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November 17th, Evening.  664 words.  I'll probably write more tonight but add it on to tomorrow's morning post.

 

 

It was mid-afternoon before I set my copy down, finished. I staggered out of my room to find Scheherazade playing a video game on the couch. She paused as I slumped next to her.

 

“Yes?” she asked.

 

I was still in a state of partial shock. “That. How much of that really happened?”

 

She considered for a moment. “Some of it. But not all in that order, not all to me, not all on the same world and not all in the same circumstances.”

 

“What part was true?”

 

“All of it.” She smirked at my brief confusion. “You should know better than to think that everything true really happened. And that's what you and I are going to stick to, remember?”

 

She was right. It all had to be presented as fiction anyway. “But you'll tell me, right?”

 

“Better than that. Someday I'll take you to meet some of the people in the story – ” she said, as her phone chimed. “ – and you can hear it from them.”

 

She checked the text she'd just received. “Stian says the werewolf is in the sanctuary and it's time for me to make contact. I'll be bringing him back here.”

 

“Are you sure it's safe?”

 

“No problem. Hewn will be here to keep an eye on you.”

 

“...I meant you, Sherry.”

 

She looked startled for a moment. “Concern for my safety? That's actually kind of unusual. I'm not going unarmed, if that's what you're afraid of. I had one of my weapons overnighted here from my shop.”

 

“Shop?” It hadn't occurred to me that Scheherazade actually had a day job that she was taking time off from. “What do you do?”

 

“I've been an antiques dealer for the last thousand years,” she said as she headed out the door.

 

I faced the rest of the day stuck inside with Hewn, who at least makes good company. We played a game.

 

“Jackalope,” I said.

 

“Met him.” He didn't look away from the screen.

 

“Him?”

 

“There was only one. A chimeric. His name was Jeff, if I remember right.”

 

“Chupacabra?”

 

“Don't know of any such thing.”

 

“Yeti?”

 

“That was me.”

 

“Oh yeah.”

 

We frittered the time away, but I kept on learning. I was determined to not go into this mythical life without being as prepared as I could manage. So I found out that there were at least five types of dragon, and how the svartalfin people had been exiled to Asgard so long ago that they used Aesir magic now. I learned that vampires were less of a species than they were a category of monster, and how most creatures of Dis feared flowing water – not because it would harm them, but because any water that flows in Dis is too dangerous to approach lightly.

 

It was probably an hour before Scheherazade called me to the hotel room. The place seemed a little more subdued; I suspected that she'd had to pass through recently, and everyone was recovering from some heavy glamour. When I entered the room, I saw why.

 

Scheherazade and Stian casually flanked the largest wolf I'd ever seen. Granted, this wasn't a huge selection, but it still weighed probably three hundred pounds, at least. Something inside of me responded with fear, but I squashed it as hard as I could; this wasn't an animal, it was a person – and its shape as a wolf wasn't a weakness either.

 

So I forced myself to at least behave calmly. I gave the wolf a slight bow and offered my hand.

 

“Hi. I'm Sam,” I said.

 

It returned the shake, opened its mouth and spoke. “Bonjour, mademoiselle. Mon nom est Remy.”

 

In retrospect, they'd all told me that Primals were animals who could speak. Nobody had ever assured me that they could all speak English.

 

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November 18th, morning.  957 words. Time to rush off to work, but I finished the scene.

 

 

The wolf spoke at length as I glazed over in complete incomprehension, a smile locked on my face. I'd never left the US – outside of tech support I'd never encountered anyone who didn't speak English. That instinctive voice in my head was back, and I was where I'd started – the wolf was once again a large predator that I couldn't understand.

 

He finished talking, swept into an elegant lupine bow and seemed to be awaiting a response. My gaze flicked to Stian and Scheherazade, who didn't seem to notice anything unusual, then back to the wolf.

 

“I'm-so-sorry-I-don't-speak-French,” I forced out.

 

Scheherazade slapped herself on the forehead. “Oh. Whoops. La jeune femme ne parle pas français. Nous allons essayer de traduire,” she said to the wolf before turning to me. “I didn't even think that you might not speak his language. His name is Remy, and he's an explorer from the Wild Courts.”

 

“My second cousin,” Stian said, “With numerous removals. But I'm not sure we need to actually bother with a real translation spell; we intend to have Remy on his way home in under an hour. Wouldn't be worth it to rig up something permanent.”

 

He bustled away, leaving me in awkward silence with Scheherazade and Remy, who sat with mouth open and tongue hanging free. Even on his haunches, his head nearly reached my shoulder.

 

“We needed you here for this,” Scheherazade said. “Poor Remy has been so low on magic for so long, he needs your aura at close range if he's going to shift. After that, we'll let him charge enough for a jump back home.”

 

“No need to rush things,” Stian said. “With a pureblood Primal here, we should be able to do another scry. A better one – more pieces of other realms to work with.” He returned from his luggage with his staff. For a moment he came towards me, then stopped. “Forgive me, Lady, but I'm afraid I'd rather you not touch any magic item that's irreplaceable. Not right now.”

 

I nodded, and instead he offered the end of the staff to Remy, who bumped his forehead against it for a moment. Stian withdrew the staff and traced it through the air; I could see the threads gathering at its tip, then weaving their way into Remy. Stian gestured emphatically and the threads severed. “Done,” he said. “But it has its limits. If you speak English to Remy, he'll understand.”

 

“Merci,” the wolf said.

 

“But I still won't understand him, will I?”

 

“Limits of the spell,” Stian said.

 

Better than nothing, I supposed. I turned to Remy and bowed again. “Pleased to meet you. Sorry about the language barrier.”

 

“Je suis surpris que vous parlez anglais. Je croyais dans les Amériques,” Remy said.

 

“A lot has happened while you were lost,” Scheherazade said. “French isn't as dominant as it once was.”

 

“How long have you been jumping about?” I asked.

 

“Je suis parti sur mon voyage sous le règne de Pierre des montagnes.”

 

“Three hundred years,” Scheherazade said. “Give or take fifty.”

 

“Are Primals immortal?” Would Remy even have family to return to?

 

Remy started to answer, but stopped and looked to Scheherazade. She nodded. “I may as well get that one. It depends on how long they manage to stay transformed – and how powerful they are in general. Only the form that they're currently wearing ages. The more forms that they can assume, the longer they can live. It's one more reason many Primals – especially those of rank – prefer to stay in human form all their lives.”

 

“Même dans notre sommeil, si nous pouvons gérer,” Remy said.

 

“Yes, even in their sleep. But not everyone's that good at maintaining a form.”

 

“That should be enough exposure,” Stian said. “Sam, if you could hold Remy's paw, he could probably transform.”

 

This should be interesting. As directed, I took Remy's paw in my hand. He closed his eyes and mouth, and laid his ears back in what I assumed was a look of concentration.

 

Threads began to weave about him. To my surprise, some of them seemed to come from me – from my aura, really, I didn't doubt. They bound themselves around the wolf, starting from the paws and working their way in. New threads appeared and old ones ended; I thought I could see a pattern to it. Each bone needed its own weave, as did each joint. There were probably sub-patterns for his muscles as well, but I didn't have nearly a good enough idea of what was going on to identify them.

 

Remy lurched, and suddenly he was standing on his hind legs – still a wolf, but standing. The weaves reached his torso and I realized he'd been working on all four limbs at the same time. It looked like the chest cavity required more intricate work than the limbs had; he slowed down and took his time.

 

If I'd thought he slowed down for his internal organs, it was nothing compared to the care he took with his head. By this point his weaves were precise and laid a strand at a time.

 

And suddenly he was done. The shift itself took less than a second; in front of me, holding my hand, was a gasping young man with dark, curly hair. He was crusted with dirt, disheveled from subjective weeks of travel, but strong and healthy.

 

He was also – and I should really have seen it coming with the clarity that I now saw it – completely naked.

 

 

Oh.  And if anyone out there actually speaks French, please feel free to critique Remy's dialogue; I have to rely on google translate.

Edited by Talanic
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November 18th, evening.  1126 words. 

 

 

I dropped his hands and covered my mouth, although I'm not sure why. Covering my eyes would have made more sense, but instead I locked my gaze on his face.

 

He was handsome, but his expression was confused. It took a moment before Scheherazade started to laugh.

 

“Bashful, are we?” she sang teasingly. “He was just as naked a few seconds ago.”

 

“He wasn't human then.” I could feel the blush spreading across my face.

 

“Je suis désolé; Je ne veux pas vous offenser,” Remy said. “Est-ce que je peux porter?”

 

“Sorry, Sam. Most Primals are pretty blasé about nakedness – they mostly prefer clothes for utility, and don't care if they're seen without them.” Stian ushered Remy into the bathroom and exited a moment later, leaving behind the noise of a running shower.

 

“I figure he could use the relaxation – a chance to just enjoy being human for a bit,” Stian said. “For him, it's been weeks of wandering in strange woods, sharing no language with the beasts of the forest and getting screamed at every time he found people. He can wear some of my extra clothes today, and later I'll take him shopping for supplies for his journey home.”

 

I was still blushing. Scheherazade gave me a poke in the shoulder. “How old are you, to be so shy? Twenty-three, wasn't it? By that age I had three children!”

 

“Oh? I thought you said I shouldn't have kids!”

 

She sobered up quickly. “You shouldn't. That way lies heartbreak. I didn't even know that I had power yet, much less that my children did. And they died young – all of them. None of them ever knew.” She smiled sadly. “I've come to terms with it. It was a long time ago.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“You would call him Alexander the Great. He didn't kill my children personally; he probably never even knew our names. It took me years to realize that it was just raiders taking advantage of the chaos in his wake. Did Hewn tell you, though? The first three times I met him, I tried to kill him?” The fierce energy that she often radiated was back. “It took a while before I could accept that anything from Greece could be a friend.”

 

“He didn't say a thing, no.”

 

She sighed. “You should probably try to get used to the idea. You're the only one of the heroes whose people exist. That won't last. Unless you die young, you'll outlive your country. It may rise to untold heights, but nothing lasts forever.”

 

I was thinking of a response when I stumbled. I thought I had knocked something over because there was a tremendous clattering that persisted as I tried to catch my balance. I fell to my knees and Scheherazade tackled me into the space under the hotel room table.

 

“What?” I cried in total confusion.

 

“Earthquake,” she said.

 

“But that's – that's crazy!” But she was right. The tremors were subsiding, but it was unmistakeable. “We don't get earthquakes in Wisconsin.”

 

Scheherazade glared. “Or mystical droughts, or withering crops. I don't buy this as a coincidence. Stian! As soon as Remy's out here, you're doing a scrying and getting to the bottom of this!”

 

None of us disagreed. In ten minutes we had a damp French werewolf standing at Stian's side as I took my place in the center of the scry.

 

The worlds took their place and Stian immediately started murmuring. He and Remy passed a web between each other, then drifted apart. For the first time, Stian left his customary place between Asgard and the Wild as the two of them flanked me. I did my best not to shy away from the strands, knowing that they weren't really there.

 

“Could it...no, no, definitely not. Remy, you see the shape of it there – it is trying to hide from me, isn't it?”

 

I felt a pulse of something unnatural, but I didn't start beating myself up. “What's going on?”

 

“Give me a second.” He conferred with Remy and sighed. “We're done.”

 

We popped back into the hotel room. I could hear sirens in the distance – no surprise. Even though it had been a minor quake, the local infrastructure probably isn't built with earthquakes in mind. Was I now responsible for millions of dollars of damage?

 

“So. Remy and I are about as sure as we can get,” Stian said. “The enchantment is a high order compulsion. The most powerful either of us have ever seen. In addition to preventing you – or anyone else – from tampering with it, it blocks use of your non-elven magic except in situations that the rest of the spell is keyed to. I suspect that it would block giant magic, but giant magic cannot be contained. If I read the rest of the spell right, Sam, you're bound to absolute obedience to whomever made this spell.”

 

“What? That – that's – ”

 

“A load of crap,” Scheherazade said, “But one we'll handle later. Go on, Stian.”

 

“I don't know who made it, and I don't know if I can break it. I probably can if I'm in the presence of whoever made the spell, or had a piece of them for some sympathetic magic. On top of that, though, there is no way that this is causing your magic to cause all these problems. It's not that kind of spell.”

 

“So we're back at square one.”

 

Pulse. I felt it again, and flinched. I'd thought it was part of the scrying. “What was that?”

 

Stian turned at me sharply. “What was what?”

 

“That feeling. It was like – like – I don't know what it was like. My heart fluttered and I feel like I'm cold inside.”

 

Stian and Scheherazade shared a look and swore. Remy went pale and crossed himself.

 

“What? What did I say?”

 

Scheherazade pulled out her phone and started dialing as Stian explained. “We were thinking the wrong way. We thought your powers were doing this, but we were wrong. We were so, so damned wrong. You're not cursed. You're experiencing omens. Something powerful from Dis has been on its way – and from the moment it started heading here, the rain stopped. As soon as it was getting close, it marked your path with death. And the moment it set foot upon the world...”

 

My heart skipped a beat. “The earth shook.”

 

“We had days worth of warning and we wasted them. It's already here.”

 

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November 19th, early evening.  Took a couple tries to get this out.  781 words.

 

The creature was after me, so I placed some calls in rapid fire. “Carol? Yes, Sherry wants to meet you. Come to the old Hilton quick. Room 1006. Bye. Roger? Grab Kerry and the baby and head for the Dells. No, just trust me – it's important. Bye. Cal?” Carol showed up five minutes later and received a full glamouring from Scheherazade; I'd known she wouldn't leave without it. One by one, I got my friends and coworkers – anyone who had crossed my path or frequented my own haunts – out of town.

 

“Yes, even if it's a Gashadokuro,” Scheherazade said into her phone. “It is? damnation. We're not sure what we're dealing with on our end but it's probably going to be bad. Really bad. Is anyone else in the mortal realm right now? Where the hell is Kin? Things are getting bad enough here that I'd even call Persy.”

 

An impulse struck me. “Stian. Laptop?” He handed it over and I brought up a stream of the local police radio channels. It had a list of recent incidents; most of them were related to the quake, which was being estimated at about a 4.5 on the Richter scale. One, however, stood out.

 

“Shots fired,” I said. “Up at the woods, someone's been shooting.” Another alert popped up as I refreshed the page. “And the DNR guys investigating the blight called in an emergency, requesting a SWAT team.”

 

I played the radio for a few moments, but none of the police were on the scene yet. I turned back to my companions.

 

“How bad is this going to be? If the cops get to it first, will they be able to kill it?”

 

Scheherazade shook her head. “We don't even know what it is yet, but none of them are safe from corruption. Unless one of them happens to be half-Aesir, if they manage to kill it, they still lose. No, Sam; this is a job for us.”

 

“Four Bravo Sixteen,” the computer squawked.

 

“Four Bravo Sixteen go,” came an answer from dispatch.

 

“Help needed on North Lincoln,” the computer squawked. “Checking reports of shots fired. I found aftermath of a firefight. Multiple casualties. Blunt trauma – looks like some burn victims too. Send fire and rescue; I'm searching for survivors. Perp is at large.”

 

“Four Bravo Sixteen, acknowledged. Help is on the way.”

 

Scheherazade swore – a lot. “We need to get on top of this, figure out what it is. Stian – mind the radio and keep in touch. Figure out what it is and how to kill it. Sam – we're sending you out of town.”

 

“No.” I spoke without thinking, my heart still fluttering and ice in my guts.

 

“You're not trained, Sam.”

 

“No. But people have already died, and if I leave without doing everything I can to stop this thing, I'll never forgive myself. Don't ask me to abandon people that I could protect; I would rather die.” I was shocked at the words, but they were still true.

 

“Those aren't just empty words, Sam. If this thing catches you, it'll eat you.”

 

I gave her the most resolute look I could manage. “We're wasting time, Sherry.”

 

She nodded. “Fair enough. If I'm going to put up a fight I need arms and armor.”

 

“You said you have a weapon?”

 

“I overnighted it to your place and it wasn't there this morning.”

 

“That's the plan then,” I said. “You're going to get what you need. Get out of the blight far enough to get yourself plants, form yourself armor, then meet at my apartment. I'll lure the monster there. No buts!” I said, heading her off. “Watch.” I closed my eyes and focused, turned and pointed. “North. I can tell that it's that way. Whatever these omens are, I know how to find it. When I do, I won't fight it; I won't even get out of the car. You can cloak it and kill it when I get it in range. Face it, Sherry – nobody else here knows the town well enough to lure it to my place, even if they can get it to chase them.”

 

“Don't get yourself killed, Sam.” She turned to Remy. “I can't give you orders, but I ask you – please – go with Sam and keep her alive.”

 

He put a fist over his heart in an unfamiliar salute. “Je ferai Père Loup fier.”

 

“Just try not to end up like him. Go.”

 

 

Hope it's still fun to read; we're getting to the Action Bits.  

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Chiming in to add that I've been enjoying everything that's going on so far: I find you have a way of building interesting characters: Sherry, Stian, and Hewn especially stand out, and I'd be interested to see where you're going with Remy (the idea of Primals not necessarily speaking English is both brilliant and hilarious.)

 

And for sure, now that you're upping the stakes, I find myself very excited for the action to come.

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November 20th, afternoon.  2196 words, compensating some for yesterday's lack.

 

 

I showed Remy to the car. He seemed on edge, his eyes darting from place to place as we moved. I wondered what part of it was due to the creature and what was a result of him being three hundred years out of time and on the wrong planet.

 

He needed help with his seat belt – no surprise. Just in case, I showed him how to open the belt and explained how to lock, unlock and open the car door as well.

 

I took a moment to take a breath and do a mental inventory. There was one thing I had to do.

 

I pulled out my phone and called Todd. It was early in the afternoon; I didn't expect an answer, but I got one.

 

“Hey sis. I was just about to call you – I just heard there was some kind of earthquake up there.”

 

I froze for half a second. I couldn't spend much time on this phone call but I needed to tell him. “It's bad. It's worse than you've heard. I love you.”

 

“Whoa! Sammy, what's going on?”

 

How to say it? “I got mixed up with some good people. Now there's trouble. Serious things going on, and I can't run from it. I'll call you tonight if – if – ”

 

“You're not joking, are you?”

 

“Oh, I wish I was. But I have to go. People could die if I wait any longer. If I don't call, tell Mom and Dad and Ken I did my best. And I'm not good at saying it, but I love them, okay? All of you.” My voice was catching and I was going to cry if I stayed on the line any longer. “Goodbye.”

 

A heartbeat passed. “Love you too. And you'll make it through. But you're going to tell me everything after, right?”

 

“I promise.” I hung up on that note, checked on my werewolf passenger, and pulled out, riding a beaten up PT Cruiser towards my destiny.

 

There was some traffic, but not much; the benefits of driving in a small Wisconsin city in the middle of a work day. I couldn't see any earthquake damage, which made me hope that whatever the beast was, it wasn't that dire.

 

I talked at Remy, trying to distract myself from my own nervousness. After all, he could understand me. “Probably the fastest you've ever traveled, eh?”

 

“Non, je suis monté sur le dos d'un dragon une fois,” he said. “Il était beaucoup plus rapide que cela.”

 

“I think I understood the word dragon. Do you mean you rode one?”

 

“Oui. Dragons ne sont pas courants, mais ils sont souvent des amis de la noblesse à l'état sauvage.”

 

“I understood 'yes', so I think we're making progress.”

 

He chuckled. But that's when the sirens started. A police cruiser was coming up behind us, headed in the same direction we were.

 

Reflex kicked in and I pulled over in response, then realized what was going on – the officer was headed towards the monster. It was too late to cut him off, so I pulled in directly behind the cop and revved the engine, staying in low gear until I matched speed. Remy looked a little green but he kept it to himself, though he clung to his armrest with a deathgrip.

 

“This is so going to get my license pulled,” I muttered as a second police car joined in the race; I could see the lights of a third behind me in the distance. I whipped out my phone and quick-dialed Stian, putting him on speaker.

 

“Hold this,” I said to Remy. “Stian. I don't think we're keeping this a secret.”

 

“Worry about that later,” he said. “Do you see the creature?”

 

“Not yet.” I focused on the strange feeling inside myself. “It's still up ahead, but...feels less distinct.”

 

“Means you're getting close. Tell me what it is as soon as you see it.”

 

Up ahead, the cop suddenly braked hard. There were cars haphazardly parked in the street, leading up to an accident about a hundred feet ahead, but I couldn't see any drivers. I slowed as well, finding myself suddenly bracketed by police cars, which guided me to a stop at the side of the road.

 

One of them was at my window a moment later. “We're responding to a call of some kind of assault here. Why are you following us?”

 

“I know what's going on here and I came to help,” I said.

 

The cop gave me a skeptical look. “What's happening, then?”

 

I took a breath and held it. How to explain in a way that didn't see me in handcuffs in the next five seconds? The cuffs wouldn't hold me if Stian had been right, but I still wanted to avoid them.

 

“Mitch!” The other officer yelled, a note of panic in his voice. Officer Mitch – apparently – looked away from me, and I realized I was no longer in danger of being thought crazy.

 

I retrieved my phone from Remy. “Stian. We have zombies on site,” I said. “Please advise.”

 

“Zombies as in undead or as in people under mind control?”

 

“Undead. Definitely.” The officers had pulled out their guns, but looked to be paralyzed by disbelief as a dozen mangled commuters advanced in a tight knot. The dead were covered with their own fresh blood. Several looked to have died in a car crash; one was even carrying its own head. Others had the marks of hands and teeth.

 

“Are they moving slowly?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“rust,” he said. “That just means they're smart enough to bluff. Zombies spread quickly if they're not stopped fast, but they shouldn't be a threat to you if you're aware of them. Engage at will, inflict injuries that would kill them if they were alive, and prevent moving ones from reaching downed ones; they're not infectious but they can raise other corpses with a touch. Remy should know the countercharm to make sure they stay dead but he'll have to be in his true form. Keep your eyes open and be ready to run – this isn't the real attack. The real creature is just playing games.”

 

I opened my car door and stepped out; Remy did the same on his side as I ran to the back of the car, retrieving a tire iron from the hatch.

 

“Miss!” Officer Mitch called. “Get back in the car and get out of here!”

 

The zombies were getting close now. My heartbeat quickened as I steeled myself for the fight. I backed up towards the cops. “No, Officers. You stay behind us. Pick your shots carefully.”

 

“What?”

 

“Remy. Wolf time.”

 

The strands I already knew were inside of him flexed through his skin as he tore his shirt open and stepped forward, turning into a wolf in mid-stride. The dead were almost on top of us.

 

“We're superheroes,” I lied as the pack of zombies suddenly charged.

 

Three of them grabbed me, trying to pin my arms and legs as a fourth one went for my throat. I backed up a step, swinging the tire iron down as I did, connecting with the shoulder of what had been a young woman.

 

The result was staggering. Bone crunched at the impact and her entire shirt was suddenly bloody as she collapsed in a ragdoll heap.

 

I didn't have time to gawk at my strength; instead I swiveled to punch the bald man whose skin had peeled away on my left. He sailed out of the street and onto the grass, spinning several times and landing in a broken pile.

 

One of the other zombies broke from the pack and ran for the bald man's corpse; Remy intercepted it and brought it down. I could see some kind of weave in the air around him but was too busy to pay much attention.

 

I crushed two more skulls before I was attacked by that first young woman again. The corpse couldn't stand up straight; I'd apparently broken her spine, if not most of her ribs as well, but one of the other zombies had brought her back into gruesome undeath. She managed to latch on for a second, sinking her teeth into my arm.

 

I smashed her away a second later, only to find that she'd left bruises, no more. Fear and exhilaration had been warring over which should be in charge; that was the point that fear lost and I simply went to town.

 

A bit at a time, I learned about the pace of a fight. Even these thinking undead needed to regroup. Anything I killed without separating it from the pack would get back up. Once I had the hang of things, I stopped focusing on headshots – as much as it had been ingrained into my subconscious – and started to focus on breaking limbs. They could still get up if they didn't have heads, but once their legs were broken they were more or less helpless.

 

When there were only four left, they scattered. Before I could respond, the officers opened fire on them; none got away. Two more police cars had pulled up during the fight. I lowered the tire iron as the adrenaline rush started to ebb, then pulled my phone out again, holding up a hand as Officer Mitch approached, clearly burning with questions.

 

“Stian. Any side effects if humans kill zombies?”

 

“No. They're constructs only.” I sagged in relief. “Do you see the real creature?”

 

I closed my eyes. The feeling inside was at a low mark, but I knew it was close. “No, but we're right on top of it.”

 

“Did you check the skies?”

 

I looked up in alarm, but there was nothing to see. Not even clouds, still. “No. Nothing in the sky. Whatever it is, it's on the ground.”

 

“Or under it.”

 

I blinked. “Okay. Or under it. Are we narrowing it down? What kind of monster could we be dealing with?”

 

“At this point, it could be anything. If this thing decides to stay in the shadows, we may have a lot of trouble telling what it is.”

 

I locked eyes with Officer Mitch and made a decision. “Stian. I'm handing the phone to a cop,” I said, making sure to sound as if I were in control. “If we encounter the monster, I'm going to be leading it to our trap. He'll tell you what it looks like. You make the call on whether or not we want police to help us against it. Got it?”

 

“Got it,” Stian said, so I handed the phone off and turned to Remy.

 

“You doing okay?” I asked as the wolf backed his way into his fallen pants and shifted back into human form.

 

“Oui. Ils étaient pas de match pour nous,” he said.

 

“Glad to hear it. Can you help locate our quarry?”

 

“Je ne serais pas vraiment décrire une créature de Dis comme carrière.” I stared at him for a moment and he sighed. “Oui, même si je peux sentir sa présence.” His eyes unfocused and he raised one blood-spattered hand, hooking a few strands and shaping a dart. He tossed it in the air and it turned into a spark, which headed straight down the street and stopped in the middle of the tangle of cars.

 

I stepped towards it, but Remy grabbed my arm. “Êtes-vous fou? Vous êtes celui qu'il veut. Je vais, débusquer.”

 

“I'm sorry, Remy. I don't – ”

 

“Not. You,” he hissed. “I go.”

 

He started off down the street. I turned to the officers. “There's something else freaky down there – something more dangerous than those zombies. It's after me and we're going to try to lure it into a trap; would you mind covering him?”

 

They rushed to do so and I found myself shaking. I was better at pretending I was in control than I'd expected, but it only lasted so long. I watched as Remy got close to where his mystic flare had stopped. He slowed his approach and climbed on the hood of an abandoned car, then peeked over.

 

And then he was stumbling back, shifting back into wolf form in mid-sprint and abandoning his pants, scrambling as fast as he could away from the thing – which had started to laugh. An oversized red hand grabbed onto the bed of a truck and hauled the creature up. It was freaky, but perhaps it was the fact that I had just finished fighting zombies that left me more confused than scared – the monster that had been hunting me was some kind of crimson centaur.

 

It turned its grin towards me and I realized that it had no skin. That's when the fear kicked in.

 

 

Also, considering the introduction just now, it seems very appropriate that this thread had 666 views when I came to post.

Edited by Talanic
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November 21st, morning.  661 words.  And the chase is on.

 

 

I could hear Officer Mitch describing the creature into the phone and a sudden burst of yelling from Stian, but my focus was on the creature. It was huge – at least fifteen feet tall – and its human half was approximately sized to a man of that height.

 

It approached at a leisurely pace, its progress blocked by the tangle of cars. With one arm, it casually swatted one of the vehicles in the passenger door, knocking it away with such force that the car rolled over on its side.

 

The creature took a deep breath and opened its mouth. “Little soul,” I heard a whisper in my mind. Time seemed to slow as the creature spoke only to me. “Don't you know how brightly you burn? Don't you know how delicious you are?”

 

Remy bowled into me from the side, knocking me prone as the centaur spat something foul. We rolled away from the puddle as Remy yelled at me.

 

“Run! Fly, vous tromper! Il est le Nuckelavee!”

 

Remy was right – I had no idea what this thing could do. My car was far too parked in for me to get it free before the creature caught me. I got to my feet and hesitated; that's when the creature charged.

 

The police opened fire. I saw a bullet enter its right eye socket, bursting the eyeball and causing a spray of gruesome matter to shoot out. That might have saved my life, as the centaur took a moment to sneer at the men who'd shot it, but the report of the gunshots snapped me into action mode. I turned tail and ran.

 

In a matter of seconds, I had run most of a city block, but to no avail – it caught me, one hand clamping onto my left shoulder and squeezing hard enough that I could hear bone grinding. I grabbed its fingers and pulled, but couldn't break free. Somehow, my giant strength was failing, and I didn't know why. The monster raised me in the air and turned me to face it.

 

The destroyed eyeball had already regenerated, but its face was no less grisly. It ran a hand across my face in a grim caress, then pressed a finger against my cheek, hard. I felt the sizzle before the pain; its touch burned like acid.

 

Time slowed again as the voice slipped into my mind. “Such lovely food. Such a short game.”

 

I saw a flash of grey behind the creature and it suddenly staggered. I took the opportunity to try a different approach. Instead of trying to pry its fingers open I pushed against its wrist, managing to shoot myself out of its grasp. I kicked off its torso, launching myself away, hitting the ground in a heap of torn clothes and bruises.

 

Remy had pounced on the creature from behind, but in a shape that I'd not seen before; now he was a powerful wolf-man, and he tore at the centaur with teeth and claws. Its hind legs were down, and I could see that he'd ripped at the muscles of the legs.

 

But the centaur laughed, and drew a wedge in the air with its hands. I saw a tangle of strands etch themselves into being, waving wildly at the creature's beckon as a spear made of something like ice formed in the air by its right shoulder.

 

“Run!” Remy yelled, a moment before the spear shot towards him, hitting him in the gut with enough force to send him flying backwards in a spray of blood. The monster turned back towards me and I could see that its legs were nearly healed already.

 

I turned and started to run again, resolving to not fail again. Scheherazade had shown me how fast I could run without exhausting myself. Now was the time to push my power to the limit, and this time I had the head start.

 

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November 21st, evening.  1015 words.  34843 words total, 35000 goal-to-date.  A number of the events of this update have been in my head for weeks.  Hope they're as good as I think they are.

 

 

I threw everything I had into one thought: Speed.

 

Moments later, I decided to spare some thought for situational awareness as I took the bumper off a parked car. It had seemed so far away a second ago. I nearly went down from the impact, but regained my footing and ran.

 

It was strangely new. It wasn't like following Scheherazade; I had the thrill of unnatural speed but it was entirely me this time. I felt like there was a second heartbeat inside my chest – not the one that was fluttering with the monster's attention but one that pulsed with power. The magic inside me came to life as I needed it.

 

And I needed it. Even with my head start, I could hear the centaur pounding after me. I wasn't sure if the creature needed to breathe – if its resemblance to human form was anything other than a mockery of life – but it screeched as it came after me.

 

This couldn't last. I was faster than any human had a right to be, but it was faster than a normal horse. I might be able to outmaneuver it, but I could never beat it in a straight-up race.

 

There was a gas station coming up. I entertained the thought of trying to set the monster on fire but knew there was no way I'd be able to keep the blaze under control. I saw an opportunity parked there, though, and swerved towards a semi that was sitting in the lot. I didn't see anyone near it, and prayed that I wasn't bringing a monster down on the driver as I dove under the vehicle, coming up on the other side. The creature might have been able to jump it, but instead elected to go around; I took the opportunity to turn down the side street, regaining a lead. I was maybe a quarter of the way home.

 

I felt strands gathering and I swerved – not quite in time. The spear grazed my side and I stumbled, but the monster had launched it from far away and it had lost most of its momentum. The pain in my side joined the burn on my cheek, driving me onwards. Could I have grabbed the spear? I didn't know and I didn't have the time to regret not trying.

 

Inspiration struck as I recognized one of the buildings up ahead. It had been a local restaurant, but the place had been closed last year when the owner came under suspicion of tax fraud. I not only had eaten there in the past, I'd sneaked in to do drawings a few months ago; I knew where the exits were.

 

I feinted to the left before breaking towards the entrance; the creature fell for it and I managed to tear the door off its hinges and dive inside. The centaur was too big to follow; I rushed behind the bar and took a moment to assess it before deciding what exit to use.

 

The grotesquely playful whisper returned. “Land owned by the wicked? You think this will protect you?” It pawed at the ground with its front hooves and opened both its hands. I felt a disturbing lurch as the building began to shift. Grey and red and black tendrils oozed from the ground around the foundation of the building, latching onto the roof.

 

It was time to get out of here. Now. I charged the exit furthest from the centaur and rammed my way through. Behind me, the building vanished as if it had been pulled straight into another realm, leaving only a crater.

 

I was on Carlysle Avenue, slightly more than halfway home, but if I kept going I would hit residential areas. In light of the fate of that restaurant, I didn't think I could justify bringing the monster through there. Still, the restaurant maneuver had gained me a bit more of a lead, as the creature hadn't had the momentum to jump the resulting pit.

 

I swerved back towards Lincoln. It would cost the city a park that I could cut through, but I would be surprised if anyone was near it right now. The chaos in my wake was spreading; while I'd done my best to avoid any moving cars, there was some traffic, most of which had pulled to the side or turned back at the sight of me and my pursuer. I could even see that the police were rallying back down towards my home; Stian must have decided to call them in.

 

I still needed to reach there for it to do me any good, and my successes notwithstanding, I had my doubts about my chances. Still, I ran.

 

There were no more abandoned buildings, and the streets had gone clear ahead of me. I kept on coming up with gambit after gambit, but nothing that would help me without probably killing others. I wasn't going to give up, but as the creature gained on me again, I didn't have much hope. My lips were moving in a silent prayer for salvation when I saw it.

 

Salvation was round. I dove towards it in the middle of the empty street, the monster no more than five yards behind me as I grabbed the edge of the manhole cover, my momentum carrying me past it and taking the cover with me.

 

The centaur's left front leg went straight down the manhole and broke with a terrible crack and spray of arterial blood; the entire beast went down in a skinless tumble of equine and human limbs, its head bouncing against the pavement to rest in front of me.

 

I've done stupid things in my life, but I like to think that one of my smarter moves was when I brought the manhole cover down on the creature's head, twice, three times. I would have hit it again, but it was already starting to pull itself together, so I turned once more to run towards home.

 

I skidded to a stop outside my apartment. There was nobody there.

 

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I love the Interlude. Reminds me of one of the things a character whispers in Dragon Age: Origins. A very disturbing scene, that.

 

I really hope Remy is fine :/ The Nuckelavee sounded scary from the first time he was mentioned in Fenris's history paper (another Interlude), and this chase is definitely beginning to pay off.  

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November 22nd, morning.  529 words.  We're actually pretty much spot-on for finishing by the end of November.

 

 

I hesitated, options whirling through my mind. I could go inside – but I didn't want my apartment getting pulled into Dis. Scheherazade's rental car was in the lot, but she hadn't taken it this morning; she'd ridden with me. If she showed up, she'd be running.

 

“Psst! This way!” The call came from around the corner, and none too soon – the centaur was closing in. I sprinted for it, the monster only a dozen yards behind me.

 

The moment I cleared the corner, Hewn stepped into my wake and braced himself for impact. The centaur crashed into him at full tilt; Hewn responded by wrapping his arms around its waist.

 

“Hi!” I could hear his voice, albeit muffled by a ton or two of centaur. “I thought it would be more fun for you to tangle with someone closer to your own weight class!”

 

It was immediately apparent that Hewn was incapable of lifting the centaur – but it was similarly unable to break his granite grip. More than that, Hewn demonstrated the sure motions of a classically trained wrestler; every move he made was deliberate and advanced his goal of pinning the monster.

 

It took a deep breath and spat in his face. He headbutted it back, wiping the foul goo off on the creature's own viscera. It managed to grab his hand and crack something; he calmly gripped a tendon and detached it from the bones of the creature's arm. It kept on healing – he could do no permanent damage – but it could not shake him off.

 

I took the opportunity to breathe. As I did, I heard Hewn's phone start to ring. He wriggled it out of his jeans pocket and tossed it to me.

 

The name on the contact was 'Prince'. I answered it to Stian's voice.

 

“Sam? You're alive?”

 

“Yeah. Quite a chase. But mister freaky centaur is at my place and Hewn is handing it its skinless butt.”

 

“You should still be running, Sam! That's the Nuckelavee – it's a freaking Prince of Dis!”

 

I hesitated. It was just a horse-man – and then I slumped to the ground as the potential implications of a horse-man of Dis sunk in.

 

“Hewn's winning,” I said, weakly.

 

“Hewn can't win against a thing like that; he can only slow it down. Soon enough material stress will cause him to crumble; it's why he's not a warrior! On top of that, nobody knows how to kill the Nuckelavee.”

 

“Nobody?” Now that I'd heard the name, I seemed to remember encountering it in stories. “What does the internet say?”

 

“Won't cross fresh water,” Stian said.

 

“But that's just a Dis thing, I know,” I finished.

 

“Fears rain.”

 

“But it caused a drought. So that's moot.”

 

“Right. Other than that there's one thing I haven't seen anywhere else. Something about lime burners making it mad.”

 

Hewn was maneuvering the Nuckelavee into a pin, forcing its humanoid torso against its equine hindquarters. My mind raced.

 

“Lime. Calcium carbonate. It hates bases,” I said. “And I'm not leaving Hewn.”

 

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November 23rd.  I didn't manage to post last night; this kind of fight scene requires a couple passes and I was simply exhausted after work.  1453 words now.

 

 

Still clutching the phone, I raced back around the corner and into the building, hoping that I could locate enough of a powerful base to make a difference.

 

“Don't worry too much about Hewn,” Stian said. “He can always be pieced back together. You're not so lucky.”

 

“I'm still not leaving him.”

 

“And I'm sure he'll appreciate that sentiment but he'd really rather you don't die trying to prevent him a few days' inconvenience.”

 

I was on the verge of hanging up. I hated being useless. Instead, I muttered to myself as I tore through the contents of the cupboard under the kitchen sink.

 

“Drain cleaner!” I said, hefting a gallon jug. “That should do it! That's a base, right?”

 

I heard Stian tapping on a keyboard quickly. “What's in it?”

 

I speed-red the back. “Sodium hypochlorite – Bleach.”

 

“We don't know that this will work,” he said. “But that's a base. And it's the best guess we have.”

 

I dashed back out to see Hewn on his feet, but covered in a web of cracks, trading blows with the Nuckelavee. Chunks of granite littered the sidewalk and there were pieces missing from his torso, but he hadn't slowed down.

 

“You're tough,” Hewn said to the monster, “But you're no titan. I don't tire.”

 

It struck him in the face with a sickening crunch, partly from the bones of its hand and partly from Hewn's nose breaking off. But Hewn had clearly taken the injury as a calculated risk; he grabbed the creature and whipped himself onto its back, bearing it down and forcing its arms into a pin.

 

I dropped the phone and fumbled with the lid on the drain cleaner. How close did I dare to get?

 

Hewn completed his pin, and the centaur started to laugh as the living statue linked his fingers. I didn't understand why, but then it hit me – the hold might be entirely impossible to escape, and the creature had been at least as strong as I was. It had demonstrated Primal spell-strands, but it was a creature of Dis; it was hunting me for my magic, but I wasn't the first fledgling hero that it had come for. It had giant strength too.

 

“Hewn, no!”

 

The Nuckelavee heaved against Hewn's grip with impossible force. With a sharp crack, the statue's left arm separated from his shoulder. The monster followed up by flinging the arm away and bearing Hewn to the ground.

 

“Drat,” he said as its front hooves crashed into his face. It bashed him repeatedly, then kicked what remained away.

 

It was just me and the Nuckelavee, and it was laughing again as the voice called into my mind.

 

“Not as fun when there's nothing to eat,” it said. “But I'm hungry enough to finish this.”

 

It charged, and I dropped the drain cleaner and dove towards the parking lot, squirming under the parked cars for some cover. I could crawl a lot faster than I'd expected, when properly motivated.

 

It started to flip cars away, using both hands to lift by the front of the car and hurl them aside. I kept moving, knowing that if I was exposed, those hooves would tear me apart.

 

I could hear approaching sirens; the police were catching up. With any luck they'd have some kind of trick to help me out of this jam. Like a lot of grenades, or some claymore mines, or a tank.

 

I heard the screech of a car hitting the driveway into the parking lot at speed, scraping the undercarriage; then the Nuckelavee was swept away by the impact of a car. I risked poking my head out.

 

For a moment I didn't recognize Scheherazade, encased as she was in iridescent armor. She'd crashed a delivery van into the monster.

 

“Sam? You okay?”

 

I gave her a nod; she shrugged in response.

 

“If the delivery guy had been faster, he wouldn't have had his van hijacked.” She turned back to the Nuckelavee, raising a three-foot-long curved blade into a fighting position. “Hello, Prince of Dis. Ready to die?”

 

The centaur laughed again, then gestured up another ice spear. Scheherazade slapped it out of the air with her blade, then sprang to the attack.

 

There should have been music. It was a shame to see someone move the way she did without music; the grace in her strikes, the perfection of her motion; I saw then that for all that Hewn had managed against the monster, Stian had been right; the statue wasn't a warrior. Not compared to Scheherazade.

 

Where the Nuckelavee advanced, she flowed to the side, scoring hits along its flanks. When it grabbed, the only thing it found was the edge of her blade. Its venom sizzled on the ground, missing her entirely.

 

The police pulled into the lot, but I hardly noticed as they filed out of SWAT vans and squad cars. For a moment, they joined me, entranced, but it couldn't last; I forced myself to remember the seriousness of the situation.

 

I turned to the officers. “Who's in charge?”

 

I followed their indications to a Sergeant Mills. “What do you have in store for this thing?” I demanded. He stared at me for a second and I realized how I must look; bloodstained, torn clothes, burned face and all.

 

“We've got a good amount of firepower, but I'm told that thing's bulletproof,” he said. “And I'm not going to shoot into a melee.”

 

Smart enough. “Guns might be able to distract it, but for the most part, get your men under cover and hold your fire unless we look like we need help. If it looks like the creature's vulnerable, definitely hold fire.”

 

He nodded. “We've been warned. Only you guys can kill it safely – but you're going to have to explain that later.”

 

“All right. Do you have anything bigger than guns?”

 

“Like grenades? We don't pack anything bigger than flashbangs. National guard's on the way, though.” He assumed a pained expression. “We kind of want as many eyes on this as possible to prove we're not insane.”

 

I looked back to the fight. The monster was strong, but Scheherazade was simply too fast. Still, her strikes didn't seem to be doing any permanent damage; the creature was as fearless as ever. Worse, despite her speed it had managed to land a few hits on her, though her armor had kept her safe.

 

I searched out the jug of drain cleaner, finding it in the grass by the building; I had to go around. I skirted the battle and grabbed it.

 

I couldn't get close to that whirlwind of a fight. Instead, I watched for an opening – a moment when the creature was between me and Scheherazade – and threw the bottle with all of my strength.

 

It shattered on the Nuckelavee, spraying it with bleach. The creature responded instantly, staggering away from the impact. Scheherazade danced over to strike at the spattered area, coating her blade and tainting her strikes with drain cleaner.

 

The monster started to slow, and Scheherazade closed for the kill.

 

Time slowed and the voice sounded in my head once more as Scheherazade stepped inside the centaur's reach. “Sucker.”

 

It surged forward, no longer pretending the bleach was hurting it, bearing her to the ground and smashing at her breastplate with its hooves, pinning her down. Then it gestured, and the strands started to gather, even as bullets began to pepper its torso.

 

I was far too close to help; even my fastest sprint wouldn't reach it in time. Desperate, I grabbed one of the coalescing strands and gave it a tug.

 

“Can't stop me,” the voice said as it guided the other end of the strand into its spell, which detonated spectacularly.

 

Shards of ice sprayed in every direction – it was like a grenade going off. The Nuckelavee was flung off of Scheherazade, its torso covered in ice. It was vigorously shaking its head, as if disoriented.

 

I darted forward and grabbed Scheherazade, praying I wasn't compounding an internal injury but knowing that to leave her there would be to let her die. I dashed to the SWAT van and scooted her in the open back door. “Help her!” I barked, then turned back to the monster.

 

The drain cleaner had been a dud, and my allies were fallen. Now it was just me and the Nuckelavee.

 

The voice sounded again.  "You.  You are becoming more annoying than fun."

 

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November 24th, early afternoon.  876 words.  Today's the first of my three days off this week - Monday, Tuesday and Thursday; I'll be doing my darnedest to finish NaNoWriMo by the third of them, as the rest of the week is scheduled pretty heavily.

 

Also, climactic battle.

 

 

I backed away slowly. It advanced in kind; I think it was savoring my fear.

 

Nothing was working against it, and even if I could outrun it, it would go on the rampage. I couldn't face it in a straight-up fight; I didn't have the training or the equipment.

 

I could see Scheherazade's fallen sword, but it was out of range, and while it had cut well enough, the Nuckelavee had recovered from every injury it had sustained.

 

It didn't care about bases. Even if I'd been wrong and it actually was vulnerable to acids instead, I had no means of acquiring any. The only clue I had left was its aversion to the rain.

 

Which, considering the drought that the creature had caused, seemed both plausible and useless. It couldn't have been a small expenditure of power to banish the rain so thoroughly, but if it could be defeated by a bucket of water, someone would have done so long ago.

 

Or did it just have to be enough water? Or of sufficient purity?

 

I couldn't help it. I laughed at the possibility. The Nuckelavee actually paused for a moment as I let out my nervousness in one go. If I was wrong, I was about to die, but at least I'd die fighting.

 

“You bastard,” I said, a grin splitting my face, tugging at the burn on my cheek. “You have no idea what kind of spiderweb you've gotten yourself tangled in.”

 

It started to advance, and I kept giving ground. It was right by the curb, at the entrance to the parking lot. They always were; I never even saw them anymore unless I was parking my car. Three more steps back and one to the left. There, I dropped to my knees and wrapped both arms around the fire hydrant at the edge of the lot.

 

“Come and get me,” I growled, hoping it wouldn't spit its venom on me – that was the one thing I knew of that I couldn't deal with. But my challenge got it moving; it reared up on its hind legs, shrieked at me, and charged.

 

I ripped the fire hydrant from the curb as the monster came at me. The water hit me like nothing I'd ever experienced, flinging me upwards and away; I hit the pavement hard, leading with my left knee, which crunched at the impact.

 

I knew it was going to hurt in a moment, but adrenaline had a greater hold on me; I forced myself up and sought out the Nuckelavee. It was caught in the spray from the hydrant, which was holding its forequarters off the ground, but it was slowly backing away. I'd bought seconds, no more, and crippled myself in the process.

 

The water didn't seem to be hurting it. Did it have to be rain? Water falling from the sky? There were stranger things in stories, but if that was the case the situation was hopeless.

 

Or...was it something else? Something that came with the rain? Something that was so ubiquitous to me that I didn't even see it anymore? Was it the rain the monster feared?

 

Or was it the storm?

 

I had nothing to lose. I hobbled over to the utility pole that fed power into my apartment and punched it – hard. It shuddered, but held; I punched again and it cracked. One more punch saw it split open, and I grabbed it as high as I could manage and pulled it down, bringing the power lines down on top of the soaking wet Nuckelavee.

 

This time, the reaction was nothing it could fake. Flesh bubbled and boiled as the creature shrieked in fear. The cold that had gripped my gut for the last hour was suddenly banished as the centaur scrabbled at the wet ground, trying to drag itself out of the electrified puddle. It was melting as it went, losing extremities one joint at a time. The pieces that were left behind sizzled and caught fire, burning with a vicious purple flame.

 

It shed its organs as if they were holding the essence of the demon in check, but it still couldn't reach safety; I could see the bones crumbling at the edges even as it tried to flee.

 

Finally, it collapsed, still in the electrified-and-spreading puddle. The bulk of the monster caught fire and burned away, despite the torrent of water, leaving nothing but a foul, lingering smoke and a set of scorch marks on the pavement.

 

I swayed, suddenly dizzy, then carefully walked away from the spreading water and fallen power lines. I could hear the police calling in about the lines; I hoped I wouldn't get in trouble for that.

 

My injuries caught up with me as my mind acknowledged that the danger had passed. I was burned, bruised, scraped, and cut, and I had no idea what the extent of my knee injury was.

 

I staggered towards the police, but only made it halfway as nausea gripped me and I fell to my knees. My vision blurred and darkened, and I raised a hand to find that I was being enveloped in swirling smoke – the smoke that had been the Nuckelavee only moments earlier.

 

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November 24th, evening.  1370 words.  So...tired...

 

 

 

The world slowed again as hoofbeats and laughter echoed through my mind. Before my eyes, the city wavered and flickered. Instead, I saw a forest; not a young one like the ones that had grown from local replanting but one that positively groaned with antiquity.

 

The pavement below my knees was gone, replaced with the forest floor. I ran my fingers through the mud and felt something unclean pulsing below the surface.

 

The smoke gathered around me, restricting my visibility to only a dozen or so feet. It didn't matter; what I could see was already so far from home that I was already hopelessly lost. The world around me was wild growth, but it had a subtle wrongness to it that I couldn't place. The shadows weren't just unlit areas; they seemed to hide things that were watching me. The trees had no leaves, and yet they still obscured the sky far too well. It should have been mid-afternoon, but the world seemed encased in twilight.

 

I walked as if I were in a dream. Maybe I was, I thought – my various injuries no longer troubled me. Hoofbeats, however, sounded in my ears repeatedly and I couldn't place their direction.

 

The more I looked, the more the place looked dead. I knew where I was, I just didn't want to admit it just yet. But I had no choice – I was in Dis, and the Nuckelavee was lurking nearby.

 

I squeezed my eyes shut and dug my fingernails into my palm. When I released the pressure and looked, my skin was unmarked.

 

“You're not real,” I called out. “A monster's last try at revenge. An echo in my mind, nothing more.”

 

“Oh, really?” The mocking voice asked. I spun about to find the Nuckelavee had been standing behind me. Base primate instinct kicked in and I threw a punch, but it passed right through as the monster popped like a soap bubble.

 

“Yes,” I said. “You weren't my first kill. You have no claim on me.” Real or not, my heart was racing; I prayed that I was right. “This isn't even Dis, just a shadow of a shadow. Something would have tried to eat me by now.”

 

It phased into view again. “Fool. You think killing my mortal form was enough to finish me? You'll never be rid of me,” it said, for once appearing to use its real mouth. “I'm inside you now. Go where you will, I will always be lurking, until the day I seize control. And on that day I will eat you, and you will only be more savory for the length of the hunt.”

 

The fiend's laughter trailed after me as the real world reasserted. My injuries ached and there was a nasty smell of burned Nuckelavee, but the smoke was dissipating. There was mud on my hands, but whether it had come from Dis or the broken earth in front of me, I didn't know.

 

“Miss? Are you all right?” It was Sergeant Mills. I nodded, but when I tried to stand I wobbled and collapsed again. “Easy, miss. Just wait for the paramedics.”

 

Scheherazade burst from the back of the SWAT van, but staggered a moment later. She surveyed the scene, then lifted the mask of her helmet as she stalked over to me.

 

“Sam? What happened?”

 

“You're okay?” I blurted out the question first.

 

She shook her head. “I'm holding myself together with glamour, but I'll be fine. Where's the Nuckelavee?”

 

“I killed it,” I said, then laughed at the look on her face. “I swear it's dead this time. Burned up and everything. Do they always get to go inside your head afterwards?”

 

Her face creased with worry, but she was interrupted by a sudden thunderclap and the sudden appearance of a tall Japanese man who left trails of burning rubber on the pavement as he decelerated from great speed. He squealed in delight as he came to a stop, using a long staff as a stabilizer.

 

“Whoo! Sorry I'm late; is the party still going on?”

 

Some of the police, doubtless high-strung after the events of the day, had dr awn their guns, but they lowered them as they saw that the interloper didn't appear hostile. They didn't, I noted, put them away yet.

 

“Momo!” Scheherazade waved him over. “You're late.”

 

“Ahh, what a monkey's uncle I am!” he cried dramatically. “Well, godfather, at least. But I have a new champion to meet, don't I?” He bowed to me – not the traditional Japanese bow but a flamboyant maneuver in which he dipped low, took my hand, and kissed it before coming back up to flash a grin at me as I sat there, too stunned to process what was going on. “Momotaro, at your service!”

 

I looked from Momotaro to Scheherazade to the pieces of Hewn scattered about, then at the police. I turned back to the newcomer. “Hi. I'm Sam. I just killed the Nuckelavee and I'm a bit too tired and freaked out to be good conversation right now.”

 

“Oh, no worries, we'll be good friends in no time, I've no doubt at all!” He did a sudden double-take. “The Nuckelavee, you say?” I nodded. “You're not trying to pull one over on a sensitive soul such as mine, are you?” I shook my head. “How? People have been trying to kill it for...” He trailed off as I pointed to the downed power lines and still-spouting fire hydrant.

 

He sat down next to me. “It's – it was – a Prince of Dis.” He laughed. “The little special surprise I brought wouldn't have done a whole lot. But - where's its army?”

 

“I think it came alone because it wanted the kill for itself,” Scheherazade said. “If it had brought its army, we'd all be dead.”

 

“What kill. No, no, wait.” He turned to me. “You mean to tell me that your powers aren't sealed yet? I figured Scheherazade must've hidden her new protege, but you're still in your first centuries?”

 

“I'm still in my first week.”

 

Momotaro stared at me, jaw open, until Scheherazade sent him off to go reassemble Hewn. She sat down next to me as the police were joined by National Guardsmen and EMTs, who quickly checked us out. Scheherazade had a bit of a time explaining to them that she had some serious injuries that she could put off until later.

 

While I was getting examined, I saw the chance to flag down Officer Mitch, who returned my phone. He also turned out to be named Mitchell, not Mitch. Oh well.

 

“Is my friend okay? The one who was a wolf?” He and I shared a look, then cracked up. It was partly the relief of having – personally – survived something and partly the understanding of how crazy that sentence would have been a short time ago for either of us.

 

“I had him brought to a vet. Told them to do what they could. I'll let you know when I know anything.”

 

“Thanks,” I said.

 

The EMT wanted to brace my leg, but Scheherazade waved them off. “She'll heal faster than she should,” she said. The man nodded slowly; clearly he'd been briefed on the weirdness of the day, but he hadn't seen anything directly.

 

That was going to change, I knew. Between the dash cameras of the police cruisers and the prevalence of camera phones, there was no way that the world wasn't going to get enough video evidence of the day's events that the secret was well and truly out.

 

Scheherazade decided to throw the medic a bone by releasing the enchantment on her remaining armor, which dissipated into leaves and grass clippings. She held up a handful of them, frowning, then released them into the wind.

 

She swore under her breath and forced herself to her feet. “Momo! Get Hewn ready now,” she shouted. “Everyone else, heads up! Something else is coming!”

 

 

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November 25th, early evening.  694 words.  I'm ending the month in as much pain as I started it in.  I'm (possibly) sick, exhausted, and have some kind of wrist trouble.  I'm not entirely certain that I'll actually finish NaNoWriMo anymore.  I feel like the quality of chapter is dropping and I'm scrambling to keep up.

 

 

 

I think the authorities were, collectively, in a state of moderate shock. I never really grasped the shape of the chain of command, but I knew Scheherazade was somewhere near the top. She had the presence that I had only pretended to – a projection of competence and experience that people deferred to almost instinctively. I just stuck by her side, shaky though I was, and pretended I had a right to be there as she corralled the leadership into a sudden meeting.

 

In addition to Sergeant Mills, there were several officers of the military, but I didn't have the experience to identify their branches of service. The ones with wings on their badges were air force – or was that paratroopers? I could never keep it straight and it bothered me.

 

“Gentlemen,” Scheherazade started. “I'm sure you've got lots of questions but we're low on time. So I'll answer the biggest ones before you ask them. Monsters are real. Magic is real. I'm twenty-four hundred years old and can do magic. I'm on your side, at least in the sense that I fight monsters – which you can't fight for fear of becoming them, in a literal, not philosophical, sense. Monsters live in parallel dimensions. Not everything that lives in a parallel dimension is a monster. The one my apprentice – ” she gestured to me “ – just managed to kill was one of the most dangerous ones. I'd like to emphasize that that went a lot easier than it should have; usually it brings an army with it and that army's whereabouts is unknown. We had no notice that the monster was on its way – or, rather, the notice we got was misinterpreted. We do have intel on something else that's coming, but we do not know what it is. It is not coming from the same dimension as the one we just killed; I can't confirm if it will be hostile or not until I see it, and maybe not until I talk to it. Now, that was a lot for you to absorb, but we've got a potential crisis on your hands, so if you have more questions, think first about whether or not they need to be answered now.”

 

There was a moment before someone stepped forward.

 

“You're with us on this? What assets do you have to bring to the fight – if there is a fight?”

 

Scheherazade started counting things off on her fingers. “Intel, first. Whatever or whoever shows up, between all of us, we should be able to identify it and how to kill it if we need to. Bullets may or may not do the trick, as the police can confirm; we can tell you what to use. Second, we have, at last count, three superhumans of various level of injury and exhaustion. Momotaro used everything he had just getting here but claims to have a surprise in store for an enemy – he probably can create some effective charms and wards, though. Sam here just went through a gruelling fight and needs some time to recover, but she may be combat effective in an hour or so. And I'm held together with duct tape and happy thoughts. We also have a living statue who may or may not be able to repair himself in time for a fight, a sorcerer of some power who needs to be retrieved from his hotel room, and one injured werewolf who can be considered to be out of the fight entirely. If we have the time, we may get reinforcements from others, but this is what we can count on.”

 

There were some skeptical looks, so I stepped forward.

 

“Most of you got here too late,” I said. “You didn't see the Nuckelavee, you didn't see the dead walking about. I've still got it in me to give you some proof if you need.”

 

A room full of military men sized me up. I met their combined gaze with a look that was too tired to give a damnation.

 

A few minutes later, I was bench pressing a car.

 

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November 26th, morning.  1017 words.  40,954 words total written, quota for end-of-day is 43,333.  I'm feeling a lot better today, and am not out of the running yet.

 

 

Just before we left, I saw much-cracked but reassembled Hewn climbing into a Humvee with a great big grin on his face. I could see why; not only did his age of boredom stand to end, now that secrecy was out, but he was finally getting to ride in the front seat of a car.

 

I traveled with the EMTs, who insisted that I get something to eat and drink; after that, I started to recover. I'd been thinking short-term for most of the day, but the presence of medical personnel made me wonder about the future. I was going to be the subject of a lot of study. I'd probably spend a year or two in a laboratory, maybe more. If I survived the day, which was actually looking fairly likely at this point.

 

We pulled over as the convoy stopped, about halfway up the road. A call came through the radio for me to join Scheherazade; she was in one of the forward Humvees, so I hopped out. On the way to the vehicle, I saw that the troops were disembarking and realized that we'd apparently decided to make our stand here, near the edge of town.

 

I stopped short, though. I should have realized that we'd be on the route I'd just run. I could see scorch marks on the ground where the Nuckelavee's blood had incinerated on its death. I felt a bit comforted; nothing physical remained of it to taint my hometown.

 

Then I saw the crater – the one that had been an abandoned building this morning.

 

Momotaro had found it as well, and was pacing the length of it, eying the width of the building's remains and comparing it to the length of his staff.

 

“Sucked into Dis, I'd say. Was there anyone inside?” he asked without looking at me.

 

“No – nobody but me. I got out in time.”

 

He turned to face me, serious-faced. “You probably understand how lucky that was. Anyone pulled in like this – well, even I wouldn't have been able to help them in time. And helping them too late...” He shook his head. “Good people who go to Dis come back as things that are neither good nor people. As it is, whoever owns the lot is likely to have some...complications. Nothing truly dangerous, but I wouldn't expect the property value to rise much.” He looked contemplative. “Unless they build a haunted house attraction here. That would do quite well, I'd suppose.”

 

“I'm, uh, going to Scheherazade...”

 

“Go, go. I'll catch up. I need to make sure there's no lingering hole in the realm. I don't mind if the occasional phantasm slips through, but I need to be sure nothing actually dangerous can make it.”

 

As it turned out, there were too many officers to use a Humvee as headquarters. The Guard was already on it, and had commandeered an evacuated coffee shop; soldiers were setting up screens and performing communications checks while I hustled to the knot of people that had clustered around Scheherazade. This time, though, she wasn't the one speaking.

 

“If you're certain of the entry point, then we've got their area of approach covered,” the officer said. I still couldn't read ranks off of uniforms. “The road is blocked two miles north of here by abandoned vehicles and debris.”

 

I shuddered. The 'debris' would be the zombies I'd killed. Except now, I reflected, they were no more than the dead – civilian victims of a conflict they'd never seen coming. People I hadn't been in time to save.

 

I focused back on the briefing. Mourn later. If I didn't pay attention I might cause the deaths of others. It was hard – he occasionally slipped into military jargon that I wasn't familiar with, but I got the gist of things.

 

They'd chosen the edge of town for the potential cover of buildings. We had good enough visibility to spot anything coming out of the woods, and flat enough terrain between here and there that if the intruders didn't come in our direction we could intercept off-road. If anything tried to use the woods as cover to escape by going exactly away from us, a police helicopter would be able to spot it; reinforcements were already enroute from the north, and would be receiving the same video feeds.

 

I kept silent, confident enough in my own inexperience to know that I couldn't add anything to the discussion as the officer finished his rundown of the tactical situation.

 

“Now, we're in as good of a position as we can get. What are we likely to be fighting?”

 

“I've been trying to determine that,” Scheherazade said. “There's an overflow of magic coming from that direction. It's powerful enough that even Sam's aura – which is temporarily strong enough to wash out the perception of such things – is getting pushed away from it. That means that whatever's coming is powerful. I can feel the taint of Dis on it, but it doesn't feel like that's the whole of it.”

 

She took a breath, as if gathering her thoughts. “We may be facing something pushing in from Faerie, using Dis as a conduit. That may mean trolls, grim folk, elves, or any number of things. If that's the case, you can fight them, though I may have to give you special instructions in order to keep them dead.

 

“There may be things from Dis that ride in with their wake. If that's the case, I will identify which ones are safe to engage and which ones corrupt their killers. Sam and Momo will face them if necessary – and I have called for every bit of backup I can muster, but can't guarantee its arrival. Especially because with that overflow, even Momotaro can't open a gate to anywhere and expect a message to go through. I'm sorry, Captain,” she said, inadvertently clearing up part of my confusion. “I can't give you anything more specific until we have eyes-on.”

 

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Guess what?

 

 

INTERLUDE: 1452 words.

 

 

 Once upon a time, there was a warrior. His name was Brenn, and he was one of the elves of the high places, but he ventured into all the lands.

 

Brenn was a great warrior, and had had many adventures. He was known throughout the land for his wisdom, his skill, and his power. After the passing of the Djinn, he would grant wishes to the mortals, and sometimes he was so munificent, he would give them even more than they asked for.

 

Brenn felt a need to settle down for a time. So he sought out the great Faerie Courts of the north. It was there that he met the Queen, Mab, whose sign was the lake, and fell in love with her. He went to her by the moonlight (for the moon was his most powerful sign) and offered her his love, but she spurned him.

 

“Only one who has done three tasks for me may sit at my right hand,” she said. “For things must always happen in threes.”

 

“I am Brenn; there is no greater. Name the tasks, and I shall go and do them.”

 

“I must have the secrets of the giants,” she said, for she had made war with them since before the fall of Jotunheim, and their powers, though not greater than those of the elves, were beyond her understanding.

 

“By the moon, it will be done,” said Brenn, and he went forth into the wilds. But his confidence was a lie, for he had fought the giants as well, and knew how well they kept their secrets.

 

But Brenn was crafty and persistent, and found his answer elsewhere; for although Jotunheim is fallen and little remains to be learned there, others have brought home their secrets. In Odin's realm he sought out the skull of Ymir, and marveled at the roads that led into it. When he entered the skull, he found that it contained a world as large as his own home within – which the Aesir called Midgard.

 

Through many years of work, he sought out the pieces of Ymir that could be found within. With great care, he took scrapings of the skull's interior, which was the sky of the strange world. With great persistence, he sought out the things others had forgotten; the bones of the giant's ears. Though it took him years, he brought them to his love and laid them at her feet, for he had discovered the secret: the power of giants rests not in their muscles, but in their bones.

 

“There must be a second thing,” Mab told him. “It is the way of things.”

 

“And so name your task; it will be my honor to perform it.”

 

“While you were gone, a mortal wizard forced his powers on me. He forced me to make an enchanted sword and scabbard, and much of the power of Faerie rests in them now. I would have them returned.”

 

And Brenn swore that it would happen. He made his way into the mortal realm with great difficulty, as the accursed Patrick had closed the last gate between the mortal realm and Faerie, only to find that the wizard's watch was impeccable. The wizard had not chosen to wield the blade himself, but to gift it to his lackey, though, and Brenn saw his opening. While he could work no enchantment on the wielder of the blade, nor injure him while he wore the scabbard, he enchanted the mortal's kin, causing the lackey's sister and nephew to conspire against him, then breaking the faith of the mortal's friends, all without ever being caught. When the dust settled, the lackey was left on the battlefield, alive only for the magic of the scabbard. Brenn took him to Mab's court, where he was sealed in amber, alive but sleeping, as an example to impudent mortals.

 

He delivered the sword and scabbard to his love, who wept at his cunning and persistence.

 

“Brenn, there must be a third thing. The world demands it,” she said.

 

“Ask. There is nothing too great,” he said.

 

“Swear a mystical oath, to love and serve me until the end of your life,” she said.

 

In a heartbeat, he had done so, and soon they were wed. As her consort and champion, Brenn had the right to the title Au, which he wore with pride and joy.

 

For centuries, Au Brenn ruled with Mab, and Faerie flourished. It was thought a golden age, and mortals learned that elves were better than the Djinn had ever been. Many mortals were brought to live in the Faerie court, where they learned to be proper servants and accorded Au Brenn the respect that he was due.

 

But one of the mortals rebelled, and before the high court, insulted Queen Mab. Au Brenn chose to strike down the whelp, whose name was Tam Lin, but decided not to provide him with a quick death. Au Brenn dueled with the mortal there before the court, but as the challenger had to allow the mortal to choose his weapon.

 

Tam Lin chose the same sword that Au Brenn had rescued from the mortal realm, and with it, the scabbard. Au Brenn knew that he had been betrayed, for only he and Mab knew of the sword's existence – but he could not refuse, for his wife called upon his oath and ordered him to face the mortal in a fair fight.

 

Au Brenn died that day at the hands of Tam Lin, who took his place at Mab's side. There were many challengers to Tam Lin's right as Queen's Champion, and Tam Lin fought duels nearly every week. But so long as he wielded Mab's sword, he could not be defeated – and with every challenger he defeated, he gained in power. After a century and a half, the challengers stopped coming, for although they acknowledged that paying fealty to a mortal was a disgrace, they knew they could not defeat him.

 

Mab, the treacherous, reveled in her Champion's abilities, and sought out the rare and powerful creatures of Faerie to place in the arena with Tam Lin. One by one, he gained the power and durability of rock trolls, the enchantments of hags, the dread stealth of the Knockers. It is even said that Mab found one of the last of the free Djinn and had Tam Lin execute it, betraying our heritage to the mortal.

 

But death could not hold Au Brenn forever. He came back, to wreak justice upon Tam Lin. Though he lived again, he felt the grip of mortality on his body, for he had to defeat his killer to regain what had been stolen. He had one advantage: He knew exactly what the enchantments on Mab's sword and scabbard were, in a way that the mortal wretch could not understand.

 

He chose his time carefully, learning when and where Tam Lin would be traveling. When he knew what he needed, he headed the thief off at a bridge, armored and disguised himself, and claimed the bridge, declaring that none could pass without fighting him.

 

Tam Lin had grown lazy, knowing that while he wielded the sword and scabbard, he could not be struck by a blade, nor would he bleed. He feared nothing, and laughed at the challenge. They clashed on the bridge, and Au Brenn learned something: when he was near the thief, he could use his magic, but neither could use their power against the other.

 

It mattered little, in the end; Au Brenn followed through with his plan, tackling Tam Lin off the bridge and into the water. Though he could not bleed to death, nothing in the scabbard's magic prevented him from drowning.

 

Thus did Au Brenn reclaim his magic and return to the Faerie Court in triumph. Mab – surprised – welcomed him with open arms, and called him to sit at her side.

 

Au Brenn smiled, and said, “My oaths to you ended when my life did. I come to cast aside my old name, throw you out and claim this court as my own.”

 

Such was his power that Mab had no choice but to flee; that very day, he crowned himself Oberon, and has been a wise and powerful ruler for over a thousand years. In him is the power of all of Faerie; he is our rightful lord. Serve him faithfully.

 

Retrieved from unoccupied royal nurseries at Haven's Blooming. Document was nearly destroyed by incendiary wards; was assumed to be high-level intel because of the defenses. Relevance and veracity unknown.

 

I remain your loyal servant.

 

K

 

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