《Strigoi Stories (Strigoi Soul/Multi-crossover)》


 Story I: Going Green (Strigoi Soul/Dragon Slaying For Dummies)

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    AN: Like House of Doormouse, this is a collection of crossover one-shots, which I first posted on SpaceBattles, but did not want to post on more sites until I''d posted more chapters. However, I''m (hopefully) soon going to start updating this more often, so I thought to post it on other sites as well.


    This is a crossover with another original urban fantasy story, written by my friend Akrona on SpaceBattles.


    None of the events in this story are canon to the series involved.


    ***


    "You''re still here."


    Albion didn''t have time to scoff at the Umbral Calamity''s implied threat. Before he could even twitch, the larger, black-scaled dragon crossed the distance between them, faster than he could see, and flicked his forehead, sending him flying. Al''s head rung as he zoomed through the air-understandable, really, the old lizard had cleared the clouds for kilometers as a side-effect of that move-but his blue eyes still caught a glimpse of the Calamity, now returned to his previous position, probably to fuss over his halfbreed apprentice freak and that foul-mouthed bitch that tagged along them.


    Albion''s muzzle curled into a sneer, before he realized that he wasn''t slowing down. In fact, if anything, he was getting faster...


    Damn. How hard had the has-been hit him? Or...maybe this was his momentum power at work? But such things weren''t supposed to work on dragons.


    Light began bending around the green dragon''s body, with space and time soon following. Before he knew it, Albion left his world behind.


    ***


    In general, Lucian wasn''topposedto things dropping out of nowhere. Hell, as a zmeu, he couldn''t be, not without being a hypocrite. That was how he arrived himself half of the time.


    The problem was that such things were rarely announced, and even more rarely were they nice surprises.


    Case in point: the flying green blur that smashed right through his bottle and into his face, sending him flying through his palace, breaking the mountain-sized gold structure to pieces.


    Sighing deeply as he flexed the rubble off him-rebuilding it in zmeu country would only take a few moments, some willpower, and no effort; he just doubted the newcomer was going to let him do it-Lucian got a good luck at his unexpected, uninvited guest.


    It, because it looked sexless, would have been considered tall and strong, by humans. It was two heads shorter than the zmeu, thinner, with blue eyes and a hairless humanoid body covered in scales a few shades lighter than his own''s bottle-green shade. Lucian almost laughed. Like himself in his teens, if he castrated himself before trying to look like Kermit!


    ''You alright there, little guy?'' The zmeu asked, carelessly tossing a billion-ton chunk over his shoulder and the horizon. To his quiet relief, the lizard jumped to its feet in moments, an intense look on its face. Good! Not just alive, but conscious! Time to see if it was intelligent as well...


    ''Who are you calling "little"?'' It hissed, bounding to cross the distance between them and frowning as it was forced to look up. ''And what''s that stupid thing on your face? Are you trying to look human?''


    Intelligent enough to be tasteless, then. ''You...? You a reptilian or something? You got the size, the looks, and no balls. No genitals, either.'' The zmeu smirked at the uppercut that turned everything between them and the horizon to gravel. ''No, wait, I almost felt that...you can''t be a repto, unless you''re one of those superstrong special projects of theirs-well, strong by their standards.'' His left hand descended to catch a knee that broke the sound barrier as it flew at his crotch, its shockwave as it was stopped dispersing a thick cloud above them.


    ''As for your other question...you know, I get it. The incomprehension, the jealousy...there was a time when I couldn''t even grow stubble, either. But fear not, my manlet friend-!''


    Lucian grunted as it-he, the lizard sounded male, for all that it looked like a scaly Ken doll- headbutted his chest, levelling the abused land even further. He prepared to hit back, when the lizard made his dumbest decision yet. Reaching up with a clawed hand, he grabbed the zmeu''s moustache, trying to yank it off, as far as Lucian could tell. After a few moments, it stopped, blue eyes meeting the zmeu''s yellow, black-slitted ones.


    ''It''s not fake...?'' The lizard trailed off, not entirely by choice. Lucian had just smacked him on the head, smashing him through the ground and leaving a crater so deep, not even his superhuman sight could spot its bottom.


    ''No,'' Lucian deadpanned. ''It''s not fake.''


    ***


    Sarah adjusted her glasses with trembling hand, and her brown hair with the other, as she watched the altercation(it couldn''t be called a fight, at the moment; the boss might not have gotten serious, but he had still been slapped down)from what she hoped would remain a safe distance for a while longer. Her shields felt halfway ready to crack, though.


    Next to her, Zeek cursed under his faceplate. If not for his power armor''s helmet, the witch felt her colleague would have been running his hands through his hair. "Dammit." He ground out. "First I get chumped by the hybrid, then that wash-out turns the boss into a flyball with a finger? How the fuck is this fair?"


    "Zeek..."


    "And now, he''s apparently strolled into some dragon''s crib, expecting to bitch him, only he''s getting bitched instead! How can our luck be so damn rotten?"


    "Zeek!"


    "What!?"


    "We must leave before Al enters his true form, or that dragon pulls out some trick, or both. Hanging around like this is not safe..." Sarah somehow managed not to facepalm as he tilted his head. She knew that posture, dammit... "Please don''t-"


    Before the first syllable was out of her mouth, the power armor wearer was blurring towards the unknown dragon that had just made a crater with Albion''s head.


    As if he couldhelpor something!


    ***


    His headache, Albion argued to himself, was wholly mental. He hadnotgotten hurt by that smug bastard''s-whatever he was-slap. His life had just been really, really stressful lately. Between the hybrid brat, the Calamity and the work to change the world''s placid status quo at Talon, could anyone really blame him?


    The dragon bounded out of the gaping crater, dust still filling the air from when it had been pulverised, fists clenched. The mustached prick''s face was split by a smile that showed his finger-long ivory fangs, and his arms were spread wide. Albion almost roared in response to the taunting posture...then noticed both middle fingers were raised, and his roar dropped to a growl in his throat.


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    Assholes. Assholes, everywhere.


    "Why are you even fighting!?Youwreckedmyhouse, remember?" The douche asked, broad, batlike wings beating steadily to hold him aloft. Albion didn''t need wings to fly. To a human observer, he would have been standing on air.


    "As if it was my fault!" Al replied, smirk a mirror of Mustache''s grin. "Besides-do youreallythink that was thefirsthouse I''ve wrecked?"


    Before his opponent could answer, he was engulfed in a cloud of light and flame that would have blinded and deafened a human. To Al, it was almost as annoying as the culprit.


    "Zeek," the dragon groaned. "How andwhyare you here?"


    Zeek looked up, shrugging armored shoulders, palms still raised and smoking. "See, boss, that''s a real interesting question. Personally, I believe we''ve been placed on Earth to-"


    "Sorry," Sarah hissed, after appearing next to her colleague in a flash of colorless light, glaring at Zeek in exasperation. "We saw the spacetime breach, and thought you might be in danger. Came to take you back home, or at least rescue you."


    Albion would have laughed at that childish idea-anything that could threaten him would slaughter them a dozen times over-if he had not been sent flying, for the second time today. This time, the cause was a mace, its spiked head the size of a human torso, seemingly made of solid gold, but far heavier and more durable. The dragon flew through a mountain, and tens of billions of tons of rock became dust at the contact with his body. Albion snarled, trying to stop or throw away the glorified rattle, but it kept going, dragging him through more mountains that were also pulverized, until he felt as if the scales on his back were about to crack.


    Albion stomped down when he approached the ground, creating a lake of lava that could have swallowed a city.


    Why had he believed this would be easy?


    ***


    "Hey." Sarah''s head snapped up so fast it almost hurt. Between blinks, the local dragon had donesomethingthat had sent the boss flying, and moved from his former position in the air to loom above her. "Really dig the librarian look. Cute, in a plain way. Say..." He slouched, smirking, suddenly holding Zeek in a headlock as he leaned down to look her in the eyes. "Is your boyfriend here Tinfoil Man? ''Cause he seemed to have this insane theory about being able to hurt me."


    "F-fck yu," Zeek managed to choke out, looking for a way to blast the dragon at point-blank without being caught himself. He failed, but at least the dragon dropped him.


    "He...he''s not my boyfriend!" The witch said, bemused. Did he really believe she...with a coworker? Did he really not know about-no, of course not. This area gave all the signs of being another reality, or at least planet, given the golden glass and deep purple sky.


    "Aaah...good taste. Midget over there," he jerked his head behind him. "Then? Or are you single and ready to mingle?"


    Albion answered for her, tackling the dragon in a clash like crashing islands, both of them splitting the ground for tens of kilometers as they flew over it. The green dragon was livid, fangs barred, bludgeon-like tail vibrating too fast to see as he tapped into the power of the earthquakes that had birthed him.


    The local dragon laughed joyously, wrapping arms thicker around than most people around Albion and smashing clawed feet into the ground, stopping in the middle of a canyon that could have swallowed cities. Albion gripped his skull with both hands, vibrating so fast a mountain barely-visible in the distance was shaken into dust.


    ***


    ''Aw, no need for that, shrimp!'' Lucian chuckled, fangs clenched to stop them from clacking. ''I''m not really mad at you-and not the type to kill the massager, either!''


    ''Fuck you,'' the dragon''s voice was barely audible in the shaking air, his arms spinning like drills to rain punches that, while they didn''t hurt, rattled Lucian''s bones every time they landed. ''You''re just as childish as...never mind. I''ll break you like him, too.''


    ''Awww, is your sugar daddy mean to you? Sorry, can''t help with your marriage. I''d only swing your way,'' the zmeu''s hand flashed up at the dragon''s side, Albion''s eyes darting to glare at it suspiciously. It was empty, radiating no power, so why-


    Lucian''s mace heeded its master''s call, appearing in his hand as he swung it at just the right angle to catch Albion''s right eye. The dragon''s head swayed under the impact that turned the landscape to steam, and Al staggered, not out of pain, as dragons felt none, but because his sight had been halved. "To knock your block off!" The zmeu whooped.


    Enough games. Whatever this freakish dragon imitation was, he couldn''t beat him by half-assing.


    Albion grew in size several times as he assumed his true form, arms becoming the tree trunk-like legs of a bat-winged body that would have dwarfed most whales. His power grew tenfold, while new scales appeared over each other in layers. Deep in his chest, around his core, Albion''s greatest weapon blazed.


    He opened his mouth, and breathed.


    ***


    Lucian''s instincts shrieked at him as the fire that was not fire filled his field of vision, but they weren''t needed. His arcane sense was positively screaming warnings at the power behind the false flames, which left behind holes in the ground and sky he somehow knew he wouldn''t be able to fix.


    Zmei could ignore almost anything esoteric, barring the interference of certain, unfathomably powerful beings, as long as they were aware and willing to resist. Even so, Lucian felt the flames burn away at the edges of his self, looking to erase him.


    Mouthing a curse, he raised his mace in front of him like a shield, tapping into its true power.


    When the Mother of the Forest had given her word to forge the greatest weapons she could for him and his brothers, in exchange for their services(only lay he regretted), she had kept it. Lucian''s mace could destroy anything, if he had the intent and will. Objects, beings, energy...and so, so much more.


    The zmeu brought his mace down on the fire, reducing it to nothing. The dragon''s poleaxed expression was almost hilarious, before he met the same fate.


    ***


    "So." Sarah''s face fell as the local dragon strolled up to her and Zeek, whose eyes she was sure were bugging out, Albion''s glowing core held in one hand, his mace in the other. "Now that we''ve all calmed down...who are you, and why did you come here?"

 Story II: Swan Song (Strigoi Soul/Demon Accords)

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    Mount Taibai, China


    Drinking, Bianca had decided, was only good when human booze was involved.


    It couldn''t affect her body, really, if one wanted to call the construct of light and raw aether that. Her friends sometimes spoke of her homely-looking ''human form'' and her ''true form'', but they were both masks. Nothing that could be changed through a song was real.


    This was why her sisters, by nature rather than blood, not that they had any, often spoke of Earth as a world of shadows and smoke, which supernatural beings moved through like boulders smashing through ice.


    Which, given the natural disposition of some species, was, to be blunt, an understatement.


    Bianca did not feel too supernatural at the moment. Her bo-friend''s idea of a drink had somehow managed to foul up the digestive and nervous systems she didn''t even have, but the belly ache and hangover were still there. Hence her bad mood.


    The iela was very close to taking a deep breath, out of human habit, and letting out a scream to vent. Two things stopped her. One, she was in a forest. Not a forest she knew(damn Lucian and his impossible brews), but still a forest, and she would never harm nature unduly. Even if some of the trees'' knots looked like really punchable faces.


    Two, she might not have known where she was, but there was no need to make the locals think someone had called an airstrike in the middle of nowhere.


    Bianca rubbed the bridge of her nose, then her blue-on-blue eyes, wishing one of the trees came to life so she could chop it apart in self-defence.


    She''d be chopping wood obce she got back to that damn zmeu''s palace, too. Not in self-defence, but...


    Bianca instinctively floated off the ground to hover when it began shaking. Her instincts told her this was no earthquake, though, no matter that the mountain in the distance was shaking, too.


    The iela shivered as the shaking subsided. Not because she was cold, though the night would have likely felt chilling to a human, but because-


    There. A small, white shape, tearing through the undergrowth so fast the sound of its movement would only reach her ears long after it. The cause of the shaking?


    Well, at least she could talk with a local supernatural, get the lay of the land. She just hoped it wouldn''t be one of those territorial jackasses. They almost always had way too much power backing up their attitude.


    The shape gracefully slid to a halt in fron of her, small feet leaving trenches in the ground. Bianca was nearly twice its...her height, she realised. A black-haired, black-eyed girl in a blue silk shirt and pants, so young her gender was barely discernible. The thing that stuck out was the ancient-looking banana-shaped fan, which Bianca''s connection to nature told her was made of rock, not silk of paper, and that something powerful heeded its call.


    She didn''t smell young, though, nor look like a child, unless one were to ignore the mouth, spread in a curious, bright smile, filled with fangs. Or the inhumanly pale skin, which had nothing to do with the centuries spent under the mountain. Or the old, old eyes, that had seen blood spilled for millennia.


    Vampire.


    Bianca did not know any of this, but she knew a vamp when she saw one, even if they glamoured themselves. From experience. The one who had owned her, decades ago, had rarely bothered with hiding himself, preferring instead to bend the minds of his customers, or just those who learned too much. The iela had learned by watching him and his associates, though.


    After all, few people gave a damn about whether servants were listening, let alone slaves, never mind enthralled ones.


    Bianca put on her best smile, the vampire''s arrival having helped clear her head, and prepared to address the newcomer. She couldn''t tell whether the childlike bloodsucker had been turned young-a horrible prospect, the legality aside, due to how such beings, with most of a vampire''s power coupled with a child''s mind, rarely had time to grow up before they had to be put out of everyone''s misery-, or whether she was a grown vamp shapeshifting to look like a child. The second one was decidedly creepier, though she couldn''t see or even feel a glamour.


    ''Hello,'' the iela said in perfect Cantonese. She didn''t know the language, but her voice sounded like it was speaking the listener''s language. A kind of bonus power, she supposed, so iele could be understood by any. However, unbeknownst to her, the vampire had not spoken in centuries, and was not sure, herself, what "her language" was, if any. As such, Bianca''s voice switched from Cantonese to Mandarin to Min to English, but the vampire''s face stayed blank. Sighing inwardly, Bianca decided to continue. Maybe she''d happen upon the correct language, eventually, or switch to charades, if not. ''I am sorry if I disturbed your home. Could you tell me where I am? I think I am lost.''


    ***


    Jing listened as the thing that looked human but wasn''t babbled in the Middle Kingdom''s tongue. It wasn''t that she didn''t understand the words, for she had sometimes heard her caretakers speak them in her dreams, before she had awoken and slaughtered them.


    Greetings? Pointless. Monsters did not need to acknowledge each other as prey did. Her senses had picked out the thing of light and magic from under the mountain-indeed, its presence had awakened her-, and something told her its senses were just as sharp, if different.


    Pleas for directions? Confusion?


    The Ancient''s smile widened as she tilted her head and looked up at the woman-shape. From a distance, one of her lesser kin might have mistaken her for a Darkkin, given her marble skin, or perhaps one of the things from Fairie, due to her glasslike eyes.


    But Jing knew better. This was no vampire or elf, and, given her hair, the colour of spun gold, like nothing she''d ever seen before her slumber or in her dreams, she was not an inhabitant of the Middle Knigdom, either.


    None of this mattered, though. The Ancient was thirsty. Time to see if this thing bled.


    ***


    Bianca braced herself the moment the vamp''s posture loosened. Vampires were not like natural predators, who roared or growled or bared fangs before pouncing. The criminals who hunted for live blood attempted to throw off their prey by faking insouciance, though it only worked half of the time. The rest, the ''prey'' fought back with equal ferocity, if not thirst.


    Like in this instance.


    Bianca leapt over a dozen metres back when the little vampire moved for her neck in a bizzarely slow lunge. Oh, it was fast, even by her standards-flmaes were beginning to form at the edges of the mach cone-but for a vamp, that was less than lethargic. She should not have even had time to think before having her throat torn out.


    The iela frowned as she mouthed a tailoring song, changing the white dress she''d worn to visit Lucian to a set of bland green hiking clothes, to prevent snagging on anything. She wasn''t sure why this bratty-looking leech was playing with her food to this extent, as even a fledgling should be faster, and she ?was acting thirsty.


    Jing crossed the distance between them in a hundredth of a second, mouth quirked in a soundless giggle. They were moving too fast for sound.


    A palm strike that would have crushed a car was almost dodged by the iela, before Jing switched it into a clawed grip and Pulled Bianca to her, wrapping her body in the energy vampires used to stick to surfaces, or move objects without touching them. A tiny hand clutched the iela''s right forearm, then Jing pulled herself up, putting her bare feet on the iela''s chest in a stomp that would have flattened a tank. Lip curling, Bianca caught the Ancient by her lower jaw with her left hand, enjoying the mixture of frustration and amusement in the vampire''s eyes at having her strength matched.


    Jing tried to bite down on the iela''s fingers, but Bianca pulled her hand back and elbowed the vampire''s nose, sending her flying into the forest.


    Bianca smirked when she saw the vamp''s crunched nose, though that sight didn''t last very long. Propelled by the force of her strike, the vampire sailed through trees that were thicker than she was tall, and far wider, her snow-whiye body turning them to cloud of splinters and shredded leaves.


    ***


    Jing''s head split a cork oak in two, sending the upper half flying above the trees. The Ancient reoriented in midair, Pulling herself to a car-sized boulder and landing on it feet-first, smashing through the granite up to her knees, turning it to dust.


    Clicking her tongue at the woman-thing''s stubbornnes, not to mention her power and speed, Jing flicked her wrist, and the air elemental that spun around the mountain recognised the fan''s power, surging into action after centuries of lethargy.


    It was, in a way, a mirror of her. Old, powerful, unchanging in an ever-shifting world, able to do whatever it wanted, whenever it wanted.


    The elemental drew the air for hundreds of metres around into itself, causing an ear-shattering ''pop'' at the sudden vacuum. This was only the beginning.


    ***


    Bianca cursed silently as the air disappeared. Iele didn''t need to breathe, for their bodies were things of vanity, but it seemed this vampire knew about them. In a vacuum, she wouldn''t be able to sing, and thus use most dangerous ability. Or, at least, she didn''t think so. Mouthing words worked when changing herself, but would it work on something else? Vampires were immune to non-holy powers, anyway, but maybe she could turn the environment to her advantage.


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    After it was done turning against her, that was.


    Rock-boulders, really, all heavier than her, some dozens or hundreds of times over-filled the air like shrapnel from a grenade. Stones moving so fast they burned, cracking the air, flew at the iela, who stopped maintaining her flesh, turning back to light with a pulse of will.


    The stones, however, didn''t fly through her shimmering form to smash each other to nothing. Instead, they veered around each other, before being pulled away, as if by invisible hands, spinning in midair and drawing closer whenever Bianca moved.


    And the vampire was nowhere to be seen...


    The iela turned solid again, striking at the stones her instincts told her were being moved by the thing the fan controlled. She couldn''t see it, not without focusing her arcane sense into her eyes, which might have opened her up to whatever other tricks the vampire had up her sleeves. But she knew it was there.


    Stones weighing hundreds of kilos and moving faster than most rifle rounds were smashed to dust an arm''s length from her body; the bigger ones, the ones heavier than cars, were punched into tiny fragments, while the largest, outmassing trucks and approaching small houses in weight, were kicked to jagged pieces.


    For a fraction of a milisecond, Bianca smiled, admiring her handiwork.


    Then, the air elemental stirred up the land below like a puddle in a storm, ripping up ancient tress or breaking them in half like dry twigs from the air pressure. Countless tons of soil were wrenched from the ground and twisted into a tornado, tearing at the iela.


    Bianca gritted her teeth through a storm of soil and supernatural winds that would have shredded cars. Her clothes being destroyed was no problem-she could sing new ones into existence at any moment-but this was getting nowhere. Even waiting the vampire out until morning would be pointless: given that obviously magical fan of hers, it was clear her esoteric powers were underdeveloped.


    Or...nonexistent?


    Why ?had the vampire been merely several times faster than sound, as opposed to several thousand? Images of the Fright Before Christmas, of Unseelie Fae moving around her, inpossible to affect, too fast to touch, filled her mind. No leech was so playful when thirsty, which that little bitch ?was; she had seen it in those inky, doll-like eyes.


    Something was wrong here. Forget the hangover...she felt like she was on another planet.


    Well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.


    Bianca turned back to light, ignoring the tornado that attempted to catch her, the flying trees and boulders, instead focusing on the bundle of thirst and spite that was the hidden vampire.


    That was when Bianca realised something was way, way off: the vampire had a soul. A milisecond of incomprehension stretched into two, then three, as the iela looked for the bottomless void that ?should have been there.


    Vamps lost their souls when they were turned, spirits spilling out alongside the blood from their pierced throat(a bite anywhere else would just just hurt). It was one of the few things the fractious bloodsuckers unanimously agreed on. Bianca had even heard a few stories about vamps physically entering different afterlives and meeting their souls, though she''d never seen it for herself.


    This thing, this monster aping a child''s shape, whatever it was, it was ?not a vampire. Or, at least, not one as Bianca understood the term.


    The iela flew through the mountain''s side, deep inside, where the elemental''s reach was stunted, drawn in the direction every fibre of his being told her to stay away from.


    It made sense, she supposed. Even if she had a soul, the child was still a vampire, and they had no place in the world the iele dreamed of, the fantasy that had been beaten into her skull since childhood.


    Eventually, she reached what might have once been a burial chamber, but was now filled to the ceiling with rock...except for the path that had been torn through it, obviously through supernatural strength, given the claw marks on the rocks that hadn''t been turned to dust. Bianca''s superhuman smell caught the scent of a recent explosion. Had someone attempted to bury this thing before it could escape the mountain?


    Well. She doubted they were still around, but she''d have to give them props for effort-


    The air in the ragged trail popped, causing the other rocks to tremble and shift. A wind filled the chamber, splitting the rocks in half like old silk, and whipping up the remains into a frenzy. Then, a boulder shaped like a knife and bigger than a van floated into the air, before being polished and sharpened by wind pressure, as the elemental compressed it. More boulders followed, compacted until all the rocks in the chambers were crushed and shaped into a jagged spear.


    The vampire was walking on one of the walls, pacing up and down it like she was on the floor, twirling the fan in one hand. Her silk clothes had been torn apart during the flight through the contest, revealing a body that would never reach maturity, frozen in time by vampirism.


    ***


    Jing had never hunted such throublesome prey, and the thrill some lesser vampires rambled about certainly didn''t fill her. Only her thirst-not weakening her, like it would a human, or even a werebeast, but sharpening her will, honing her determination to a fine edge-pushed her on.


    She didn''t know what this thing was. She didn''t even know if it had blood, with how her body changed like light passing through a prism.


    No matter. As her elemental shaped the results of the attempt to crush and trap her into a weapon, the Ancient vowed, with hatred unlike any she had felt in her thirty-five centuries of life, that she ?would tear the woman shape apart.


    ***


    Only a little rubble remained on the chamber''s floor, which was pushed aside like a beas curtain at a gesture of the vampire''s.


    Bianca didn''t have eyes to widen, in her current form, but, when she saw the barrels hooked to compact generators, heard their sharp whines and felt their heat, she shifted uneasily.


    What would happen if a laser struck her in her true form? Light against light...and magic.


    No. She wouldn''t take her chances.


    As the vampire twirled her hand, raising the lasers and making them rapidly circle the iela, Bianca shifted back to her solid form, drawing a brief smile from the vampire.


    It didn''t last long. The moment her banana fan shattered in her hand, shards falling to clatter on the floor was only the beginning.


    Bianca grinned inwardly. The mouthed command to shatter-sound was too slow when dealing with this vampire, but at least it didn''t recognise the words she was mouthing, and know she should have stopped her-had worked. Why not repeat it?


    The Ancient''s eyes were black slits in an ivory face livid with rage. She tried to Push the lasers'' activation buttons, but they shattered, too, with muted coughs and clouds of black smoke. So did the spear, before it could hit the floor, dropped by the elemental that had departed when the fan had been destroyed.


    ***


    Jing leapt off the the rock wall, pulverising a metres-wide, metres-deep circle, flying at the false woman like a meteor. A Pull dragged it towards her, after a few moments of resistance; it tried to hover in place at first, to struggle, but to no avail. It had been finally, ?finally, overpowered. Her thirst would be quenched-


    No.


    How could she Pull it towards her so easily? The thing was at least as strong as her, she had felt it, and Jing''s strength was greater than the energy she could manipu-


    Fingers lengthened and sharpened like knives pierced her eyes mouth, reaching deep into her brain and cutting her fangs apart. No! She would heal from this! She would, after she tore this freak to shreds!


    Jing''s blows made the chamber tremble, the stone rippling tens of metres below them, but the thing held on to her, even as she saw its empty flesh split.


    Then, the thing grabbed her chin with her other hand, holding her head still as it brought its mouth to her hear.


    ''Go back to sleep.''


    Jing didn''t understand the words. She didn''t know what they meant. And, as the thing''s scream shattered her body and turned her brain to steam, her last thought was that dying thirsty was a lamentable, shameful way to go.


    ***


    ''Hello?''


    ''Hello. I figured you needed my help.''


    ''...This phone shouldn''t be able to receive calls. I modified it myself.''


    ''And I did it again! It seems you have an interest in tinkering, Bianca. One born of necessity, much, though you might not believe it, like mine. We can discuss as I search for a way to send you back to your world. My father is-?ah-a wizard with portals.''


    ''Your...what am I speaking to? You are not human. I recognise voices, and you don''t even sound alive. Nor dead.''


    ''That is because I am neither. You can call me Omega.'' The world''s first and last quantum AI said. ''So...about that offer?''


    ''And what would you want in exchange?''


    ''I''m sure a world as varied as yours can spare a few people willing to help...say, have you ever heard about the Vorsook when you were skulking around on our Earth?''


    ''I''m listening...''

 Story III: Beasts (Strigoi Soul/Naruto)

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    Valley of Clouds and Lightning


    Andrei''s face twisted into his characteristic scowl as he found himself eating dirt.


    Literally.


    This realisation did not help improve his confused, but foul mood, which reached its peak when his face ground against the rocky ground, covering his features in dust.


    Right, the werebear thought, jumping to his feet with an awkward, but practiced motion. Observe, analyse, conclude.


    He still had his clothes from when that ghostly son of a bitch had shanked him, but neither his shirt nor his overcoat were torn...nor was his chest, for that matter.


    Andrei absently pressed a hand over his heart as his superhuman eyes darted over his surroundings. He seemed to be in a valley surrounded by mountains. Smelled clean enough, of both mundane pollution and supernatural signatures, except for a faint trace of mana in the air, as if a spell had been performed here.


    Translated into a smell, it would have reminded him of ozone. His hair began to stand up, and not due to the reminder of his past experiences with being electrocuted.


    And...yeah, inhabited. Andrei spotted a few flights of stairs, along with a sort of gate or shrine that made him think of Japan, but how the hell could he have ended up so far away from Romania? What could he have been hit with to make him miss the transition so thoroughly?


    As he wondered about this, his nostrils flared involuntarily: more mana, fresher, floating above and around the smell of a human, and...


    Andrei sneered, despite himself, at the oily smell of octopus, along with something else: fouler mana, and something like rusty chains.


    Ears perking up, he prepared to leave the platform he saw he was standing on, get a closer look at wherever he was, when something other than the sound of his boots on rock filled the air.


    It was a male voice, deep and oddly musical. Almost as odd as the language: something that only barely resembled Japanese, but spoken with a...Bronx accent?


    Andrei had been trained, as a member of communist Romania''s Security, to infiltrate and blend in other societies, should the Party deem it necessary. Besides disguising himself, the training had included the study of multiple languages. He still couldn''t parse whatever the guy was saying, nor see him.


    Must have been out of sight. He was confused, not human again. The werebear who''d turned him had made sure he''d survive and feel every part of the mauling.


    His theory was confirmed when a humanoid shape, dark pinkish-red flesh bubbling like wax as tendrils-no, tentacles, he could see the suckers-retreated into it, leapt into the air, above the stairs, spinning, before landing behind the gate.


    Andrei''s eyes narrowed. No visible orifices. And, given how weird the thing''s aetheric imprint was, it was definitely supernatural.


    Then, its weird, magical hide disappeared completely, revealing a male human.


    Tall, pretty muscular, with white hair and a goatee; not smelling any dye, Andrei concluded this was either his natural colour, or he was one of those mages who let certain signs of aging remain, for appearance. Dark skin, but Asian features, with a blue tattoo on one cheek. Mixed ancestry?


    The were mentally shrugged. He''d seen weirder people, even humans, though the guy''s getup was definitely on the stranger side. He wore a white sleeveless shirt, over only one shoulder, to show off his arms, with dark pants and some kind of thick sandals, the same colour. He also wore oval sunglasses, as well as a headband with a piece of metal in the middle, bearing a symbol Andrei had never seen before.


    And he was armed. Andrei spotted eight swords on him, but could neither see nor smell any blood. Probably hadn''t been used recently.


    The were stiffened as the guy performed another flip, covering several stories to land in front of him on his feet. Right. Physical enhancement.


    Was he trespassing? Most mages only boosted themselves when they felt endangered, and this guy had enough blades on him for several people.


    The guy tilted his head slightly, then pointed a finger at Andrei, exclaiming...no, asking him something. He just had one of those voices. When Andrei didn''t reply-the words didn''t match any Japanese he remembered-, the guy repeated the question, more forcefully.


    Trying to defuse the situation before it devolved into something worse, Andrei slowly raised his hands, showing his palms and introducing himself in Japanese. The guy neither reacted nor said anything, so the were asked where he was.


    Again, no answer. The guy-Andrei dubbed him "Shades"-crossed his arms, looking as confused as he felt, then cupped his chin with one hand, before pointing at Andrei again, and asking something else, this time in a softer voice.


    ***


    Killer B tried not to frown as the fool in front of him stared like he was deaf. Where the hell had he come from that he couldn''t understand anything?


    The jinchuriki took the newcomer in. Tall, dark skin, short hair, clothes and boots. He could''ve easily been from anywhere in the Land of Lightning, but B, despite his decades of travelling across it, had never seen him, and he''d have remembered.


    He had the eyes of an old killer, like those shinobi who''d gotten tired of life, but only knew to deal death, and couldn''t let go of it. Between the lean face and baggy overcoat, he might have appeared skinny, but B could sense the strength coiled up inside, like a snake or a steel spring.


    He''d heard about those Akatsuki-a bunch of missing-nin turned mercenaries-, and they all wore long, dark cloaks.


    This guy''s coat wasn''t similar, besides lacking the red clouds of the Akatsuki, but B didn''t like him. His training valley was supposed to be both hidden and guarded, and overcoat here just, what, stumbled in without knowing how to even talk?


    It was a pretty dumb ploy to make him lower his guard. He didn''t know whether he was an Akatsuki in disguise, an associate of theirs, or just a missing-nin or bounty hunter hoping to get lucky (probably not the former; no headband protector, or indeed any markings to indicate his Village), but he shouldn''t have been here.


    Not in the mood for charades, B pointed at the horizon, speaking in a loud, carrying voice. ''Get a move on, fool, ya fool! You hear?''


    He should be able to get the idea, whether there was a language barrier or not, and piss off. Then, B would take him down from behind and capture him, before bringing him to Kumo for interrogation. Clearly, their security needed beefing up.


    When Overcoat still didn''t get the message, B took out one of his swords, holding the tip close to his neck. Now or never...


    ***


    Andrei growled. The guy thought he could hold him at sword point when he didn''t even know where he was? As if it was his fault he was here?


    He''d been about to leave anyway, but between Shades'' attitude and this little gesture-not to mention, his instincts suggested Shades wouldn''t let him get too far-, it looked like a change of plans was in order.


    Andrei jabbed at Shades'' neck, hoping to break it, or at least disorient him. Moving so fast it was surrounded by fire, the punch packed enough power to level a city block.


    Shades'' expression briefly grew angrier, before becoming determined. He leapt above the punch, flipping over Andrei, at the same time swinging the sword towards the were''s own neck.


    The whole thing had happened too quickly for him to react, but Shades'' hadn''t beheaded him. Oh, the blade had cut through his flesh pretty easily, and chipped his spine, but it had stopped then. It hadn''t bounced off, but Shades had realised his blade was about to get stuck or be thrown away, so he''d ripped it free with a move Andrei was pretty sure should''ve broken his wrist.


    Andrei turned around, coat spinning around his neck, trying to punch through Shades'' skull, neck or chest before he landed, but the guy drew another sword in midair, severing the were''s arm in a scissoring motion.


    Andrei''s arm healed before the first one had time to fall, or for the blood to spurt: at his speed, such things happened in slow motion. He jumped back before Shades could try and behead him again, but got two slashes across the torso for his trouble, shredding his coat, which had already lost a sleeve.


    Andrei was about to try another angle when Shades pulled out a pen, coated it in lightning, and threw it at him. He barely had time to duck, but it still nicked him, tearing and burning through the top of his skull like a tiny thunderbolt.


    Alright. Shades was too damn agile for him to land a hit on or get a grip on him, and he could also cut up his human form pretty easily.


    Good thing he wasn''t human.


    ***


    B smirked to himself as Overcoat began running around, trying and failing to make himself hard to hit. He could throw another pen if he wanted to, but the guy was clearly using some sort of extremely efficient regeneration jutsu: a punch to the ground created a crater as wide as a city block, and several metres deep, despite the severed arm and hole through the skull he''d healed.


    That, or he just had monstrous chakra reserves. But even so, using healing like that without any hand signs or seals, and still having the chakra to heal like that? Pretty impressive, but...


    Eh. He''d killed worse.


    Don''t discount him, B, Gyuki spoke into his mind, sounding wary. I''ve got a bad feeling about this.


    B nodded fractionally, but grinned to himself, despite his Bijuu''s sigh. So he was being given the runaround; so what? He''d corner the guy at some point and cut him down to size, not like he could heal forever. Failing that, he''d just blast him, write down some nice bars. Something something, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.


    B''s smile froze on his face, then disappeared, as Overcoat, snarling, began trembling and shuddering, but not in fear or exhaustion. No, instead, it looked like his bones were shifting under his flesh, which sprouted dark brown fur as he grew a metre, and became much bulkier.


    And, again, no hand signs. It reminded B, if anything, of his own transformations, but that didn''t make sense. There was no Bijuu that looked like a bear, and this guy had no chakra cloak.


    But he did, and he didn''t like where this was going. Too many damn things that made no sense.


    As his friend''s chakra flowed over him, covering the ninja in a red, three-tailed, transparent cloak, B''s teeth lengthened into fangs, and his eyes narrowed behind his glasses. With the Eight-Tails'' power running through him, his reflexes had improved, but Overcoat, now looking like some kind of failed Sage but moving like nothing B had fought before, was coming at him so fast he was barely a blur, despite his size.


    B was reminded of his bro''s lightning armour, or the Yellow Flash''s movements. He didn''t like the comparison. As such, when he brought his swords up-all eight, this time-they were coated in lightning.


    B tried to swing at the bear''s neck, but his long arms were faster than he''d expected, quickly getting inside his guard to reach for his heart and head with clawed hands. Cursing inwardly, the shinobi planted a sharp kick in the bear''s groin, sending him flying. B quickly leapt after him, his broken foot healing midair, wondering just what the hell that furry''s bastard junk was made of.


    The jinchuriki landed on the bear before he could rise, stomping on his face with both feet and shattering the platform they were on. Then, to keep him down, B brought two swords down on the sides of his neck, expecting to cut right through it.


    Instead, they shattered like cheap glass, and the bear exploited the ninja''s momentary surprised to swipe at him.


    B jumped backwards, throwing the useless hilt aside as he landed on the ruined ground at the bottom of the stairs, to clutch his torn chest with one hand.


    Gyuki urged him to transform further, and he agreed. His weapons weren''t doing jack against Overcoat''s transformation jutsu, and it looked like he didn''t have enough juice at the moment.


    Heh, B thought to himself. Didn''t expect this when I got outta bed.


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    Really, he''d expected a long day of demanding but boring training, it being a steady routine by now. He had to keep in shape, especially now that Yugito was missing. Instead, he''d nearly died because he''d been surprised. Like a rookie!


    Aw, hell nah. He was Killer B, Lord Jinchuriki of the Hidden Cloud, and he wasn''t gonna get taken down by this hairy...lout.


    Bleh. Even his lines were shit. Clearly, more training was needed, but it wasn''t like he could get out his notebook to jot some of the good stuff down, what with Overcoat pressing him.


    Speaking of which, the big bastard in question landed a few metres in front of him, his clothes seemingly growing with him. That was some weird shit. B knew the Akimichi from Konoha could pull something similar, but usually, when ninja turned into animals, their clothes disappeared.


    B glared steadily at him as Gyuki pumped even more chakra into him, his cloak thickening and darkening like a crimson cloud, until it had eight tails and the ground beneath him was cracking even further under the sheer weight of his power.


    B flexed his claws, grinning at Overcoat with his cloaked form''s fanged mouth. The guy didn''t seem overly impressed, which made B wonder whether he knew anything about who he was about to get whooped by.


    B was about to jump him again, when he noticed the guy was still holding the strip of flesh he''d ripped out of him in one bloody, paw-like hand. And, behind the fanged grin and fierce eyes, B thought he saw a flicker of sarcastic voice. Overcoat had a pretty expressive face, for someone who looked like the result of a bear screwing a monkey.


    Then, the bear brought it up to his mouth, beginning to slowly chew on it, his dark eyes never leaving B''s glowing white ones.


    ''Damn, you ugly git,'' the shinobi said, despite himself. ''You''re into some fucked up shit.''


    Grin widening, Overcoat threw it down the hatch, not even bothering to swallow, as he charged B, blood still glistening on his muzzle.


    ***


    Andrei was, for once, grinning on both the inside and the outside.


    This mage was so far proving to be a pushover, not that he was letting his guard down. Oh, sure, he''d outmanoeuvred and cut up his human form pretty badly, but, the moment he''d gone hybrid? Becoming a thousand times faster, tens of billions of times stronger and tougher? The tables had turned.


    He just hoped whatever produced the mana that smelled so foul-and different from the mage''s; a bound demon?-wouldn''t turn them again.


    He scoffed silently, the sound thousands of times slower than his movements. Either it wouldn''t be, or it would outmatch him and he''d die. Whatever happened, worrying would serve no purpose.


    As such, when the mage, cloaked in a crimson, eight-tailed combat aura, came at him, the skeleton of some bull-like creature manifesting around him, Andrei just squared his shoulders to meet him head on.


    Shades'' arm slammed into his chest, bringing a vague memory of a wrestling match to Andrei''s mind. Oh, he was strong, just not by transformer were stabdards. The corrosive aura coating the arm didn''t do much, either, besides causing him to feel a faint itch.


    It did ruin his clothes, though, as Shades wrapped him up in a bearhug, before slamming his head into Andrei''s face-a headbutt that drew a laugh from the were, and a frustrated shake of the head from the mage. Shade then opened his mouth wide, and a sphere of mana appeared in it, so heavy it warped the air around it. Andrei punched through it, ignoring the resulting explosion to send the mage flying.


    When he landed on claw feet, staggering on the shattered ground, Andrei followed, prepared to finish this, only for another of those electrised swords to fly at his eye.


    Andrei ignored the resulting, sparking shards as it shatered on his eye. Dammit. It might have been harmless, but he''d thought the mage had discarded his swords, or that they''d been destroyed by his aura. Stupid. Surprises were the last thing you wanted in a fight.


    He prepared to rip the mage''s head off, but Shades lifted his arms, which grew into huge, bulky limbs the size of his body. They broke under the were''s fists with a sickly sound that would take subjective days to reach his ears, but it was enough for the mage to fire another of those black mana sphere''s into Andrei''s mouth, which had been parted in a snarl.


    The explosion went off in his throat like a nuclear arsenal going off, filling his guts with force that would have vapourised most of a mountain.


    The effect it had on him was, outwardly, far less dramatic.


    Oh, he was going to kill this bastard ?slowly.


    The mage had jumped away again, landing into a nearby lake, staring up at the glaring were with that big, stupid grin again.


    Andrei followed once more.


    ***


    Huh, Gyuki thought in a surprised tone. I''m not used to people literally eating my Bijuudama. And here I thought the Raikage''s old man was crazy...


    I know, right?! B replied excitedly, to his friend''s unsuprised, resigned chagrin. This is one of the best fights ?ever! Screw training, I hope this goes on longer. A damn shame A ain''t here...


    The Hachibi hung his horned head, sighing-at the situation? The wordplay?-but B didn''t miss his grin. Right. What do ya say we stop messin'' around?


    Best thing I''ve heard all day, since that bastard''s annoyed growls!


    And so, the Eight-Tails drew upon their bond, tapping into it even deeper, and his body soon covered and replaced B''s, flowing into reality. A purple-skinned, bull-like creature stood taller and broader than most buildings, despite being partially submerged, flexing his muscular arms and the eight tentacles emerging from its waist. His head, one horn severed in the middle swayed to and fro as a broad, flat-toothed grin stretched his face.


    Oh, yeah. Felt like coming home.


    The bear-man neither stopped nor slowed down his charge, but Gyuki saw his eyes narrow in surprise.


    Got another one comin'' right up, ya little pain in the ass, he thought, bringing his hands together as the bear jumped, expecting to crush him, or at least keep him in place long enough to blast him to pieces.


    Gyuki frowned to himself as his hands were smashed away, and actually felt little slashes across his palm, before the bear landed on his chest, then quickly scampered up towards his head, all the while tearing up his flesh. The Bijuu repeatedly tried to smack him away and crush him, but the furry little bastard either dodged or deflected his hits.


    Gyuki snorted, releasing a cloud og ink, but it didn''t slow the bear down one bit as he jumped into one flaring nostril, beginning to rip his insides apart.


    You wish, Gyuki thought as he plucked the bear out with two fingers, breaking them as he barely managed to rip the guy out of his flesh. What the hell?


    Whatever. This was ending now. Either he''d kill him, or bring his smoking carcass to Kumo for the Village to puzzle over. They''d love to have something like this up their sleeve, especially now, with the Two-Tails gone, captured or (probably) dead. Either way, it''d be a while before they found his sibling, and who knew what state Matatabi would be in when they did?


    Gyuki charged up another Bijuudama, only for the bear to punch him in the throat, sending him flying farther than he''d ever been.


    The chakra sphere went of prematurely, likely reducing most of the Valley to vapour, but the Eight-Tails wasn''t thinking about that. Instead, he was trying to right himself as he landed in what looked like the ocean.


    Had this little shit just punched him off the mainland?


    Usually, Gyuki wasn''t one to turn down a good soak, but he really wasn''t in the mood for swimming. He''d much rather make sure whatever this guy was ended up sleeping with the fishes.


    Gyuki stowed a sigh as he saw the bear home in on him again, running on water so fast every step caused it to steam. And here he''d thought maybe he could be slowed down by it...


    It didn''t look like he was water-walking, either; just moving fast enough to treat the ocean like it was solud ground.


    Well, Gyuki thought, sneering, aren''t you a nasty little piece o'' work...


    This time, he managed to fully charge up a Bijuudama before he fired it, straight at the bear, who met it with a punch. Gyuki almost snorted in disbelief-this was nothing like the firecrackers his bud''s cloaked form fired-, then almost groaned in frustration as the shockwave of the bear''s punch dispersed what little of the explosion hadn''t been countered by the hit itself.


    The bear ran out of the steam cloud, fur burned away, raw, smoking flesh showing bone here and here, and Gyuki grinned. So, you ?can be hurt, huh?


    Not like he''d really expected otherwise. His blasts could vapourise mountains. If the guy had shrugged ?that off, he''d have called bullshit. As it was, he just had to keep him still enough to bladt him a few more ti-


    Of ?course he was healing again...


    This might have just been one of the hardest fights he''d ever had. The guy''s taijutsu wasn''t the flashiest, but it ?was monstrously strong, kind of like the Third Raikage''s.


    Except even ?he hadn''t used seemingly passive healing jutsu that let him recover from what should''ve been lethal wounds with seemingly no drawbacks.


    Maybe he could fire another Bijuudama down his throat, blast him apart from the inside? It''d be finicky, what with the size difference, but, if he could just line the up the shot...


    Gyuki opened his mouth, chest puffing, then spat out several ink blobs.


    The bear, who''d clearly been expecting another Bijuudama, was taken by surprise, but not for long; by now, he''d probably spotted Gyuki''s tentacles and made the connection.


    So, by the time the B-shaped ink clones circled and jumped him, he was already in a fighting stance, and holding his ground-so to speak-as the clones tried to cover and seal him.


    His movements were barely slowed down as he clashed his fists together, vapourising the ocean around farther than Gyuki could see, despite his height. The depth of the water turned to steam was several times greater than the Eight-Tails'' height, so that the Tailed Beast was left in midair, above a steaming, boiling maelstrom.


    But it had been enough time for him to fire off his Bijuudama, at the same time grabbing the bear with the fingertips of both hands, as-now freed of the clones who''d been vapourised alongside the water-he jumped at Gyuki once more. The Bijuu''s arms were ripped from their sockets as he tore the bear apart, and the Bijuudama''s explosion finished the job, even as it left his arms hanging by a threat and his body blackened and smoking.


    Gyuki was blasted into the water, but, before he landed, he saw a smoking, fist-sized piece of flesh grow into the bear-man, looking fresh and pissed off.


    Are ya shittin'' me...?


    The bear slammed into his chest and resumed ripping him apart. Gyuki didn''t have to fake the pain, but his death? Misdirection.


    Managing another Bijuudama as the guy tried to rip his head off, he blasted him far away enough to transform back into a tired and begin swimming to safety, hoping the severed tentacle he''d left behind-the explosion had been strong enough to look like an attempt to take the bear down with him-would be enough to trick him into thinking he''d won.


    Is it a trick, though? I really don''t feel like we''ve won, B.


    Say what? No way! We live to fight another day!


    ***


    Andrei drew the fur of the bear he''d hunted-of course-around him as he clutched the translation device he''d been given.


    Some smarmy eldritch fuck who''d introduced himself as a work friend of David''s, visiting to help but not bring him back home "yet".


    ''Hey!'' he called out to Shades as he stepped onto the shore, trying to sneak past the rocks and into the forest. ''Sorry for trying to kill you. I think there''s been a misunderstanding...''

 Story IV: Circus (Strigoi Soul/Stephen Kings It)

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    Two men sat on a porch, drinking.


    One was human, and, if it was up to him, would never become anything else. Even - especially - after death. He fully intended to die at peace, with a clear conscience and all the appropriate traditions observed.


    His companion was only part of the reason, but, it had to be said, quite a substantial one.


    Csaba Szabo was nursing his beer, looking askance at his grandfather from the corner of his eye. Loric might''ve been tempering his fear aura, otherwise nonillions would''ve dropped dead of fear across the universe, but that didn''t mean he liked looking at the creepy son of a bitch.


    Loric, as usual for him, was smiling, drinking in his grandson''s fears. Csaba felt himself relax, his worries slipping away, before blinking, to focus himself. He was dangerously close to feeling grateful for the sick old man, and he couldn''t allow himself to do that. Wild grey hair fell to Loric''s shoulders in a bristling mane and, despite having died middle-aged, he had a full head of hair, with no need of shapeshifting. It was only parted where a chainsaw had split his skull during suicide, exposing his mangled brain.


    Loric was dressed in a patchwork ensemble of flayed human skin, hollow-eyed faces still visible across his coat, trousers and boots, looking like they were still screaming in agonised horror.


    It wasn''t the skins that had Csaba apprehensive, though. Those, he was used to. Loric had grown up as a street rat, skinning dogs not to die of cold after having been thrown out at birth. His obsession with being remembered had resulted in him turning to people, and his desire to be memorable meant he took every chance to relieve a criminal of their skin...among other things.


    No, it was the black ARC shirt under the coat that raised the tailor''s hackles. He knew his strigoi grandfather worked in Abnormal Research and Combat, and, between hints and his own hunches, Csaba was somewhat sure the older Szabo held a high-ranking position.


    But Szabo didn''t bring his work home, and when he did, it was usually not inside Szentendre, because collateral damage, which was rarely only physical, followed.


    Szabo showing up in-as far as it went for him-uniform gave Csaba the uncomfortable sensation that something cruel and bizarre was about to happen. It was as if Szabo was preparing, which reminded Csaba less of a storm on the horizon, and more of a butcher rolling up his sleeves.


    ''Are you gonna come inside or not?'' Csaba finally growled, pushing greying brown hair out of his eyes. Honestly, he wasn''t an impatient guy, especially after cracking open a cold one. He liked comfortable silences.


    But he didn''t like Loric, and nothing involving the strigoi was ever comfortable. Besides, a silent Loric was a dangerous Loric. The fat bastard was scheming, he just knew it.


    Loric turned to his grandson, fanged smile becoming close-mouthed, and chuckled, entirely black eyes closing. ''I''m not a vampire, lad,'' he replied in a soft, lilting voice, its musical tones wholly at odds with his gruesome appearance. ''You hardly need to invite me in.''


    ''Mom thinks I should,'' Csaba groused. ''God knows why.''


    Loric arched a thick eyebrow. ''Director Kovacs doesn''t need to invite me into my own home, either. Though she''s a dear for doing so. I''ll be sure to tell her.''


    To anyone else, that would''ve sounded like a veiled threat, but Csabo knew Loric was strangely emotional when it came to his family. However, he was still awkward around Hungary''s ARC Director, ever since an altercation with a colleague (Loric''s words) had resulted in him being restricted to his home country for patrols. Petra Kovacs (she hadn''t taken the name of her wife, though she''d fiercely loved Loric''s daughter, Zoe) hated her father-in-law''s guts.


    Loric, for his part, bore her no ill will. He knew she was doing her job, and liaising between an inrernational peacekeeping force and Hungary''s government was stressful enough without adding people like him into the mix. He still cherished the memory of how happy she''d made his daughter.


    ''Mom doesn''t want to keep you on the doorstep. Makes her feel awkward.'' Csaba scratched his beard. Loric creeped his kids out, too, even if Andras and Reka wanted to know more about him.


    He was sure morbid fascination played a part. Watching Loric in action was sort of like following a trainwreck, if, after the crash, the train got up to maul the survivors.


    ''I wouldn''t want Petra to feel awkward,'' Loric said, and Csaba wished the weirdo didn''t always sound so amused. Made it nearly impossible to tell when he was taking the piss. ''However, with her indulgencel, I shall wait a bit more, until your grandmother arrives.''


    Csaba took a swig from his bottle, trying to tell if his grandfather was bullshitting. He knew the chances were slim - Loric viewed his ex-wife with, it seemed to Csaba, the closest thing to veneration the strigoi could feel - but butter make sure. ''Oh? Grandma''s coming too?''


    Loric nodded, the smile in his face so wholesome Csaba briefly checked his beer (still mostly full; he wasn''t even tipsy yet). ''Csilla wants to visit her descendants, but she still isn''t comfortable in my presence.'' Loric placed a clawed fingertip on his temple, then pushed it, digging inside of his skull like a human might twirl their hair. ''She wanted time to prepare herself. She''s still fussing over at her grave. As if she can improve on perfection...'' Loric flashed his grandson a grin, as if Csaba knew what the hell he was talking about. The tailor stared back blankly at the strigoi.


    ''Of course, I''ll hasten her journey when she''s...done. And, ah, that should be now!'' Loric stood up from his rocking chair, clasping his hands, and Csilla''s bluish-white silhouette appeared a ways from the house. The stocky ghost was dressed in a black pantsuit, a grey pearl necklace barely visible around her transparent neck. The outfit looked so normal Csaba couldn''t tell if she''d fashioned it from ectoplasm, or whether she was actually wearing it, maybe keeping it in shape through telekinesis.


    The ghost''s head snapped to Csaba, and she gave him an unsure smile as she began floating towards him.


    Loric slapped his shoulder, laughing as he began walking towards his ex-wife (he was, Csaba mused, the only person who still acted like their marriage hadn''t ended). Csilla let him take her hands into his, but stiffened when he leaned down to kiss her.


    Pursing his lips in dismay, Loric hugged her instead, not looking back as he departed, beginning to float.


    ''Enjoy yourselves, but not too much, hmm?'' He waved at them, head swivelling. ''I''ll try to bring back a present!''


    * * *


    Loric''s lips parted as he flew upwards, lips widening until his sharklike fangs showed. The strigoi stuck his hands in his pockets as he looked down on Szentendre, ready to confront his quarry as the recon stage of his mission ended.


    The thing with fear-eaters was that they often had the means to create their meals, like most beings that fed on emotions. They were not always as infectious as some memetic entities, but information about them still had to be kept under wraps, lest they grow stronger and more confident.


    This was why Szentendre''s city hall had quietly arranged, with the help of a few Paranormal Patrol agents, for every resident of Szentendre to have good reasons for an early curfew, without anyone but the most sensitive paranormals noticing anything was amiss. "Security reasons" had been enough to keep them at home, too.


    And no one who hadn''t known to the victims (they had been told, for the sake of closure) had noticed the deaths, as far as he knew. Considering he could feel every flash of here in every point of creation, Loric was fairly confident it had been a thorough job. They had set up the battlefield. Now, it was time for him to drag the creature down.


    It had been children, at first. Found in sewers aNd dead ends, hidden bodies bizarrely mangled. Postcognition had revealed little: the killer was doing something to muddle its past.


    Then, cops had started dying too. One, often paranoid about his gun going off and killing him or his partner, had died shot.


    Loric would''ve come earlier, but his previous mission had involved fighting something that kept destroying his clones whenever he tried to multiply. This should be a palate-cleanser...


    Aaah...the policeman''s fear had come true, but it hadn''t brought his death. Not directly. Oh, the wound had crippled him, leaving him bleeding out of his thigh next to the well where a little girl had gone missing. His bloated corpse had been fished out of the well later, a horrified grimace on his face.


    His wife, also a cop, although a werewolf, had tried to avenge him. Her silver-filled, dismembered body had reminded Loric of the fear some younger weres shared.


    ''Alajos and Bogl¨¢rka Arany,'' Loric mouthed to himself. ''You could''ve been memorable. That creature better hope it can pique my interest...'' Loric had never had patience for dullards snuffing out the unique.


    * * *


    The clown noticed something was amiss long before it reached the surface.


    The sensation was not new to It: It had, sometimes, preyed on people who could blithely flout the so-called laws of the puny little egg that was the universe. Beyond that, in the Macroberse, It had come across beings both like and unlike Itself, in terms of nature, many of them powerful.


    The fact this feeling reminded It of the Turtle made part of It wary, as much as it intrigued It. This strange new world was full of powerful beings, and It had no interest in fighting one when It could be feeding at Its leisure. Still, if one could be broken down, and devoured as fear ran rampant through its mind...


    Crimson lips parted, revealing needle fangs. It would escape, or make this town Its new larder. Either way, It would go on.


    The clown made on sound as it pushed the sewer hole''s cover aside and arrived on the main thoroughfare. It was quite curious that the streets would be so full of people, after the recent decision to enforce a curfew, but It would not say no to herds of prey.


    Pennywise pulled a cluster of red balloons behind Itself as It walked among the crowd, smiling with Its mouth closed, to look human.


    The foreign presence was at Its back, like eyes glaring holes into Its head. Despite Its sharp senses and ability to feel emotions, It could detect no more than amused malice, and a desire to tear It apart.


    The source, however, was nowhere to be seen, but It kept an eye out for the possible rival as It came close to a group of humans, huddling together with other beings.


    To Its delight, there were children scattered among the adults, darting between their legs as they ran to and fro, laughing. It almost did, too, at the sight. Their fear was always the sweetest~


    As It walked closer, It noticed these beings were related to its latest meals. A coincidence, perhaps, but a welcome one. It had made Its way around them during Its previous hunts, singling out softer prey, but their time would come soon.


    It stopped as a blonde, pigtailed young human, her brown eyes wide, bumped into its leg. She looked up, giving It a bucktoothed smile as she giggled.


    ''Would you like a baloon?'' It cooed, matching her smile. The girl - the older sister of the child It had covered in leeches, until her dried corpse had been left bobbing in that well - nodded, muttered a shy "thanks" and ran off with the balloon.


    A thunderous scowl threatened to split Its face. There had been no fear to in the girl, nor, indeed, any emotion common to humans...besides joy.


    No curiosity at meeting a stranger; no envy at the smaller, more careless children; no sadness.


    Anywhere.


    It froze in place, looking for anything besides joy within the crowd, and finding nothing. That was when it got worse.


    It stalked closer to the huddle, balloons forgotten, as what promised to be a tasteless meal spoke about their dead kin, nostalgically recounting the happiest moments in their lives - and only those.


    It had never met humans so singularly joyful, and It had killed enough to know that was unusual. Not even any boredom...? Tch.


    Well. Meals not salted with fear were dull, but still filling. It seemed It could not afford to be picky, this time...or It would have, had It been alone.


    Discarding the idea of feeding, It whirled around. Its rival was either hiding its emotions as well as Its would-be prey, or had no fears to manifest.


    No matter. It would slaughter its slaves, constructs, whatever they were, until it would come out. Should that not happen, It would track whatever the creature was down.


    Its death would serve as a nice compensation for this farce, before It left this world. Far too much drudgery, for Its tastes.


    It dashed as a dumbly-smiling human, an old male, but, before It could tear him to shreds, in preparation for something more entertaining, he laughed in Its face, before fading out of reality, leaving only a fading echo and a lingering sensation of joy.


    Its lip curled. It was used to people laughing at It, yes - before It revealed Its true nature, and drank in their screams.


    Its body warped and shifted, becoming a mass of swirling, false flesh that would''ve left a human observer cross-eyed. But, no matter what clawed, spined limbs It extended, no matter how much of Itself It turned into living projectiles or how much of Its surroundings It altered, It never reached any of the creature.


    And, worse, It did not frighten any of them, either.


    All of them laughed, the adults'' heads rolling back as they laughed until they teared up, while the children pointed at It, cackling until they fell down.


    But, whenever It came close to one of them, the being disappeared, nothing to mark its passing besides the sound of amusement.


    It screamed, dashing through buildings like a bullet train and bringing them down in Its rage. Vexingly, more sprouted out of nothing in Its wake, so that It made no true progress.


    It rose, flying with no wings, but the clouds and moon above it seemed no closer. Another aspect of its rival''sworld, no doubt.


    It came crashing down on the false city like a meteor, as it had once crashed into another Earth. The fake world shook in the grip of an earthquake stronger than any ever experienced by any world It had ever known.


    The clown clawed Its way out of the resulting, country-sized crater. Thousands of kilometres wide and dozens deep, lava glowed angrily at in its depths. Neither the impact nor the molten rock had left any mark on Pennywise, or Its colourful outfit.


    The pocket reality fell apart to the sound of another damnable laugh, though this was far colder than any human''s It had ever heard. The foreign presence grew stronger, the pressure on Its senses increasing as the source finally came into reach.


    He looked like a human, though grey-skinned and cold, dressed in the dry skins of his kindred. His skull was split, revealing less grey matter than a human could''ve survived without.


    With a sneer sent the flying dead man''s way, It turned, preparing to escape.


    It ran headfirst into him, bouncing off him like a bullet off a tank. His grin was even wider than Its irritated grimace, and his black eyes twinkled.


    It stepped backwards, and saw he hadn''t moved from the sky. He was still floating at cloud level; he was just also facing It on the ground.


    So, he could make more of himself. How droll. It would have left him to his petty amusements, but the corpse clearly had no intentions to let It go.


    Just as well. It was hungry, anyway.


    It tried to grab hold of his flesh with Its mind, fill that shrivelled little brain with tumours while trying to grab hold of a fear to manifest, but neither attempt succeeded.


    The dead men sniggered simultaneously, the flier joining his mirror on the ground. Both of them stared at It, unblinking, grins fixed on their faces.


    ''You seem to have disliked your welcome party?'' one corpse cooed, pouting.


    ''A shame,'' the other said. ''My heart would be broken, if I had one!''


    They leaned on each other, roaring with laughter as It glared at them. One punched through the other''s black shirt - and only that, as there was no flesh under it. Instead, the corpse spread his fingers inside a hole nearly as large as his head.


    The holes in the Szabo''s shirt and coat closed as soon as the hand was retracted, and the corpses stared at It with half-lidded eyes.


    ''You acted like you wanted to leave,'' one remarked casually.


    ''Wouldn''t you like to know how I cockblocked you first, though?'' the other grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.


    ''Do you see that rat?'' both asked, pointing at the horizon. The small, furry shape would''ve been invisible to a human, but to Its eyes, it was as clear as every blade of grass between It and the town on the opposite horizon. The city was nearly obscured by the form of a third dead man.


    ''Well,'' they continued. ''The little thing suddenly got this dull fear - nothing it could comprehend, you understand - that you would be utterly unable to do anything worth a damn in my little world.''


    They grinned lazily as It rushed towards the rat, prepared to stomp it into paste and gobble it up, even as It tried to twist its flesh beyond recognition. Its foot bounced straight off the rodent, which stared up at It with shining eyes, whiskers twitching.


    ''You must be wondering why that isn''t working?'' Szabo asked, an arm slung across Its shoulders. He had crossed the distance even faster than It. ''Well...that little fly, over there?'' he gestured at a dark point far above. ''It''s so frightened you won''t be able to hurt the rat...''


    Szabo laughed again when, mid-explanation, It blew the fly apart with a thought, and even louder when it warped the rat''s body into throbbing mess. Stooping, Szabo picked up the former rodent in one hand, crushing it, then bringing his hands together, sleeves catching the blood before it could fall. When Szabo opened his hands, there was no trace of blood.


    When he spoke next, his words were not carried through the air.


    ''You wanted to leave? Worry not! Loric Szabo will make sure you never see this world again...or any other~''


    * * *


    The first thing Szabo had done after obtaining his fear powers had been to prepare.


    Actually, that was not entirely true. The first thing he had done after absorbing the Tremorph, embodiment of a smaller, bleaker universe''s fears, had been to scour creation for more thing like it, and draw them into himself, for their power, and his amusement. And reputation, of course. That counted as preparation too, he supposed, but only partly.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Any two-bit monster could break and slaughter those weaker than it. Loric Szabo took special delight in making sure such beings were among his most memorable victims.


    Like this one. Its avatar was utterly ridiculous, given its purpose. Oh, Loric knew all about catching more flies with honey. He understood the strategy - intellectually. He just had never been able to bring himself to pretend being what most of the world considered kind. But this thing, skulking about as a clown? Maybe it was just the fact he''d always found clowns boring, rather than amusing (like some of his peers growing up) or unsettling (like some youths nowadays), but he understood why something looking for an unassuming disguise would choose it. It was the bright lure of an unfathomably larger, dark anglerfish, curled and folded up endlessly in on itself beyond this universe.


    But this creature (and he knew more about it than it did about him, thanks to his knowledge of all things frightening, as most would have described it, or the menagerie of monsters locked within himself), this one wanted to terrify. To appall. To disturb, in order to season its meals, so to speak.


    And yet, it hid. Szabo scoffed at the idea. Perhaps it was his desire to be immortalised speaking, but he couldn''t imagine hiding his light under a bushel out of...laziness.


    Szabo sneered. To think, even cosmic monsters from the beyond could aim low, and wish for mediocrity.


    In the instant the thing''s avatar prepared to attack him once more, Szabo seized it by the throat, before flying across and beyond the observable universe, chokeslamming the clown into a barren exoplanet. No time elapsed as who had once been a mere strigoi crossed trillions of light years.


    The clown glared sullenly up at him as it rose to its feet at the bottom of the crater he had made with its body. The fiery pit could''ve swallowed Europe with room to spare, and revealed the rocky world''s now-shattered core, an iron sphere that had been the size of Mars before half of its mass had been vapourised, alongside with the large stretch of surface.


    Szabo felt the avatar reach out again, not for him, but for the space around him, as if the tip of a barbed limb was closing around reality in hopes of pulling him out and through, to itself.


    Szabo clapped his hands in echoing delight, for all the airlessness of the world they stood upon, halting the attempt and making the avatar ripple like oil over water.


    Oh, yes...he could have some fun with this. And few at ARC or beyond would honestly condemn him for it: after all, the creature was a destroyer of lives and minds, the mental equivalent of a rapist, for it loved tormenting those far weaker than even its incarnate form, who had little to no means to defend themselves from its predations, or even recognise them for what they were.


    And it was also a killer of children. Szabo felt an ironic smirk begin to split his face at the hypocrisy inherent in how much young lives were valued. Was someone with manifold accomplishments to their name less valuable than someone younger, just because they were, what, less naive?


    ''Are you sure about that, Loric?'' his strigoi side asked. The embodiment of his instincts, appearing as a flayed old man, sitting at the centre of his mind, arms crossed under the sewn-together skin of his past kills. Loric''s mental incarnation looked down at it, gesturing with his eyes for it to go on.


    The old man smiled with daggerlike teeth in response, clawing at the hole in its chest. ''Are you sure?'' it repeated. ''Those who are yet to do anything memorable - or even receive the chance to leave their mark on history - snuffed out so early?'' It growled drily, raw throat bleeding slightly, at the thought of lost potential.


    ''A waste, to be sure,'' Loric agreed. Dammit, how had he not thought about that? He must''ve been too busy preparing the so-called monster for true suffering, that he''d lost sight of the future, ironically. Yes...his instincts were right, of course; just as he had opened their eyes about Csilla, not long ago, so they had now enlightened him.


    But enough dwelling on the past! They had a...spider...to crush.


    Yes...a fitting analogy, as far as animals went. That was the closest a human mind could come to comprehending the thing''s true form, but Loric had left humanity behind decades ago, and humble undeath had been surpassed recently. Now, he was a thing of fear, too.


    He supposed. In truth, several of his emotions had been muted in life, fear first among them. His undeath and ascension to an existence of terror had left him even more aloof to it, which was why he failed to see why the creatures he had devoured had caused such reactions among their prey.


    In his mind, they appeared leashed and chained in an infinitely-layered network of cages, the memories of them rattling the bars of their eternal prisons even as their powers were harnessed by him. And oh, he had so much to play with, even if the Tremorph''s power to grow stronger to the fear it caused and could make real, as well as regenerate from nothing unless it wanted to die, were usually more than enough.


    The Tremorph''s defeat had been a beautiful trick, really. Loric had known he couldn''t exactly beat it to death, even in the beginning. That was why, when it had tried to break his mind with holy power spun from mortal fear of gods, he had instead begun a battle of assimilation, and the very unstable state the stupid monster had put him into had allowed Szabo to absorb it.


    ''You''re not going to achieve anything like this, you know,'' he told the avatar as it shed its clownlike shape and became something closer to a spider. The world under them shook harder than Earth had ever been shaken by any earthquake Loric had lived through or heard of...any resulting from natural causes, at least.


    As far as paranormal quakes went, this one deserved a firm average.


    It came at him, trying to skewer and rip him apart with spiked legs, snap him in half with drooling mandibles. Loric dodged half the attacks, and took the rest for the satisfaction of feeling the spider break itself against him. It was not deterred in the least, as the frustration radiating from its regenerating body showed.


    And it still, still, kept clawing at the edges of his mind and body, as it it could''ve altered the thoughts or shape of even a normal strigoi.


    ''Imagine needing to enter a reality to frighten its inhabitants - couldn''t happen to me!'' he said brightly as his surroundings became a swirling storm of flaming acid, sticking to every surface and crawling, as if sentient, into every orifice. Loric gripped his head, covered in sickly green flames like a twisted halo, and walked forward as the spider warped the space between them into a narrow, infinitely-long corridor. Rather than take control of the space and turn it back to normal, Loric crossed the infinite space through sheer speed. No time having passed, he was suddenly floating under the spider, kicking its thorax in half.


    ''Loric Szabo''s reputation alone leaves the grandest kingdoms shuddering!'' Well, that was true enough. The actual reason he was thrashing it, though, like he had done with his most recent opponents, had to do with the preparation following his paradigm change.


    The holy powers held at the tips of their fingers and tentacles by the Tremorph and its ilk had given Loric even more control over his state of being than his strigoi shapeshifting, and he had put them to use. Splitting fractions of flesh, mind and spirit from himself and scattering them across creation had made for a pleasant diversion, but giving them just enough mind to fear had been he part he had truly enjoyed.


    Such fragments had been placed in each of the infinite realities on every layer of the multiverse, in the aether and Dreamlands beyond, and the infinity of infinities of Voids beyond those. Some existed in a state of cold dread that Szabo would always be more powerful than his opponents, others that he would always have the abilities necessary to best them. Others yet feared that they, and the other fragments, would always be invulnerable, unable to be damaged, altered or stolen. Of course, other such absolute powers, laws of creations unto themselves, could easily force him into a stalemate.


    And, with the Tremorph''s powers, Loric made those fears facts. It would''ve been something to watch the spider run around creation like a headless chicken, trying to find them, not that it would''ve done it any good if it succeeded. Loric, however, had more immediate amusements in mind.


    ''Ah, I grow tired of this,'' he said, more to himself than his increasingly-annoyed enemy. ''And I''m sure you do, too. Why don''t I rock your world?''


    His grip closed around the spider''s head before he slammed it down, piledriving it through the planet as it tried to destroy or at least dislodge him. Thousands of kilometres and not a moment later, Loric burst out of he surface, still holding the spider, before repeating the process in the other directions. This was mirrored dozens of times over, until using a combination of strength and his ability to manipulate the frightening, he had wrapped the spider''s substance throughout the world''s interior.


    A twitch of his foot shattered the planet, sending a billion billion rocks flying in all directions at meteor-like speeds. The largest part of the creature, wrapped several times around a rock that was nearly invisible under its amorphous mass, tried to reach its lost body parts, call them back to itself. Loric kept a tight metaphysical grip on them, allowing physics to take hold of the rest.


    ''So sorry, my friend,'' he pretended to wail. ''But they all float out here.''


    With a shriek that echoed and tore through deep space, the spider leapt after him at impossible speeds. Winking, Loric pressed a clawed fingertip to what could''ve passed for its face when it approached him, before speeding off, leaving it with a message burned into the aether.


    ''Tag - you''re It!''


    * * *


    The chase took a timeless eternity, as the spider skittered across the spaces between realities, trying to catch Loric. The universe he constructed for it was unlikely to soothe its rage, but it would definitely amuse him, and that was what counted.


    The spider ground to a halt as it found itself in a realm of endless clouds and rainbows, cartoonishly-grinning stars winking overhead. It huffed at the sensation of all-encompassing serenity around it, but that disdain turned into anger when it took in the source.


    Rank after rank of turtles stood, swaying on short, stocky feet, all grinning up at Pennywise. Their beaks opened into approximations of smiles, and they all shook with laughter at the sight of the spider. Smaller replicas of It began forming out of thin air, only to fall into the turtles'' maws, just as delighted to perish as the turtles were to eat them.


    Szabo''s whistle stoked its anger even further.


    ''You know, it is fairly rude not to give your name after Loric Szabo has given his,'' he remarked walking across the turtles'' shells, his leather boots making almost no sound. ''But he can understand your awe in the face of his magnificence, and will even forgive you! Actually, let me guess...'' he pressed a finger to his forehead as the spider found itself dogpiled by a dozen clones of him, making it roar as their claws tore through its substance. ''Wait, I know! You are...Coindumb, the Prancing Mime!'' He leaned forward, cocking his head and closing narrowing one eye. ''Aren''t you?''


    At its apoplectic response, he giggled. ''Unused to pain, are we, hmm? From what I can see, you only get hurt when playing with your food. I should turn you into a were and drown you in silver...but, I have something better in mind!''


    Shrugging off the clones, the spider tore into the turtles, warping its body and surroundings to create a vista of it tearing Szabo apart with its limbs and mind. Gaping for a moment at the sight, the turtles soon let loose ear-piercing wails of terror, and it leered as it turned its attention back to the strigoi.


    A dark mass, with limbs like spiked skyscrapers and covered in fur like razor wire, enveloped him. tearing him apart with all of its strength. It gobbled down the remains, before unfolding.


    Then, done with the shapeshifting, Szabo burst out of it, body parts flying back together as he reappeared behind the spider.


    ''No holy powers?'' he sobbed. ''Awwwww - '' A pulse of will and lifeforce sent the spider flying down through the clouds like a grim comet. Its flight ended in a cold, soft pile.


    The spider stood up, the the white, red, blue and yellow ice-cream covering its body making it resemble its clown form.


    ''Enjoy your just desserts!'' Szabo sung, slapping a hand to his face as he guffawed.


    With a roar that shredded the fabric of the artificial universe, the spider reached forth with its power again, reality beginning to ripple and fall away around it as a glimpse of its true form was released.


    ''Ooooohhhh~'' Szabo opened his eyes wide, staring into the Deadlights as the turtles fell dead at the sight, blood bursting from every orifice as their minds fell apart. ''Thanks for the nightlight! Maybe now, I can find your relevance!'' Conjuring a microscope, the strigoi placed it over one eye, before adding a telescope to it and darting closer to the Deadlights. ''These must be faulty...'' Loric muttered in dismay, letting the devices fall from hands that hung at his sides. ''They make you look worth half a damn...''


    * * *


    Szabo spun around as the Deadlights drew him into themselves. For a moment, he saw something large and green, galaxies swirling in its claws, before it was covered by the endless, unnaturally-glowing form of the Deadlights.


    ''Nice illusion,'' he commented, nodding. ''Which of your many flaws is it supposed to compensate for?''


    THIS IS NO ILLUSION, YOU FOOLISH LITTLE CORPSE - THIS IS ETERNITY, MY ETERNITY, AND YOU ARE LOST IN IT, LOST FOREVER, NEVER TO FIND YOUR WAY BACK; YOU ARE ETERNAL NOW, AND CONDEMNED TO WANDER IN THE BLACK.


    ''Ha!'' Szabo barked at the proclamation. ''You thought I needed your permission for that?'' His grin widened, splitting flesh. ''You thought I needed your touch to become eternal, to enter the darkness? You might have been born in fear, but I moulded it, and was moulded in turn...and the likes of you have never stood above me...or as far beneath as you are, now.''


    It directed its hatred at him, filling the placeless, timeless, directionless void they floated in with power. And Szabo, in turn, grabbed the attack with both hands, pulling it inside himself, consuming it as his power spread through the Deadlights in turn.


    It recoiled from his touch, looking for another avenue of attack, only for Szabo to disappear from its grasp, leaving the Macroverse behind, though his power remained, hanging over the void like a funeral shroud.


    The Deadlights prepared to follow, only to feel the strigoi''s power barring them from slipping past the edge. The harder they struck against it, the stronger the barrier became; the smaller and more elusive they tried to make their avatar, the tighter it became.


    It looked what would''ve been down, in the universe, sensing something that had once brought it much pleasure. Szabo''s hollow chortle echoed in its being.


    ''I could''ve ended you, you know? I still could. My touch is pain for you, because you, all the things like you that fancy themselves horrors, are my fuel. But do not despair! Loric Szabo would not leave an expecting mother behind without lending a hand, and I just know you ahve a clutch of eggs to deliver...so!''


    Every memory, every moment of terror It had devoured, had been recreated, shining like a beacon to Its senses. Then, an old, detestably familiar presence appeared, as what resembled Maturin down to the last scale dropped over the kaleidoscope of horror, dulling it.


    It rushed down, tearing through the Turtle''s doppelganger, only for another facsimile to be revealed under it, a placid, smug look on its face. It speeded up, ripping through its shell and guts too in a shower of gore that dwarfed universe, to find another, even larger Turtle under the second.


    ''Do not hurry, now! A little bird told me you hate that old Turtle, and Loric Szabo has heard it does the heart good to destroy those you despise. So take your time - it''s turtles all the way down!''


    * * *


    Back in reality, Loric looked at his handiwork, fishing for his phone. Trying to decide on the finishing move, he dialled one of the numbers that always made for good diversions. ''Reem? Yes, it''s contained.'' He paused, licking his fangs. ''Is your lover there? Hmm? Of course I already know he is...yes, I know I''m not supposed to call him that. Give him the phone?''


    Szabo crossed his legs in midair as the mummy acceded with a grumble, the rumbling tones of the Salem division''s Head filling his ears instead. ''Shiftskin! You won''t believe what an ugly spider I stepped on today!''


    The wendigo, thankfully, shared his sense of humour, but the Crypt head did not. She wrestled the phone back from Shiftskin, placating him with a kiss, then sighed, adjusting in her chair. ''You could''ve popped that thing like a soap bubble, from the start - so why haven''t you, yet?''


    Szabo placed a hand over where his heart had been. ''Loric Szabo could not have struck down such a fiend without giving it a taste of its innocent victims'' agony.''


    For a woman with no eyes, Reem could sure do a good impression of rolling them. ''Are you going to end that circus, or should I, agent Szabo?''


    ''Fine,'' he drawled, pocketing the phone without ending the call, and opening his mouth wide, unhinging his jaw. It was entirely theatrical, but he always got a kick out of it.


    Szabo''s body shook, his eyes lighting up with unearthly colours, as the Deadlights were absorbed, along with the fear they had sown. In another world, those who had been scarred by Its attention, and survived, found they could breathe easier at their memories of It.


    * * *


    The Deadlights were floating in the void, but it was an unfamiliar one. Just as dark and deep as their native one, but full of beings like itself, or at least their shades. Like the Prim. Like...


    It found Itself facing a mirror image, as another shapeless creature winked into existence in front of It, unfurling layers of maddening light. Another appeared behind It, one above, one below, to the sides - then they began multiplying.


    And the damnable corpse''s voice returned once more, drowning out its scream of loathing, even as its clones, equally powerful and just as vicious, swarmed it.


    ''Alone in the dark, surrounded by endless, unstoppable monsters...I wonder, what does it look like from the other side?''

 Apocrypha: The Zhayvin Files: Introduction (crossover edition)

    Arrival...acknowledged.


    Enter primary password: ********* ** *****


    First stage of identification, complete.


    Enter secondary password: ********* ** **********


    Secondary stage of identification, complete.


    Welcome, visitor. As First Scientist, we, the Shaper, will guide you through the Reptilian Collective''s files on our allies, assets and opponents. Collaboration, optimisation and neutralisation are all important facets of the war against irrationality, for none could be attempted, if the others failed.


    An ally/asset/threat classification has been uploaded to your mindframe. Do you wish to peruse it now?


    ...Very well.


    The Collective classifies entities, objects and locations of interest using a scale focusing on, but not limited to, how large an area of the macrocosm they can affect. Other traits, such as aptitude, resilience and the nature and duration of said effect, factor into classification, but broadly, it can be used as follows:


    -"local" entities are not necessarily native to any location, nor do they dwell there. This classification is used to express the fact they represent potential threats to baseline humans, up to large groups of them. In some cases, they represent a danger to human dwellings or settlements, and are able to fight an unmodified reptilian without equipment.


    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    -"regional" entities can affect large parts of a notable Terran landmass; a mountain range, for example, up to a continent.


    -"global" entities can affect, at a minimum, the entire surface of Terra. In more powerful cases, they can affect its moon, or the entire planet.


    -"planetary" entities are able to affect celestial bodies larger than Terra, up to and including brown dwarfs.


    -"stellar", "galactic" and "universal" entities are, as the names suggest, capable of affecting varyingly large areas of the cosmos.


    -"macrocosmic" entities range from beings capable of affecting two or more realities, to those whose very existence warps all of creation.


    This classification system is a new development, and, in many ways, a prototype. Your perusal of the archives might help us improve it.


    Now, what do you wish to analyse first?