on standby), and sometimes all the way to 5 (6 mercenaries 5 on standby), The earlier you can get to more mercs on standby the less likely you are to have to pay to cycle mercs to find ones you need. At level 4 (5 mercs) you can get 4 fully upgraded mercs which is about as much as you are ever likely to get to get. It is sometimes worth going to flag 5 just because at the end you will spend your coins recycling the mercs to get the right ones and the 5th merc on the row makes this a lot more effective.

Which Mercenaries are most valuable

• Upgraded Paladin resets everyone's armor and is a fricken tank. I've not tried extensively to make a max DPS run and could probably win with one, but because Paladin is a super tank and turns everyone else into a tank, upgrading him is super powerful. Only problem is there are relatively few weapons that make him a DPS monster too.
• Upgraded Priest heals everyone pretty fast, and similar to paladin, he just is a bad ass. He can also use tons of OP weapons in this mode.
• Everyone else is a huge step down and to some degree are most valuable depending what weapons you find and what they can carry. Berserkers can buff the hell out of everyone's DPS with their statue, so they might be next, but Priest/Paladin is enough to carry you with whomever else you want.

Which Buffs are most useful

• Skill cool down - Isn't necessarily must have, but if you have priest and paladin, it makes using their abilities radically more frequently which keep everyone alive. It's the most valuable buff in the game.
• Reflect - With upgraded paladin and all rooms being bullet hell, when all your characters reflect bullets and have shields, you do a crap ton of damage to the room without having to have good weapons.
• Shotgun bullets - In little commander, there are so many enemies that accuracy isn't nearly as important as total bullets, which makes weapons buffed by this the best weapons in this mode (more to see later)
• Double statue can be pretty OP if you have the right statue set up, especially nice if you have engineer with your pet because now your bet can be a massive DPS machine.
• Everything else is a bit more situational depending what weapons you find, but staffs are generally really good in this mode, so staff buff is solid if you have guys who can use staffs, bounce can be very powerful depending what weapons you have, elemental is useful only with a few weapons that are good in this mode, but it is really good if you do (early on staff of flame, flame blaster, old wizard staff, staff of thunder)

Which weapons are most useful

• Think anything that damages lots and lots of guys at once, also remember that energy is not a factor, so weapons that have bad energy/ damage ratios do not matter at all if they do great damage (early old rocket launcher is a nice level 1 priest weapon as an example), weapons that are blue or less also don't require you using any upgrades and can be valuable for preserving pet coins
• Staffs - Almost all staffs shoot out tons of bullets, staff of nature/flame/light are all really good early weapons for non upgraded characters that can use staffs. Staff of thunder is bad ass later in the game.
• Explosive weapons - Bazooka and old rocket launcher are good early weapons for priest, rocket gun is a good later weapon. These weapons also just hit a lot of people in the room at once, you want to find area effect weapons.
• Fast shotgun type weapons - Gaitlin gun, flame blaster (especially with elemental buff) can shred rooms, cherry blossom if you have shotgun and bounce buff is an absolute monster weapon
• Other Large area weapons - Bouncing rail gun doesn't seem like a large area weapon, but it really does a pretty nice job. Splash rail gun is similar if you have shotgun buff.

Which statues are best for characters

• Berserker is almost always best for anyone with a DPS weapon
• Engineer is probably next
• Elf is probably next (for a non paladin to wipe away bullets)
• Wizard is probably next

Which attachments are useful? (generally obvious, but just for completion's sake)

• Fully automatic device is super OP in this mode, but frequently seems bugged and doesn't always work right. I've had it on a missile battery where once it was going off while my pet was holding it, which made me super OP, I've also had it not work at all, and have had it work how it is supposed to. Pets don't attack as often as they should though, so if you have this, and its working normally, then it makes that pet super OP if they have a weapon that benefits like missile battery, flame blast, gaitlin gun, and still helps a ton with any other weapon
• Anything that increase damage is good (more bullets, enhanced bullets, straight damage buff etc)
• Anything that helps with energy is a throwaway

Gameplay

• I pretty much only ever use the icicle power, find the most crowded part of the room, and use it right away, gives your mercs time do their thing and clear out a lot of enemies before they can get attacked.
• Save it up to reuse when the rooms respawn and you can again freeze tons of enemies and stop the early onslaught
• Don't use it when there are only a couple enemies unless you are trying to protect your mercs from near death (ie, I see my paladin is about to die)
• Reset your level if you don't get the mercs you need on the starting row to boost your odds of getting what you want. You can play around with how many times to refresh before resetting, i usually do no more than 2 refreshes early on but later will do many more.

What does a good run look like?

• Start with tea, my four garden buffs, hope for a decent statue, but don't worry about it
• Start with Paladin, give paladin the upgraded flail, 1st floor, don't take a 2nd merc unless it is a paladin, kill 1st room, upgrade chest (exception, I will buy skill cool down as a skill if I see it instead)
• 2nd floor open chest (now worth 3 coins), upgrade flag, take paladin as free merc (if not done from floor 1 and he's there), if not reset stage, repeat, and hope for a 2nd paladin (should have 3 coins unless I had a gold or enegy room, then I'd have 4)
• 3rd floor, repeat 2nd floor steps, now have should have 6 coins (possibly up to 8 depending on bonus rooms), if still no paladin, probably just reset the game, cloud restore, and start over.
• 4th floor (assuming I now have at least two paladins, recycle mercs until I can get a 3rd paladin and get upgraded paladin, this is my base point, a run starts when I have upgraded paladin by the start of the 4th floor.
• You can make it pretty far with just an upgraded paladin, now add other characters you want to upgrade and look for weapons that make them useful. I typically try to have a 2nd fully upgraded character by early 2nd stage with a good DPS weapon.

Hopefully you find this helpful and can get a gold trophy of your own!

Cover Art!
Story Summary: After years of beatings and neglect from her parents, 13-year old Frances was summoned with her entire class to the fantastical world of Durannon to fight the monsters invading the human kingdoms and defeat the "Demon King." If she succeeds, she might have the home she never had. But if she can't overcome the trauma and self-loathing inflicted on her by her abusive parents, Frances will die, and be summoned back to the home she escaped, on the day that she left.
Teaser: Let's say the Grand Army of Erlenberg isn't going to be a Grand Army for much longer.
[The Beginning] [<=Book 2 Chapter 28 (92)] [Chapter Index and Blurb] [Book 2 Chapter 30 (94)=>]
Index of Windwhistler Family Members
Art of Frances's friends, Elizabeth, Martin, Ayax and Timur. Courtesy of RianneDraws :)
Fractured Song Discord Server so you can ask me questions and just hang with other fans. We have a meme channel. It has memes of the serial.
Pre-chapter note: The break did me a tone of good as I have 4 more chapters on top of my patreon chapters backlogged muahahahah. So much in store! Thank you for your patience.
Trigger Warning: Mention/Discussion of sexual assault/coerced sex.
Elizabeth decided to cross the bridge. As she explained it, she was far more worried about being caught on the wrong side of the river than the possibility of encountering enemies.
Frances led the company of soldiers guarding the bridge itself, whilst Martin brought up the rest of their troops.
“Ma’am—Frances, we should strip the bodies of supplies or anything useful,” said Ginger.
Frances winced, but nodded. “I agree. Take ten and see what you can get. We’ll keep watch.”
Ginger gave Frances a look that the girl couldn’t quite read, but proceeded, grabbing ten of the older convicts.
There wasn’t much to recover. Goblin gear wasn’t sized for most humans, but they took the goblin’s ammo pouches and any food they’d carried with them. However, most of the goblins were dead thanks to her spells, which… didn’t leave the bodies in the best condition.
Frances didn’t want to look at them, but she forced herself to take in their corpses. In her heart, she hoped that they’d find their rest somewhere peaceful.
Despite the wait, they weren’t attacked before the rest of the soldiers arrived with Martin. Even after they made their crossing and their supply wagons had trundled over the bridge, there was no counterattack.
It was a stroke of luck that urged the group on and soon they were clear away from the bridge, taking one of the smaller paths that snaked through the Pinewood. It wasn’t entirely smooth going, though, and the wagons got stuck several times.
“How did the army get through this foresty crap?” Ginger muttered. She and Ayax were at the head of the column, doing their best to navigate through the forest, and clear a way through if necessary. Ayax’s magic was thus rather helpful in this endeavour.
“We took barges that ran down the Silverstream under the bridge we crossed. There are roads, but as you can see, they’re not very good,” explained Ayax. She smirked, “You should be glad that we’re in the Pinewoods. The foresters keep the undergrowth fairly tamed.”
“At least we’re stopping soon,” said Ginger, looking up at the sky. It was beginning to set.
Crack.
“We’re under attack!”
Ayax and Ginger spun around and charged toward the back of the column, where they heard the shots from. They passed scrambling men and women reaching for weapons, until Elizabeth suddenly stepped in front of them.
“Ginger, come with me. Ayax, stay in the front! I need you leading the column with the first company! Keep us moving!” Elizabeth bellowed.
Ayax grimaced, but nodded and turned. “Come on! Keep moving forward, get those wagons going!”
Elizabeth and Ginger continued to run down the line, until they’d reached the fight.
Frances and about thirty of their musketeers were firing at approaching enemy musketeers, using the trees as cover. About twenty foot soldiers were taking cover behind trees, but were ready, spears and swords in hand.
As for their enemy, they were ogres. Tall, broad-shouldered, human-like, but not at the same time. They were very similar to their cousins, the trolls. Both had black eyes, but unlike trolls, they didn’t have tails or pointed ears and every single one of them without exception had a mane of hair that flowed down their backs. If one got closer, one would notice they had six fingers.
At least, both sides were trying to shoot each other. The interspersed trees provided plenty of cover. Combine that with the dim light and the terrible accuracy of the muskets meant that only Frances was hitting anything.
What the ogres musket fire was doing was keeping their heads down so that their compatriots, a group of ogre soldiers, could advance, in a loose skirmishing formation. In the dim light, Elizabeth wasn’t sure how many were there, but there were a lot.
“What are your orders? We could withdraw or counterattack. They might have reinforcements, though,” Ginger pointed out.
Elizabeth pursed her lips and was about to nod, until she suddenly didn’t. “Ginger, I have an idea. I’ll be back in a minute. Frances, keep them pinned and knock down a few trees if you have to!”
Frances ducked behind a tree and shouted, “Alright!” With that she began to charge her lightning spell. Ginger however, grabbed Elizabeth’s arm.
“You’re just going to leave us?” Ginger yelled. The convict’s eyes were wild with fury, before they suddenly froze and she released Elizabeth, a horrified look on her face.
Elizabeth, taking a breath, smiled disarmingly and said, “Ginger, I’m sorry for worrying you, but I’m leaving to get our new cavalry force. Their horses should be rested enough for one charge. I need you to get our soldiers here ready to join us. Can you do that?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ginger stammered.
“Good. I’ll see you.” Elizabeth got to her feet and dashed after their convoy.
Ginger stared at her back, before picking herself up and running to join the foot soldiers. “Right, so Elizabeth said she’s bringing reinforcements. We need to be ready to charge.”
“You sure she’s not just running?” whispered one of the convicts.
Ginger hesitated and jumped, well, everybody jumped as a crack of thunder split the air.
Frances’s spell had sent the ogres running for more cover, leaving another ten or so twitching or motionless on the ground. It also made Ginger realize something.
“The commander is not going to leave her best friend here. Just get ready,” Ginger ordered, drawing her sword. The cheap, blunt-pointed hacking blade was more of a stretched butcher’s chopper with a hilt than a sword. It was still a good weapon, though.
The musket fire coming their way had slackened to a couple of odd shots. The ogres were too busy ducking for cover from the brown-haired girl hurling lightning bolts at them.
That cover was promptly destroyed, when one of these bolts of lightning struck a tree with a crack. The tree swayed, resisted for a moment, and came crashing down, sending ogres running.
“Troops, prepare to charge!”
Ginger looked up. Elizabeth and the horsemen they’d met that morning were formed in a rough line, swords drawn.
“Prepare to charge!” Ginger echoed, getting to her feet, smiling. She’d never been so glad to be wrong. Their young commander did have a clue.
“Charge!” Elizabeth kicked her horse into a gallop, leading the horsemen through the trees. The charge wasn’t just one body, but there were enough gaps between the trees for them to pass through. The cavalry charged past Ginger, roaring, swords colored red by the setting sun.
The ogres ran. Even the foot soldiers. Ginger didn’t know why. Ogres were brave, and not the smartest. They liked fighting, though, not as much as orcs. They wouldn’t just run.
A bolt of magic sailed over their heads, exploding amidst the retreating Alavari, and it suddenly clicked for Ginger as she glanced at Frances.
The ogres did want to fight, but against a mage firing lightning bolts? When that mage was backed up by charging cavalry and foot soldiers that were hollering war cries and charging at them? Even orcs wouldn’t want to take this battle.
Ginger whooped with laughter and let herself for the moment, stop wondering about how her superiors were going to screw her over.
---
They didn’t get many ogres. The forest really slowed the horses down and so Elizabeth had, once the ogres were fleeing, called the charge off and had them rejoin the convoy, where the tired soldiers were given their meals.
After an apprehensive sniff, Ginger had hungrily devoured the stew, which was quite good. She had also noticed that while Frances got several bowls of stew, nobody got a different meal. The stately Ayax ate from the same bowl as the convict soldier she was sitting beside. And to Ginger’s confusion, Frances apologized twice for needing to eat more, explaining that she was a mage, and she needed more energy. It was as if she expected somebody to be annoyed for her to be taking her fair share.
It was confusing enough for Ginger to get up and decide to check the supplies. Much as she appreciated the meal, she also knew that most officers tended to think of supplies as an afterthought, especially young officers like Elizabeth.
Only, when she got to the wagon, she saw Martin seated on said wagon, frantically scribbling into a paper with his charcoal pencil.
“What you doin’?” Ginger asked.
“Calculating supplies. We used a little bit of the surplus today to reward everybody. Just want to double check to see how many meals can we make,” said Martin, not looking up. His blue eyes focused on the paper he was writing.
Ginger nodded thoughtfully. “And how much do we have?”
“If we stretch it we have enough for a week, assuming we don’t pick up any more stragglers.” Martin wrote something down and grimaced. “We might be down to hard tack, but we’ll have something to eat. We’ll have to use the fresh stuff first, though. I think we should fight only when we have that available.”
“That’s… what I was going to suggest,” said Ginger, blinking. Wringing her hands behind her back, she coughed. “Do you need any help?”
“That would be nice. Can you read?” At her nod, Martin handed her a sheaf of paper and asked her to check his figures. Ginger did find a few mistakes, but the handsome knight took them in stride and he corrected them quickly.
And the odd feeling Ginger had in her chest grew.
---
Early morning, the convoy… it wasn’t really a convoy any more. They had too many soldiers for that and there was a confidence in the marching humans and Alavari.
In the centre of the column though, near the wagons, the leaders of the… group? Well they were having a heated discussion.
“We’re three hundred against an entire army. We can’t win this!” Ginger hissed.
She’d spent the last thirty minutes trying to convince her superiors that the best thing to do was to end their fighting on a high note and get the hell back to the city. But for whatever reason, they weren’t convinced.
And it was surprisingly not just the Otherworlders’ faults. It was the normal people. Like Ayax, the troll, certainly brave, but perhaps too brave.
“And bring the fight to the city? That’s a terrible idea!” Ayax exclaimed.
Elizabeth nodded. “We’re in terrain that favors our smaller force and allows us to skirmish better. I understand your caution, but we should fight.”
Ginger gritted her teeth. Elizabeth wasn’t wrong, and part of her had to admit the commander’s judgement wasn’t bad. Still, fighting a larger force with a smaller one was still risky as hell.
“Our soldiers don’t have much training, though,” Frances said quietly.
Now as for Frances? Well Ginger was fine with her. She asked sharp questions or made intelligent observations. Ginger only wished she was less of a wet towel and had more backbone.
“Yes, so we need to give them more experience now, when we have some advantages,” said Elizabeth.
“That and we received orders through Frances’s mirror today from Lady Eleanor Windwhistler. We’re to do our best to hold them up while the city rallies their remaining troops,” Martin added.
Ginger glanced at the knight. She had no idea what to think of Martin. On one hand, he was incredibly level-headed and despite being a noble, didn’t mind the commoners giving their thoughts. On the other, the handsome knight had no business being so friggin good at following the rules that most nobles (and commoners) found ways to circumvent.
“How many escaped to the city by the way?” Elizabeth asked. She’d been on watch duty that night and so missed Frances’s latest conversation with her grandmother.
“Ten thousand. The other four thousand were either captured or killed. Somehow, General Yuan survived,” said Ayax. She grimaced, “Our intelligence says the Alavari have been reinforced. They have twenty thousand soldiers.”
Ginger threw her hands up. “Then they can overrun us completely. We need to leave the Pinewoods or else we’re all fucked. That they haven’t just formed a massive skirmish line and just combed the forest is a miracle.”
Elizabeth shut her eyes, rubbing her temples. “Right, I’ve made my decision. We’re going to set up an ambush on the main road through the pinewoods and hit their scouting group. After that, we’ll reevaluate. Maybe one more raid before we get out of here.”
Ginger felt faint. One more raid? Their barely blooded soldiers against the might of Thorgoth’s army? Did these teens not care about dying?
“Oh fuck you! That’ll just get us all killed! Screw our orders and the fucking city. They’re not fighting by our side! They aren’t going to be burying us!”
Ginger blinked as everybody stared at her, and that was when she realized she’d just said that out loud.
Oh no. Oh no. She braced herself, waiting for the inevitable. She’d gone too far this time.
“Ginger, I’m sorry you don’t agree, but I’ve made my decision. Do you need a moment?” Elizabeth asked.
Ginger blinked. Elizabeth was staring at her, but there was no anger, or even disdain. Instead, she, and her friends, were giving her similar looks of an emotion she barely recognized.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Ginger, we do appreciate your input and we thank you for your words of caution,” said Frances. She smiled, “And while I know we can’t agree on this, we’re glad you still told us. That being said, you seem very frustrated and tired and I know you took the sentry watch in the middle of the night. Maybe a nap might help?”
Frances was right. She was tired and irritated because of the night watch. But that wasn’t what was concerning her, and driving her mad at the same time.
“I… fine!” She left the band of crazy teenagers as fast as she could. The faster she could take a nap, the better she might feel.
When Ginger woke up, she realized that the wagon wasn’t rolling. She also found that she was covered by a blanket, and there was a flask of water next to her.
She threw the blanket off of her and grabbed the flask, emptying part of it over her head, and swigging the rest.
A knock on the wooden spar that held the wagon’s canopy made her look to the entrance to the wagon.
There was the damned knight Martin, carrying two bowls of some kind of food and a loaf of bread.
“Hey, Ginger. We just started cooking dinner. Are you feeling better?”
Yes she was. “Kinda,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Food first.”
Martin handed the bowl to her and split the loaf, giving half to her. She yanked it out of his hand and ate, ignoring whatever he thought of her eating habits.
The knight ate slowly, genteely. He was a noble after all and while he did take a seat across her, all he did was eat.
“Okay what are you playing at?” Ginger demanded.
Martin took a bite from his bread. “Well I’ll be honest, I was wondering if you wanted to talk. You know, tell me a little more about yourself.”
“What’s there to tell? I’m a convict. I was a soldier. And if you want to know about my family well they’re just farmers in Leipmont.” Ginger glared at the knight, trying to figure out what the heck he wanted. He had to be beating around the bush for something.
“Well that’s a start. Got any siblings?” Martin asked, smiling.
“Yeah. Too many. I liked them enough, but I needed out of the house. Don’t think my parents want me back. Not after what I did.”
“I’m sorry about that.” Martin pursed his lips. “I have one sibling, an older sister. She’s called Mara and she’s in Roranoak with the expeditionary forces.”
“Makes sense. She’s the heir to Conthwaite.” Ginger frowned. “What are you doing with two Otherworlders and an Erlenberg mage?”
It had been a question bugging her for a while. The four made an odd group and yet, they seemed to work almost in concert. There was this closeness that was irritatingly sincere and sweet. She didn’t believe it for a second. Something else had to be keeping them together.
“Oh, well it’s a long story. I was assigned with Elizabeth to escort Frances during a mission and we became good friends. Frances got adopted by Edana Firehand, her mentor and while meeting the rest of her family in Erlenberg, Ayax joined our little group.”
Ginger blinked, hard. “And you’re all together because you’re friends?”
“Yeah. We trust each other. Plus, Edana’s on the War Council and thought we’d make a good team, which I think she’s right about,” said Martin.
“There’s no… no thing going on between you or any of your buddies?” Ginger asked.
“What thing?” Martin asked, owlishly.
“I thought you had to be sleeping with each other. I mean, one handsome knight, three pretty girls. There has to be some kind of thing going on between at least a pair of you!” Ginger squawked.
Martin’s jaw dropped and shook his head, shivering. “No. Just no. I like—no, I care about them deeply, and I think they’re pretty. But they’re not my type. Besides, I suspect Elizabeth and Ayax are going to be a thing in the future and Frances has… someone else in mind.” The knight cocked his head and gazed up at the sky, shivered again, and met Ginger’s eye. “Yeah nope.”
“What is your type then?” Ginger asked.
The knight blinked and stiffened. “Um, well. I always liked more shapely women.”
As Ginger watched Martin’s eyes, it finally clicked and she grasped why the noble had come and has been so friendly all this time. It was odd, but she could finally explain it.
The only thing she could do… was to make it easier on herself.
Ginger swallowed, put her bread aside and braced herself. “If… if you wanted to sleep with me you could just order me to.”
Martin got up so quickly he knocked his empty bowl over. “Excuse me, what?”
“It’s why you’re being so nice. You like how I look, so you want to screw me. Well whatever, get it over with. I can’t say no,” Ginger muttered, reaching to unbutton her shirt.
“No that’s not what I’m here for!” Martin exclaimed, trying to keep his voice down. He leapt off the wagon and backed away. “Ginger, what in Erisdale made you think I wanted to have sex with you?”
“You like how I look, don’t you?” Ginger asked, frowning now, hands frozen at her shirt buttons. She knew she was right about how the knight looked at her. It was very different from how he’d looked at his female friends. Those looks were… brotherly, and proud. That wasn’t how he looked at her. Sometimes he seemed to be curious, and concerned, but no, he definitely liked how she looked. She’d seen similar glances directed at her by other men and women.
“Well, yes, but that doesn’t mean I would order you to—Oh shit.” Martin covered his mouth. “Someone else ordered you?”
“Well no, but someone was going to one day—Wait, you didn’t want to fuck me?” Ginger spluttered. She stared at Martin. This didn’t make any sense.
“No! You are pretty, but you don’t want me to do that to you so of course I won’t!”
“Why does it matter? You don’t have to give a damn about what I feel. I’ve had handlers who’d use the seal because I gave them backtalk.” Ginger shrugged. “Just tell me what you want already.”
“I just wanted to get to know you and see if you were alright after your outburst!” Martin groaned and grabbed his head. “Gods damn it all, it’s almost as bad as talking to Frances! Look, Ginger, we, that is myself, Frances, Elizabeth and Ayax don’t want to use this stupid seal and we think this whole mage-maked convict soldier business is despicable! Oh Gods, don’t tell me… Does every convict think the same way as you do and is just waiting for us to use it?”
Staring at Martin, Ginger walked up to him, hands by her side. “You don’t want to use the seal. Really? What a load of horse crap.”
“It’s true!”
“What if I tried to stab you, huh? What if I attacked you? What if I disobeyed an order of yours? What if we disagreed on strategy?” Ginger demanded, stalking closer to the knight, her eyes on his face, watching his bushy blonde eyebrows rise.
“We don’t punish soldiers for disagreeing. If you disobeyed or breached military law we’d discipline you according to military law,” Martin stammered.
“Easy to say that over your dead body? What if I had tied you, flat on your back. Had you at my mercy?” Ginger hissed, she stepped right into Martin’s personal space, her teeth almost bumping into his nose. She was taller than the knight after all. “What if I kissed that cute nose of yours and forced myself on you? Would you still not use the command spell then?”
Martin didn’t meet Ginger’s eyes, but somehow, whether it was his honor, or self-control, he didn’t reach for his sword. “I don’t know. I really don’t know what I would do then. What I do know…” The knight’s bright blue eyes looked up at her. “I know you wouldn’t do that. You’re a good person.”
Crazy bitch.
Evil whore.
Murderer.
Traitor.
You’re a good person.
Ginger stepped back. The feeling in her chest was back again and she didn’t like it. She liked it and didn’t like it at all. She’d felt that before, always before the worst days of her life.
“I’m not,” she hissed. “I’m the crazy murder lady, remember.”
Martin shook his head. “You killed a literal rapist. And you bet I’m telling my mom, the Magistrate of Conthwaite, about this convict soldier mage-mark insanity when I get a chance.” The knight took a deep breath and sighed. “Look, I know you don’t believe me, and I won’t ask you to trust me. So take the time you need, just… don’t stop talking and if you need more time before we get into another battle, let me know. But I’d be glad to have you helping.”
Ginger watched the knight leave, trudging off into the camp they’d set up. She stared at the short boy—no, man’s back.
She didn’t want to believe him. She didn’t want to trust him, but… despite herself, she was starting to.-
Author's Note: So yeah, Ginger's had it rough. I know having convicts with some kind of magic seal is common in other stories, but I can't unsee the amount of potential for abuse here so, there.
Question of the update: If Fractured Song was to become a published book, what medium would you get it in? E book? Paperback? Hardback? Also, who'd you love to be on the cover? Obviously Frances, but who else?