A/N: this comes from the CYOA: The Furthermost Reaches which you can find as part of the original Quest by Rihaku 'A Simple Transaction I' on Sufficient Velocity. Rihaku writes vividly in his own meta-universe where characters rise from humble beginnings to become an order of magnitude stronger than Scion, and keeps it riveting throughout. Check it out.

This story was inspired by the window dressing of the CYOA, with its kitchen-sink Gothic Horror vibes, and got me rereading a ton of the classics. It'll alternate between Earth Bet and the Furthermost Reaches. I'm posting this here as it's quite distinct a community from SB/SV, with the intention to start posting there once there's more pre-written, while updating things here as they're written.

Cover image is 'Still Night' credit to Joseph Feely, from his artstation account. Check it out, too, he makes beautiful things.

Through a Glass, Darkly

"Will you walk into my parlour?" said a spider to a fly;

'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy.

The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,

And I have many pretty things to shew when you are there."

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 1 - Tʜᴇ Bʀᴏᴋᴇʀ ᴏғ Bʀᴏᴋᴇɴ Tʜɪɴɢs

Ɍefugees are supposed to be miserable.

In a city crawling with murderers, lacking food, water, and shelter – in which the city itself had crumpled and torn like so much sodden newspaper, and been swept inland – there was a lot to be miserable about. Still, for someone like me, big problems had a way of swallowing little ones, had a way of focusing you on one thing at a time. All my little miseries had fled the city when Leviathan arrived.

The sea hadn't smashed everything. Some places had been less scoured by his wake, which basically just meant that they were still upright.

The Hebert home was one such lucky house. A month ago the rotten step and warped door frame convinced me the house was falling apart, that it couldn't get much worse. Shatterbird's scream had shown me the limits of my imagination, reaching to complete whichever floors had evaded the endbringer.

Some of our roof shingles had given up on touching the sky and could be seen decorating the yard like a half-hearted attempt at a rockery. It left the roof pocked: exposed to the weather, so the wind could sing through the attic. The windows and window frames were jagged scars now, the wood rotting and dark where its inner seams were open to the air.

Even though I wasn't here to stay, even though it was ruined, weeks in shelters and then in the hospital had shown me how I really felt about these bricks and mortar. It was home, and the blue of the door made my heart sing.

Two minutes struggling to get the key to fit showed me the feeling wasn't reciprocated. I had to be careful not to cut myself when I gave up, quick-climbing through the shattered window so that no-one would shoot me for being a looter.

Inside there was water, and glass.

The wooden floors in the halls, and tiles in the kitchen crunched where I stepped while the carpet in the den squelched. There was glass there too, and the explosion of the window had shredded Dad's chair like it had shredded him in the room above.

I had to remember I was here on a mission. I was here to get something. I didn't know what that something was, but I hoped it would be obvious when I saw it: a folder with a red cross in the corner, or a caduceus, something that was obviously proof that Dad had insurance. The first days after the scream had been rough, touch-and-go at points. I'd thought that would be the worst point but now that he was more stable, the hospital was looking to bounce him unless he could prove he'd pony up the dough. They were too full, but Dad was in no state to prove anything. It was all up to me.

The best place to look had to be the basement or the attic. In the kitchen, a gaping black abyss yawned open as I heaved the door open on broken hinges. Even in mid-afternoon, so long after Leviathan, the climate hadn't normalised. Dark clouds made the daylight grey, and the faint light couldn't make it past the third step down into the basement. It was a shock, when my ankles felt the water.

I waded through. Everything was ruined. We'd kept tons down here. Mostly stuff that wasn't important, DIY hardware that neither of us could use, or crap we didn't have space for, or cheap things that could be replaced. But there were mementos, too, things that felt like priceless treasures to me that were now ruined. Mom's terrible paintings were down here and I felt the sharp corners of the canvas with my fingertips. They were self-portraits from her minor at College, packed up even before she'd died. Back when I was old enough to laugh, but young enough not to realise that Moms had feelings too. My finger poked through the material with almost no effort.

Fuck. If the insurance was down here, it was lost. Even if it wasn't, without a flashlight, I had no chance of finding it.

Dad's bedroom showed the same story. He had stuff from work in there, but his passport wasn't there (and it was 70/30 that he had one, I was pretty sure), or his marriage licence, or anything useful.

I snagged his cologne, and a small blanket that I was sure we'd had since forever, from the closet. Things to orient him while he was confused, to maybe help him be lucid more than half the time.

Then I went to the crawlspace. The tiny attic that was tucked into the roof. The hatch opened almost by itself, and the ladder slid down noiselessly like it was freshly oiled. The air that sank down was stale, undisturbed.

Looking back, if I'd had the experience that I have now, if I'd been colder – just a little closer to goosebumps, or a shiver – I might have picked up on it. Might have turned around. Instead, I climbed up.

The first thing I saw was Mom's old jewelry box. Everything else was pushed away, and it stood alone in the center of the attic.

It was from her wild college days, before Dad and Brockton Bay, back when her major hadn't been English, and she'd spent summers all around the world, on Gram's dime and she'd kept it as a memento. Inside, there was a hundred dollars, in loose twenties and tens, three silver pieces of jewelry, and a figurine. A little woman, proud and tall. On its base, in a heavy typeface, there was a word inscribed. Lustrum.

A ᴘᴇᴇʀʟᴇss ᴊᴀᴅᴇ ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛʏ

I jumped up, hit my head on the ceiling, dropping Mom's little statue onto the dusty floorboards. It clattered across the attic and rolled to a stop at the feet of a tall, thin figure, hidden in the darkest corner of the room which folded to pick it up with worm-white fingers, bending in too many places, too many joints. When it spoke its voice made no sound. When it moved, the floorboards beneath its feet didn't creak.

Yᴏᴜ ғɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀsᴇʟғ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴʜᴇʀɪᴛᴏʀ ᴏғ ᴀ sᴛᴀᴛᴜᴇᴛᴛᴇ ᴏғ ᴘʀɪᴄᴇʟᴇss ᴊᴀᴅᴇ. Iɴ ᴛʜɪs ᴅʀᴇᴀʀʏ ʀᴇᴀʟᴍ, sᴏ ᴠᴜʟɢᴀʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴀsᴇ, I sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴛᴏ ᴛʀᴀᴅᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴀʀᴇs ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ ғᴏʀ ɪᴛs ʀᴇsᴄᴜᴇ.

"Wh-what are you?"

The corpse air of the attic lay still as it approached me.

Cᴀʟʟ ᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴇ Bʀᴏᴋᴇʀ: ᴅɪsᴘᴇɴsᴇʀ — ᴀɴᴅ ᴇʀsᴛᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛᴏʀ — ᴏғ ᴍᴀʟᴀᴅies ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄ, ᴡʜᴇɴ sᴜᴄʜ ᴅɪsᴛɪɴᴄᴛɪᴏɴ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ᴍᴇᴀɴɪɴɢғᴜʟ. Cᴀʟᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀsᴇʟғ. Yᴏᴜʀ ғᴀᴄᴇ ʙᴇᴛʀᴀʏs ʏᴏᴜʀ ғᴇᴀʀ. Dᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴡᴏʀʀʏ ᴏɴ ᴏ̨ᴜɪᴄᴋ sᴀʟᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘᴜʀᴄʜᴀsᴇʀ's ʀᴇᴍᴏʀsᴇ, ᴅᴜʟʟ ᴛɪᴍᴇ sʜᴀʟʟ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ғᴏʀᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴇᴀʟ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ.

It bowed, and slowly straightened. The darkness in its corner of the roof was deeper than it should be, and the ceiling higher. It shouldn't have been able to stand without stooping.

No matter what I did, I couldn't hold its appearance in my head. It was human shaped, I was sure. Paler than me. It had arms the length of normal arms, and eyes correct in number and location, but my head and heart were in perfect agreement — it had nothing inside it that was vaguely human, less like me than an octopus. Than a parasite.

Sᴘᴇɴᴅ sʜʀᴇᴡᴅʟʏ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ sʜᴀʟʟ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛᴏ sᴜʀᴠɪᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀs ᴏғ ᴛʜɪs ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ. Aɴᴅ ᴍɪɴᴇ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄᴏᴅᴇx ʜᴀs sᴏᴍᴇ sᴍᴀʟʟ ᴡɪsᴅᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴀᴛ I ᴍɪɢʜᴛ sʜᴀʀᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ.

"This world?"

I had told Dad, before I left, that I would be quick. That I would not travel through the docks, or even near them. That no matter how dangerous the Nine were, the chance of me meeting any of them was minuscule, real getting-struck-by-lightning odds.

This creature with its sunken eyes, and pinched skin, in top hat and waistcoat, or maybe suit trousers and a white shirt, or maybe pastel jacket and…

I'd been caught by some hallucinogen or something even worse. Something rotting my brain from the inside, already too late to fix. I had fallen victim to the Nine.

Mʏ sʏᴍᴘᴀᴛʜɪᴇs. Tʜɪs ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ʜᴏʟᴅs ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ᴏᴘᴘᴏʀᴛᴜɴɪᴛʏ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴏʀᴍᴇʀʟʏ ᴍᴜɴᴅᴀɴᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴛ ɪs ɴᴏᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀ. Pᴀʀᴀʜᴜᴍᴀɴs ʀᴏᴀᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀɴᴅ, ᴏғ ᴠᴀʀʏɪɴɢ sᴛʀᴇɴɢᴛʜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅɪғғᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ.

Hᴇʀᴇ, ᴀʟsᴏ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ғɪɴᴅ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ-sᴘᴜɴ ᴀᴜᴛᴏᴍᴀᴛᴏɴs, ʙᴇʜᴏʟᴅᴇɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴘᴛs ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴇᴍʙᴏᴅʏ; ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀʟᴇss ɴᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴇɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʏᴄʟᴇ ᴏғ ʀᴇɴᴇᴡᴀʟ ғᴏʀ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴅᴇsɪɢɴᴇᴅ.

Sᴛɪʟʟ ᴍᴏʀᴇ: ᴏᴜᴛʟᴀɴᴅᴇʀs, ᴡᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇʀs ғʀᴏᴍ ᴀ ʀᴇᴀʟᴍ ᴏʀ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛʜ–

"Are you real? Did they make you, or are you all in my head?"

I reached out towards him, to touch him, or to see if he would spring his trap, but when I moved I got no closer to him. The deep darkness behind him became more cavernous, more spacious, in a way that could only be felt, not seen, and the distance between us stayed the same.

But my fingers were cold. The closer they got to him, the colder the air seemed to be.

"Are you the devil?"

I ᴀᴍ ɴᴏᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴍʏ ᴘᴀᴛʀᴏɴ ᴀssᴜʀᴇs ᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜɪs Pᴀᴛʀᴏɴ ɪs ɴᴏᴛ ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ.

"Yeah, OK, and that guy's patron?"

His lips quirked upward.

He had a hawker's tray. He hadn't before. It was at a slight angle, so that I could see its top clearly, and he set my Mom's jade figurine on its edge. Its bottom was green felt, like a cheap jeweler's stand, and little badges and tokens were arranged across it in rows.

Mʏ ᴘᴀᴛʀᴏɴ's Pᴀᴛʀᴏɴ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʙᴇ ᴘᴀᴛʀᴏɴɪsᴇᴅ. Nᴏᴡ, ᴍʏ ᴡᴀʀᴇs.

He stepped closer to me, until he was only half a yard away. The cold was coming from him, from his skin, I realised. I could feel it on my arms, like his fingers were on me. I shuddered.

"Is it all a lie, what they say on the news; a big conspiracy?" I asked. "Does everybody buy their powers from you?"

Fʀᴏᴍ ᴍᴇ? Nᴏ. Iғ ɴᴏᴛ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄɪʀᴄᴜᴍsᴛᴀɴᴄᴇs ʙʏ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴏssᴇss ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴊᴀᴅᴇ, I ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴍᴇᴛ ᴀɴʏ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴ ғʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ.

I considered that. "If you want it so bad, maybe I should hold onto it."

It inclined its head. It didn't speak, not for long moments. Its eyes looked into mine, and I couldn't look away, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. Then it was over, and it reached down to its tray, taking a small gold piece from its place between a green and red coin, swapping it for another with a deep azure color.

Yᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪsᴇʀ, ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴏʟᴅ ᴏɴᴛᴏ ᴡᴇᴀʟᴛʜ ғᴏʀ ᴡᴇᴀʟᴛʜ's sᴀᴋᴇ ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ. Yᴏᴜʀ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄɪᴛʏ ɴᴇᴇᴅs ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴘᴘᴏʀᴛᴜɴɪᴛʏ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴏʟᴅ ɴᴏᴡ ᴛᴏᴏ sᴏʀᴇʟʏ. Oғ ᴄᴏᴜʀsᴇ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ, ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪsʜ.

It swept a hand above the four neat groupings it had made of its trinkets, and the small key-chain things that hung from the hooks on the side of his tray.

He pointed at the first three little statues, one of an injured man, one of a wolf standing on its hind legs, and one of a classical statue – like David, or the Thinker – perfect in form.

I ᴄᴀɴ ᴀʟᴛᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ғᴏʀᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ɪᴛ ᴍᴏʀᴇ sᴜɪᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜɪs ʙᴇᴅʀᴀɢɢʟᴇᴅ ʟᴀɴᴅ: ʀᴇsɪʟɪᴇɴᴛ, ʙᴇsᴛɪᴀʟ, ᴏʀ ᴇʟʏsɪᴀɴ. His finger moved to jab at the four coloured tokens, softly sparkling as if they were lit from behind. Tʜᴇ ʙᴏɴғɪʀᴇ ᴏғ ᴇssᴇɴᴄᴇ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄ ᴏғ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀ. Mᴏɴᴏᴄʜʀᴏᴍᴀᴛɪᴄ, ɪᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴀsᴋ ғʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀs ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴀsᴋ ғʀᴏᴍ ɪᴛ, ɪɴ sᴇʀᴠɪᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪs sᴜɴᴋᴇɴ ᴄɪᴛʏ.

The next grouping was more numerous. Each consisted of straight, thin bronze lines, like tally lines the length of my fingernail. Sɪᴍᴘʟᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅɪʀᴇᴄᴛ, ᴜɴᴅᴇʀᴇsᴛɪᴍᴀᴛᴇ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴇʀɪʟ. ɴᴜᴍᴇʀᴀᴄʏ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀᴘɪɴs ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴏғ ᴛʜɪs ʀᴇᴀʟᴍ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡɪʟʟ ɢɪᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛʀᴇɴɢᴛʜ ᴛᴏ ɪᴍᴘᴏsᴇ ᴏʀᴅᴇʀ ᴏɴ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀs ʙᴇᴇɴ ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ. The final grouping were small scraps of paper, torn from something larger. They had a strange language written on them in blue ink, but it made no sense to me, even though it looked like it should, like I had seen it before.

Tʜᴇ Vᴇʀsᴇ. A ᴅᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴ ʀᴜɪɴ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴀs ᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴠᴏᴋᴇ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴀs ᴀɴʏ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ sᴛɪʟʟ ʟɪᴠɪɴɢ. Hᴀʀᴅ ᴛᴏ sᴘᴇᴀᴋ, ʜᴀʀᴅᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴀʀɴ, I ᴡɪʟʟ ᴛᴇᴀᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴏsᴇ sᴄʀᴀᴘs ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄʜᴏᴏsᴇ, ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʏ. Gʀᴏᴜɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ᴡᴇʟʟ sᴛᴜᴍʙʟᴇ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ғᴜʀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴏʀᴅs ᴏғ ᴜsᴇғᴜʟ ᴇғғᴇᴄᴛ.

Then it went about describing each piece in further detail, and I listened, and I listened, and still the creature spoke. It listed the price for each token, and only a few required the jade; for some it would accept dollars, and some my mother's silver jewelry.

On the side of its tray were more items, artifacts which it was willing to sell. Paranatural powers I could own rather than have. It came to the last of them, eventually. I hadn't said a word, hadn't tried to leave the madness behind. I didn't think I was able to. Though I had thought to turn, to step back, to do anything, I hadn't.

Aɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇʟᴍᴇᴛ ᴄᴀɴ ʙᴇ ʀᴇᴍᴏᴠᴇᴅ, ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴍᴏʀ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴠɪᴅᴇ ʜᴀʟғ ᴏғ ɪᴛs ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴇᴀ ɪᴛ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴄᴏᴠᴇʀ, ᴀɢᴀɪɴsᴛ ᴇғғᴇᴄᴛs ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴘʜʏsɪᴄᴀʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇxᴏᴛɪᴄ. Sᴄᴀɴᴅᴀʟ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇs ᴅɪsʀᴇᴘᴜᴛᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴᴇ ʜᴜɴᴅʀᴇᴅ ʏᴇᴀʀs ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ sᴜɪᴛ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴄᴀʀᴠᴇ ᴀ sɪɴɢʟᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ғᴀᴄᴇ. Sᴇʟғ-ᴀᴅᴊᴜsᴛɪɴɢ, ᴀɴᴅ sᴇʟғ-ʀᴇᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ, I ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ʟᴇᴛ ɢᴏ ᴏғ sᴏ ʙʀᴏᴀᴅ ᴀ ᴅᴇғᴇɴsᴇ ғᴏʀ ʟᴇss ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛᴡᴏ sɪʟᴠᴇʀ ʙʀᴀᴄᴇʟᴇᴛs.

It replaced the armor's model upon its hook, and stood tall again. There was nothing more, its pitch was done.

"This is all useless," I said. It had been rising up in me, annoyance, irritation, and now it overflowed. "There's nothing here that builds anything, nothing I can use now. There's nothing here that can change what's happened to the city. Nothing here that can heal my Dad. Why?"

It was silent.

"If I get to choose. If this is about selling me something, why don't you have anything I want? I don't understand. If you're a hallucination, why aren't you better? If you're something the Nine have released on me, why haven't you done anything?"

Noiselessly it laughed. Like fractures shooting through a glass pane, like water oozing up through shattered streets.

Sᴏᴏɴᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴀɴʏ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀs ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʟᴇᴀʀɴᴇᴅ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴍᴜsᴛ ʟᴇᴀʀɴ. Pᴏᴡᴇʀ ʙᴇɢᴇᴛs ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ, ʙᴜᴛ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ. Its fingers played over its tray, lingering briefly on the red coin. Aᴍʙɪᴛɪᴏɴ. Usᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ.

It paused, then leaned over its tray to bring its sallow face close to mine. Even from this close I couldn't hold onto how it looked; onto how all its features tied together to make a face that could be remembered.

I ᴡɪʟʟ ɴᴏᴛ ғʀᴇᴇʟʏ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴀᴡᴀʏ ᴍʏ ᴡᴀʀᴇs. Aᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛ ᴀ ʙᴜʀᴅᴇɴ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍʏ sᴛᴀʙʟᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ I ᴡɪʟʟ ʜᴇʟᴘ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴇᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ. Tᴀᴋᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴘᴏʀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏғ ᴀ ᴄᴜʀsᴇ I ʜᴏʟᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴀsᴇ ᴍʏ sᴜғғᴇʀɪɴɢ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ sᴜғғᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴏғ ᴍᴀɴʏ.

"What would it do to me?"

Nᴏ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇᴀʀ.

It held out its hand, and I saw a dark grub pinched between its long fingers. A maggot, flaked in specks of mud.

"Is that–"

Tʜᴇ Cᴏʀɪɴᴛʜɪᴀɴ. Yᴏᴜʀ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍs ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴅᴇᴛᴇsᴛᴀʙʟᴇ, ᴛʀᴀɴsᴘᴏʀᴛɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴅʀᴇᴀʀʏ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ʏᴏᴜ sʟᴇᴇᴘ. Tʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛs ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ʟᴏɴɢ: ғᴜʟʟ ᴏғ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴘʟᴏᴛs, ᴅɪʀᴇ ᴅᴇᴇᴅs, ᴀɴᴅ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴛᴇʀʀᴏʀs, ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs.

There was a city in ruins outside my house. The Nine were still here, and though the Protectorate reported they were being driven back, people were being murdered every day. And my Dad was in the hospital. Without insurance.

I took the grub and it flaked apart in my fingers in an instant.

Pᴜʀᴄʜᴀsᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ.

I chose mostly items and Verses, in the hope that by learning the language I might find a power that did what I needed it to, one day. The artifacts I would trade to the PRT to get them to help us, and to make the best heroes stronger. To make them better against the real horrors in the world. That alone was worth nightmares.

Still, there was a pang, a stab in my heart, as it dropped Mom's necklace and her bracelets into its pockets. This had to be worth it. It had to be.

I looked at the little token which I held.

"You'll help me now?"

It looked at its tray, its fingers reaching for the ten-thousand tally charm. It paused. Its long fingers snagged the Red coin from its place, and flicked it into my hands. The moment I held it, it shattered into light, only an instant in front of the rest of them. Everything I had bought, breaking apart.

My eyes widened and I tried to squeeze them together, to hold them in one piece. The tighter I held the more fragments that dropped to the floor. Empty hands closed against my chest.

"You tricked me?"

I looked up. It had walked away from me. It was sinking into the darkness in its corner of my attic like it held a long corridor with no lights.

"Stop! Please!"

It didn't stop, but it turned its head to offer me one last wordless sentence.

Bᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇғᴜʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴅᴏᴇs ɴᴏᴛ ᴇxᴄᴇᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɢʀᴀsᴘ.

It was June twelfth so the days were long, and I expected the sun to be high somewhere behind the grey clouds. When I reached the street again, I saw that it was still early morning. It shouldn't have been. I had been inside for hours.

Nothing had changed.

People say that about your birthday. That at some point it doesn't feel special, like when you were a kid. That it begins to feel like any other day. Today was worse than any other day. Though not three days ago. Or a month ago. Or January. Or the day Mom…

I had a lot of days that could maybe be called the worst day of my life. It was a fucked up silver lining. I headed into the city. In the light of the sun the attic already seemed hard to hold on to, less real moment by moment.

The threat of the Nine grounded me. I stayed away from the Docks, and was careful to avoid any roads leading towards the Commercial district, where they'd last been seen when I'd left the hospital.

At every corner, with my back to the wall, I'd ease my head around and scout the street ahead.

The Republic had wiped out the Empire after Echidna had been killed, but the clones would sometimes come this far east to keep the Merchants hemmed in the Docks. Or at least they had, before the scream.

Mostly, I saw normal things: packs of jumpy cops with their fingers on their sidearms, or the now-not-so-new homeless burning trash in barrels and looking twitchy. Once I saw some private military types, all in black. They carried crates of food and ammunition from big trucks with thick tires that belonged on industrial vehicles over cracked asphalt and into a three story building. It had already been repaired, which set off my gut. I turned back and went three streets over to get by them, clambering over cracked asphalt and rubble. The Undersiders used mercenaries and I didn't want to get any closer to them than I had to.

It took maybe an hour to get back to the parking lot of the Brockton Bay General, and my mind was elsewhere as I slipped in through the foyer. Hospitals were riskier than other places when the Nine were in a city, the staff had made sure that we knew that.

The Nine had a tinker called Bonesaw, a monster that worked on people to make them into horrible 'art'. Finding pictures of what she did was hard, but hearing news reports was enough to turn my stomach. She used the same sort of medical devices that surgeons did, and they had attacked hospitals for fun even before she had joined their line-up. It was common enough that the city had assigned extra protection to the hospital. As well as the police and the PRT agents on the entrance, an out of town Protectorate hero was stationed there too.

The hero was a short man in a blue and white bodysuit today, barely as tall as me. I didn't recognise him. He looked at me, for a moment, and a spark danced over his fingers, racing up his arm, to his eyes. He looked away. The thought bubbled up into my mind by itself, I wonder if he bought his powers.

Was I going to be questioning every hero now, for the rest of my life, because of one strange hallucination?

The foyer was crowded. There were a lot of people – patient's relatives, probably – sleeping on the benches that lined the floor to ceiling windows. The sun shone through the translucent plastic that Shatterbird couldn't touch, and for a moment you could almost pretend things were normal. At least until you looked past the windows and saw the ambulances piled up outside the ED entrance, which was too full to let them hand over the patients inside.

The airy foyer gave way to a narrow corridor. Six flights of stairs later, I pushed through the thick doors onto the infectious disease ward.

"Hey, Taylor," called the receptionist, letting go of the buzzer that had let me in. "You find those papers, honey?"

I shook my head as I reached the desk. The ward was laid out in a circle, with closed-off single rooms all around the outside, and a broad square desk in the middle.

"I'm sorry, honey." She leaned closer, trying to be discreet, but she only had one volume. "It's Dr. Fairbright tomorrow." There were two surgeons looking after my dad, and a physician. Dr. Fairbright was the kindest of them, and the most likely to let Dad stay a day longer. "Oh, I snuck you one of these." She held out a pot of jello.

"Thanks," I said.

I slapped the button to open the air-lock between Dad's room and the main ward, passed through. He was where I had left him, watching TV. He waved.

"Hey Dad. How are you doing?"

He waved his hand at me. So-so. Shatterbird had got him much worse than me, and he'd bled into his own mouth. The surgery had meant he'd needed specialist nursing afterwards, and with the hospital full they'd had to give him a room up here. When there were people in the ED doubled or even tripled up in a bed-space we'd been really lucky, but it didn't feel that way.

I looked at his face, where his glasses had caught the lower part of his cheeks and his jaw while he was asleep. The stitches had taken well, and the long cut on his face was healing properly.

"You look good."

He smiled at me. Pointed at the tube in the front of his neck. Raised an eyebrow.

"You're leading the trend. Gonna be this summer's hottest accessory, Dad."

He frowned, for a moment. It was in poor taste, but then he laughed. A soft puffing of air out his tracheostomy, that gave way to a fit of coughing for several minutes.

He reached a hand out, waving it at his bedside table. I passed him his pen and paper, and waited while his spluttering settled.

Any luck? He wrote.

"Basement was ruined. There was nothing in your bedroom, and I didn't find anything in the attic. Of yours."

He scribbled with his uninjured hand for a few minutes. Did you check the drawer of the TV stand?

I ground my teeth. "No. I asked you where to look yesterday, you never said there." It wasn't his fault. He wasn't himself half the time. But I was still annoyed, still pissed. I took a deep breath.

He was holding his pad out. I'm sorry.

I pushed it back. "It's fine. I'll go back tomorrow." I took the pad out of his hand and put it back on the table so he couldn't write any more. I didn't want to go back, he didn't want me to go back. I didn't need to hear it. Read it.

I snagged a spoon from his drawer, and opened my jello. Strawberry. Horrible.

"What we watching?" I asked. He had a big physiotherapy chair by his bed and I kicked my feet up on his linens when I sat. Inside the hospital, most of the electronics hadn't been ruined by Shatterbird, whatever they'd made the windows out of stopping her power from affecting inside.

Dad mimed a gun, then held out his fist like he was flying. "Capes?" Dad nodded. "Cool." We watched reruns of the Guild capturing Canadian villains, for a few hours.

It was almost dark, and the sun was setting when I heard the screaming. There were booms in the distance. Somewhere in the city on the other side of the hospital. The capes were fighting. The heroes against the Nine. I stood and pressed my nose to the window.

Something weird was happening. Attic weird. The water outside was turning red, moment by moment. I could see it spreading through the streets, further into the city.

Dad was still asleep, so I snuck out through the airlock into the ward. The nurses were huddled together, talking, and I couldn't see any doctors.

"Jenny?" My voice was quieter than I wanted, higher than I wanted. I sounded like a dumb kid. The nurse closest to me turned and saw me.

"Taylor."

"What's happening?"

She came and put a hand on my shoulder, guiding my back to my Dad's room. "Nothing to worry about. You're safe here."

"Please."

She hesitated. "The Nine have released something. A plague. Stay in your room and you'll be fine. There's not many other places in the city that can say that."

I let her push me back into the room. At her urging, I locked the door in Dad's room from the inside.

Dad slept through the whole thing. I spent hours looking out the window, but I never caught sight of a cape, and eventually I was too tired to stay standing.

Curled up in Dad's chair, the TV flickered blue light and infomercials at me. 'Look at that, it cuts right through this soft skinned tomato. I'm so excited I'm getting out of breath'.

It had been days since Shatterbird's scream, and they were still here. If we left tomorrow would we be safe? How long could the Nine last against all the heroes that had been pulled to the city? 'Look at the molded EV8 insole. Floral, tropical, these are the summer must-haves. It looks very deep because it is, with that gorgeous grey geo.'

We didn't have the money for the hospital. We wouldn't be able to fix the house. 'That's a fabulous price for DANCE co. I love you Leah, but did you have to sell so many? Get 'em while we have 'em guys.'

Warm. My face was sticking to the arm of the chair, where I had been drooling. I wiped my face and rolled over. Dad had been on holiday with Mom when they bought her shoes. Floral. But who was Leah?

'Let's do our easy pay thing.'

And.

Tomorrow, I would–

Shatterbirds: Big, translucent; predators made of glass with beaks like blades.

'You have peace of mind with that money-back guarantee'. But how would we pay?

I ᴘɪᴛʏ ʏᴏᴜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴜʀʀʏɪɴɢ ᴠɪᴄᴛᴏʀɪᴇs.

Morphosis 1.1

I came to rest in the forest, at the top of the hill. I had just been… But now I needed to…

I wasn't sure.

It was cold. It was dusk. The sky was filled with sullen clouds, thick and angry, and glaring orange light cast long shadows from the trees, extending almost all the way across the clearing to slip over my skin. I could see the tops of trees extending far off, an ocean that met the dipping sun on the horizon.

It had to be winter here. The ground was bare underneath my sneakers and the trees were naked bark, branches scratching against their neighbours. There were still hints of autumnal colour in the mulch that formed the carpet underneath where the canopy knitted together, a sign of warmer times, but today it was dark, and cold.

I was dreaming. This was the world of my dreams. It was so grim. The wind picked up. High above there was a dim flash of lightning from somewhere within the rainless clouds, then faint thunder rolled over me.

The Broker's offer, his curse: The Corinthian. I hadn't thought it would be so literal. Muttered whisperings, dark dreams that faded after I woke, and maybe a lingering exhaustion; that had been what I expected. Instead, it was like I was awake, like I was really here.

I flinched at the ruffling of feathers an inch behind my ear. A raven passed over my head catching my hair, and came to land on the bough closest to me. It bobbed up and down as the branch shook from its landing, and its dark eye fixed on me, its head turning this way and that. Ravens are bigger than crows, a lot bigger, with a beak the size of a carving knife. You can't know that until you see one up close. It chittered, chittered again. From somewhere overhead, a second raven flew down to join it.

It was getting darker. Their eyes were lamp-bright in the dark of the woods, and they jostled for position on the branch.

I had been promised powers, but nothing felt any different. There were no strange phrases lingering in the back of my mind, no new languages. The Broker had called them idioms, or axioms. A third raven landed and cawed, and I shivered. Maybe I just didn't recognise them, maybe they felt like I'd always known them.

"A watched pot–" The first raven cawed and the second joined it and then they were all screaming. Screaming at me. I fell back a step. They screamed louder as I moved, flaring their wings, and I forced myself to stop. I could feel sweat in my palms, on my neck, even as I was freezing cold.

I'm asleep. I'm dreaming, I'm not in any danger. My galloping heart didn't agree.

We settled into an uneasy stalemate. Another raven joined them. I was reminded of Emma, the way her minions had gathered in the corridor, just there at the start of the day. Increasing in number, until—

The shadows grew longer. The light faded to grey. My breath became mist in the air. From the ground, a miasma was rising, a deep skirting of fog that came from nowhere and danced around my ankles, disguising the cold and frosted soil underneath, and then the sunlight was gone.

In an instant the moon was low in the sky, above the tops of the tree, not rising but risen. A sullen, yellow eye. It was a full moon larger than any I had ever seen, half again as big as it should be. The world turned silver beneath it, the ravens turned to shadow, and the light struck me too.

Power fell upon me, and through me, and stuck.

I was changed.

In that dark place, maybe it was better to say I was born.

වීදුරුවක් හරහා අඳුරු